Paul Kemp: Shadowrealm

The magic of the foyer tugged at the holy symbol of Shar he wore, lifting the symbol from his chest and pulling him by the chain. He followed its lead. In a few strides he emerged from the darkness to find himself face to face with Variance Mattick.

Shadows twirled around her in long, thin spirals. A scar along her cheek marred the dark skin of her round face. Her long, black hair melded with her shroud of shadows. She wore the purple robe of her office. He wondered if she, like Rivalen, was thousands of years old.

"Priestess," Thamalon said, inclining his head. "In the darkness of night, we hear the whisper of the void."

"Heed its words, Hulorn."

"I seek Prince Rivalen. He is not in his quarters, so I thought-"

"The Nightseer is within."

She made no move to step aside, nor offered further detail.

"May I see him?"

"He is at worship."

Thamalon looked past her, saw only the hallway and its purple carpet. "I think he will see me."

Variance smiled, the expression made sinister by the way the skin of her cheek creased around her scar.

"Remain here. I will inquire of the Nightseer."

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, she turned and walked down the corridor. She soon melted into the darkness of the windowless space.

Thamalon stood in the hall, irritated with the presumptuous manner in which Variance had ordered him to remain.

"As if I were a dog," he murmured.

His irritation only grew as the moments passed. He looked down the corridor, but saw nothing but the purple carpet and bare stone walls. Could she have forgotten him?

"Damn it all," he said, and started down the hallway after Variance.

"Hulorn," Rivalen said from behind him.

Surprise jolted Thamalon's heart. He turned to see Rivalen step from the darkness.

"You startled me," Thamalon said. "I did not see you."

Rivalen let the shadows fall away from him entirely. "Do you see me now?"

"I do," Thamalon said. "You look… different."

Rivalen stood no taller than he ever had, yet he appeared to Thamalon to fill the hall, to occupy more than mere space. The shadows enshrouding him appeared darker, like a bottomless hole. His exposed left hand was black, as if formed of coalesced shadows. The regard of his golden eyes made Thamalon uncomfortable. Thamalon had no desire to know what secret Rivalen had confessed to the darkness.

"You have disturbed my worship, Hulorn."

The incivility of the prince's words surprised Thamalon. Anger lurked in Rivalen's tone. Thamalon reminded himself that he was the Hulorn, soon to be ruler of all of Sembia. He and Rivalen were peers.

"I received word that you had returned, but had no word of the outcome of events. I expected to receive that from you."

Rivalen's eyes narrowed. "Expected? Why?"

Thamalon tried not to wilt under Rivalen's gaze. "Because I am the Hulorn."

Rivalen seemed to advance on him, though he did not move. "And what is that to me?"

"I…" Thamalon stuttered, swallowed, adopted a more deferential tone. "I should have said 'hoped,' Prince. I did not expect you to report to me. I hoped you would. We had kept close counsel previously and I… assumed that would continue."

"It will," Rivalen said, and something hid within the words. "We were… successful. The rift was closed. The Shadowstorm will retreat from Sembia, though Ordulin is lost to darkness forever."

Thamalon's heart surged at the news. "And what of Mister Cale? The Saerbians?"

Rivalen's brow furrowed, as if the question pained him. "Mister Cale is dead."

Thamalon could not contain a grin. He knew he must look like a gloating buffoon but he didn't care.

"Splendid news, Prince Rivalen! Splendid!"

Rivalen continued, "I allowed the surviving Saerbians safe passage through Sembia. They may settle where they will."

Thamalon lost his grin and his good humor. "You allowed?"

Thamalon regretted the emphasis the moment the words bid farewell to his teeth.

Rivalen stared at him, the shadows around him whirling. "Yes. I allowed."

"Of course," said Thamalon, forcing a smile. "You have the authority to act in my name."

Rivalen stared down at Thamalon, his mouth a hard line. "You will find that our relationship will change somewhat as Sembia is consolidated under Shadovar rule."

A small pit opened in Thamalon's stomach, a place for the truth to settle.

"I fear 'somewhat' does much work in that sentence, Prince."

Rivalen waved a hand in the air, batting aside Thamalon's point. "You will remain titular head of Sembia but you will answer ultimately to me and to the Most High."

Thamalon tried to keep the shock from his face and voice. "But I assumed we would rule as equals. I thought-"

"Your assumption was incorrect. We are not equals. You are an instrument of my will, and the Lady's."

Thamalon's mind spun. He struggled to keep his mental balance. "After all we have accomplished?"

"We accomplished nothing. I accomplished all. You are but the face of it to the outside."

Thamalon flushed. "But-but I worship the Mistress. I minted coins, Prince. I thought to become a shade, like you. I thought we were… friends."

Only after he had uttered the words did he realize how ridiculous they sounded, like the whines of a child. Embarrassment heated his cheeks.

"You will become a shade, Hulorn," Rivalen said. "I will keep my word. Promises are kept in these days."

"Thank you, Prince," Thamalon said, pleased at least by that, though he could not meet Rivalen's eyes.

"The transformation is prolonged and painful. Your body and soul are torn asunder and remade."

Thamalon backed up a step, eyes wide.

Rivalen followed. "The agony will plague your dreams for years."

Thamalon felt nauseated, and backed up another step.

"Your family and friends will die and turn to dust. You will linger, alone."

Thamalon bumped up against a wall. Rivalen loomed over him.

"But in the end, you will be hardened, made a better servant to the Lady, made a better servant to me."

"That is not what I wanted, Prince."

"It is exactly what you wanted. Power. You simply wanted to pay no price for it. But you are a Sembian, Hulorn. You should have known there is always a price. And the price will be pain and eternal loneliness."

Rivalen said it in the tone of one who knew that of which he spoke.

Thamalon gulped, imagined the pain of his transformation. He looked into his future and saw a friendless, solitary existence, feared and hated by those he ostensibly ruled. He did not want it, not anymore.

"Please, Prince. No. I abdicate. Here, now. To you."

"It is too late for that."

Tears leaked from Thamalon's eyes.

"What have I done?" he said, his voice soft.

Rivalen smiled, his fangs making him look diabolical. "Your bitterness is sweet to the Lady."

Mask manifested in a place that was no place, amidst the nothingness of cold and featureless gray. He manifested fully, not in one of the trivial, semi-divine forms he sometimes showed to worshipers.

He floated alone and small in an infinite void, the womb of creation. He marveled that the bustling, colorful, life-filled multiverse had been born from such yawning emptiness. He marveled, too, that the creation would one day return to the void. He was pleased he would not see it, though he knew he would have played his small role in causing it.

As would those who came after him and took his station.

Or perhaps not, if things went as he wished. He had planted his own seeds in creation's womb. Time would tell what fruit they bore.

"I am here," he said, and his voice echoed through infinity.

Fatigue settled on him all at once. He had been running a long while, delaying the inevitable. Surrender was not in him. He supposed that was why she had chosen him, why he had chosen his own servants.