Paul Kemp - Shadowrealm

"Are you well?" Regg called from behind, his voice uncertain. "Erevis?"

"Stay back," Cale said, and the shadows around him roiled. "Far back. Now, Regg. Hurry. You also, Nayan."

Cale heard armor and weapons chink as the Lathanderians and shadowwalkers backed away ten, twenty paces. He heard their every whisper.

"What just happened?"

"Kesson is dead."

"What are they?"

Cale looked up, over to Riven, and nodded. Riven nodded in return. Neither would have to die, at least not for lack of divinity.

He looked to Rivalen, saw the Shadovar rise, terrible and dark. Cale and Riven did the same.

Two gods stood to face one.

They stared at one another over Kesson's corpse. The rain fell.

7 Nightal, the Year of Lightning Storms

"We stand with you," Regg called from behind. "You need only give us the word, Cale."

"As do we," Nayan said in his accented Common.

Before Cale could respond, a stream of wraiths-mere hundreds had survived the battle with the shadows-swooped down from the dark sky in a long ribbon and flew between the three gods, swirled in a cyclone over Kesson's form.

"Leave them," Cale said to Riven, to Rivalen, to Regg and the Lathanderians.

A towering wraith, one of the Lords of Silver, separated from the swirl and hovered before Cale. His red eyes flared. He leaned in close, as if catching a whiff of divine spoor.

"He is yours," Cale said, and the power in his voice caused the wraith to recoil.

The wraith studied Cale a moment, bowed, and said in his whispery voice, "His corpse will rot in Elgrin Fau."

The Lord of Silver returned to the rest and the cyclone of undead whirled, their moans not despairing but triumphant. They lifted Kesson Rel's body and severed head from the ground and streaked across the battlefield, toward the rift Cale had opened.

After they'd gone, Cale, Riven, and Rivalen continued to stare at one another, their minds struggling to comprehend their new capabilities.

Cale knew a battle between them would turn Sembia into a wasteland, would destroy Sakkors, would kill everyone on the field. Rivalen had to know it too.

"A battle between us leaves nothing to the victor," Cale said.

Rivalen smiled, and energy gathered. "I disagree."

"Rivalen," Cale began, but a shriek from Magadon filled Cale's mind, filled the minds of everyone on the battlefield, the sound thick with power, incoherent with rage.

The Lathanderians and shadowwalkers fell to the ground, groaning with pain. Cale, Riven, and Rivalen winced. Pressure mounted in Cale's skull. He felt a warm trickle of blood leaking from one nostril. He tried to reach through the rage to Magadon.

Mags, he's dead. Kesson is dead. I can save you now.

But there was not enough of Magadon left to understand.

I do not need to be saved! he screamed.

Behind Cale, the Lathanderians began to scream, to die.

Power stormed in Cale's mind. His eyes felt as if they would jump out of his head. His thoughts grew confused. He tried to focus.

This is how you pay for your betrayal of me, Magadon said.

Cale staggered, felt blood drip from his ears.

"Your city is dying," he said to Rivalen through gritted teeth.

"So is your friend," Rivalen answered, and wiped the blood falling from his nose. His golden eyes, pained, looked as wide as coins.

Cale knew Magadon had little time. If he could still be saved, Cale had to do something soon. He had already made a deal with one devil. He could make a deal with another.

"A bargain," Cale said.

Rivalen nodded, hissed with pain. "Speak what you will."

"The Saerbians settle where they wish and are left alone," Cale said, his voice punctuated by grunts of pain. "Magadon goes free and unharmed."

"Magadon is already dead."

"No," Cale said with heat. "Not yet."

Rivalen looked to Cale, to Riven. "Sembia belongs to the Shadovar."

Cale nodded, wiped the blood from his face. "Done. Now we need time. Do as I do."

Cale called upon his newfound power, trusting that Rivalen and Riven would recognize his intent as he began to cast.

The pressure in his mind mounted.

Die! Die! Magadon railed.

Rivalen and Riven recognized Cale's intent and their voices joined his.

Ignoring the screams of Regg and his company, the shadowwalkers, Magadon's rage, they drew on their shared godhead and stopped time.

When they completed the casting, raindrops hung suspended in mid-air. A lightning bolt split the sky, frozen in place. Sakkors hung atilt in the air, still glowing, perhaps two bowshots from a collision with the ground. The Lathanderians and the shadowwalkers, light and shadow, were frozen in the moment on the wet ground, faces contorted with pain, blood pouring from eyes, ears, noses.

Cale had only a short time before time would resume, before Magadon would die. While the spell was in effect, they could affect no mortal beings, not directly. With no time to waste, Cale wasted none. He had already made up his mind.

"I am saving Magadon," he said to Riven and let the words register.

Riven nodded, missing his point. "Agreed, but how? We have only moments."

Cale looked him in the face. "There's only one way."

Riven looked up sharply. "You can't pay, Cale. It doesn't come out, except…"

His eye widened.

Cale nodded. The divinity could come out of him only when he died.

Riven's face fell. He shook his head, began to pace. "No, no, no. There's another way."

"This is the only way."

Riven stopped pacing and glared him. "We have this power, we can do something else. There's another way."

Cale knew better. Even if they could defeat Mephistopheles, they could not do so before he destroyed what he had taken from Magadon. "Riven, it's the only way. Riven-"

Riven held up his hands, as if trying to stop Cale's words from charging toward him.

"Just give me a damned moment, Cale. A moment."

Cale waited, felt the power of the spell draining away. He shifted on his feet.

Riven looked up, his expression hard. "No, you're giving up again, Cale."

Emotion flooded Cale but he could not determine if it was anger or something else. He stepped forward and grabbed Riven by the cloak. The shadows around him engulfed them both, spun and whirled.

"I'm not! I'm fighting all the way." He calmed himself, spoke in a softer voice, releasing Riven. "I'm fighting all the way, Riven."

Maybe Riven understood, maybe he didn't.

They stared at one another a long moment. Riven's face fell.

"How can it be the only way, Cale? After all this?"

Cale shook his head, smiling softly. "How can it not? How else could it end?"

Riven looked away, down. "You're doing this for him?"

"There's nothing else," Cale said. "Just us. That's the reason for everything. Understand?"

Riven looked up, his face stricken.

Cale held out a hand. "You've been my friend, Riven."

Riven's lower lip trembled. He clasped Cale's hand, pulled him close for an embrace.

Cale took Weaveshear by the blade, handed it hilt first to Riven. The reality of his decision started to settle on him. His legs felt soft under him. His hand shook. Riven pretended not to notice.

"The fiend doesn't get this," Cale said.

Riven took it, nodded.

"I will keep my promise," Cale said. "You keep ours to him. You remember it?"

Riven's face hardened. He nodded again. "I remember it."

Cale turned to Rivalen. "Keep your word, too, Shadovar."

Rivalen's face was expressionless, his eyes aglow.

Faces and memories poured through Cale's mind but he pushed them aside and pictured Cania. He drew the darkness around him.

At the last moment, he changed his mind and pictured not the icy wastes of the Eighth Hell but the face of a grateful boy, the boy who had once invited him into the light. It suddenly seemed the most important thing in the world that Cale see Aril, a boy he had met only once.