Paul Kemp - Shadowstorm

Riven studied him, looked to the dragon, and sighed in surrender. "Let's move, Mags." To Cale, he said, "See you soon."

Cale nodded. "See you soon."

Cale donned his mask. Sound had returned to the swamp- howls, shrieks, and the buzzing of insects. Cale splashed through the water until he stood before the dragon. The horns that jutted from the reptile's head were as tall as Cale; the teeth were swords.

Cale took a deep breath and hoped he was doing the right thing.

He placed both hands on the dragon's head-the scales felt as smooth as a polished shield-and incanted the words to a spell that revivified the recently dead. Power gathered as he intoned first one couplet, then another, another. When the magic reached its apex, he felt the doors between worlds open.

"Return, Furlinastis," he shouted, and his voice carried over and through the planes of existence. "If you wish it."

The buzzes, howls, and clicks went dead around him, as if the swamp were holding its breath. Silent moments passed.

A hum sounded, gradually gathering volume. Streamers of shadow formed in the air and wrapped themselves around the dragon's neck, merged with his flesh, and repaired the gash. Cale took his hands from the reptile's head, put one on Weaveshear's hilt, and backed up a step.

Furlinastis's chest expanded sharply as he inhaled a great gasp of air. His dark eyes opened, looked upon Cale, narrowed. He opened his mouth in a roar that hit Cale like a gale. The dragon lurched to his feet, spraying water, flapped his wings once.

For a moment, man and dragon simply regarded one another.

"Why have you done this?" Furlinastis asked at last, his voice low and sibilant. Before Cale could answer, the dragon added, "I will never again serve another. Not even in payment for this."

Cale nodded and explained it like a Sembian. "This is compensation, dragon. The Shadowlord took too much from you."

The dragon considered that. "And from you, too, perhaps?"

Cale cocked his head in acknowledgement. "I am his willing instrument. You never were. Now you are free."

A hiss escaped the dragon's mouth. Cale took it as one of pleasure. Twin streams of shadow spiraled out of his nostrils.

Cale had done what he wanted. He drew the darkness about him. "Farewell, Furlinastis."

The dragon watched him through slitted eyes. As the shadows around Cale deepened, the dragon said, "One service, First of Five. Freely given. If you call in darkness, I will hear."

With that, the dragon launched itself into the dark sky, roaring with pleasure.

Cale smiled and imagined the Wayrock in his mind.

He needed to rethink things. An enormous task lay ahead of them. They had to find a way to murder a god.

Abelar saw the world through a gray haze. His company cut south and west for Lake Veladon and rode for hours, half a day. He felt thick, numb. Again and again in his mind he replayed the moments he had shared with his son. He could think of nothing else. He ate, drank, responded in single words to Regg's inquiries, and sat atop Swiftdawn. But he felt nothing.

The afternoon of the next day, they reached Lake Veladon. Shrubs and scattered willows bordered its edge and the waters glittered in the sunlight. Men, women, children, horses, wagons, carts, and tents dotted the shore. Abelar put the number of fighting men at only several hundred. Not enough to engage Forrin; not enough to rescue his son.

Eyes watched them approach. Armed and armored men rode forth to greet them, as did Jiiris and the rest of Abelar's company. Greetings and news were exchanged. Abelar greeted no one and cared nothing for news.

"I am going to surrender myself to Mirabeta," he said to Regg, and heard the dullness in his own voice. He swung out of Swiftdawn's saddle.

Regg, too, dismounted, as did Endren and the rest of the men and women.

"You cannot," Regg said.

Endren put a hand on Abelar's shoulder. "She will not honor a bargain with you. You know this."

Abelar did know it. He found it hard to breathe. He found it pointless to breathe.

"I cannot stand idle while my son suffers." He wanted to die, to crawl alone into a dark place and find oblivion.

"You do not know that he is suffering," Endren said.

But Abelar did know it. They all knew it.

Regg patted him on the shoulder. "You did all you could, Abelar. We have not given up."

Abelar looked at Regg and brandished his shield, the shield adorned with Lathander's rose. Heat rose in him, gave his voice an edge. "But Lathander did not do all he could. I dedicated my life to him, Regg. Did he do enough? Do you think he did?"

Regg held Abelar's gaze for only a moment before he looked away.

Anger rooted in Abelar's gut, rushed up his throat. He voiced an inarticulate roar of despair and anger. Hundreds of eyes turned to look at him. He ignored them all, turned, and ran toward the lake. Regg, Endren, and Roen raced after him, calling his name. He charged into the water, sinking to his ankles in the muddy bottom, and flung his shield far out into the lake. It caught the light as it spun, hit the water, and sank into darkness. He jerked the holy symbol from around his neck, spat on it, and cast it into the water, too. "I will never forgive you!" he shouted to his god. "Never!"

Endren, Regg, and Roen waded into the water and stood beside him in silence. The setting sun cast the lake in fire. It was beautiful and Abelar hated it. Having shed shield and symbol, he found it hard to stand. Only his anger kept him upright.

Regg put an arm around him, steered him back toward shore. Men, women, and children had assembled there, and all of Abelar's company. Abelar could not look them in the face. Hands patted his shoulder as he passed. Jiiris brushed his hand with hers.

He shook his head, bereft. "I need to be alone," he said to Regg.

Regg nodded, ordered one of the men to get Abelar a tent.

While they waited, a shout captured their attention.

"Smoke!"

Eyes turned north, where clouds of black smoke billowed into the sky.

"Saerb is burning!"

Word spread through the camp. Women cried, children sobbed, men shook their fists and cursed Forrin and the overmistress. Abelar felt almost nothing. He walked to his tent and collapsed. He emerged later to find that Regg, Roen, and Jiiris had taken station outside.

"Stragglers have been arriving from Saerb throughout the day," Roen said.

"They got out before Forrin arrived," Regg said. "Our rout of his southern force made that possible, Abelar. Without us, they'd have been killed on the road as would everyone here with us now."

Abelar nodded.

"Are you all right?" Jiiris asked, and her green eyes showed concern.

"No."

His father was taking stock of the fighting men and women who had gathered for the muster, planning their next steps. Abelar did not disrupt him. He walked to the shore of the lake and sat down alone. He whispered farewell to his god as the sun set and darkness fell.

As the night bloomed, he made up his mind. He would not surrender his son to Forrin and the overmistress. Not until he had done absolutely everything he could. He could not look to the light to rescue Elden, so he would look to the darkness.

He stood, walked purposefully through the camp until he found Roen. The priest of Lathander sat with a dozen other men of Abelar's company around a fire. They had pulled a dozen silvergills from the lake. The fish cooked over the flames.

"Commander?" Roen asked, and stood.

"I need you to find Nayan."

Roen looked confused.

"The shadowwalker who rescued my father."

Roen's eyes flashed recognition. "Why?"

"Because he can find Erevis Cale. And if Erevis Cale can pull my father out of the Hole, he can pull my son out of Forrin's camp."