Paul Kemp: Shadowstorm

"Abelar Corrinthal?" Cale asked, surprised.

Nayan nodded. "We returned Endren to him. He knew of me in that way. He purported to be your ally."

Cale would not have called Abelar an ally, though he had reached an understanding with the man.

"Who is Endren?" Magadon asked. "What does he have to do with matters?"

"Endren is a Sembian nobleman," Cale said. "Abelar is his son and a servant of Lathander. They're enemies of the overmistress."

Magadon's face showed no recognition, or perhaps it was apathy.

"Sembia is at war, Mags," Cale explained. "Or at least it was. I met Abelar on the road out of Selgaunt. He and his men stopped an attack on the Hulorn. They probably saved my life, too. I owe him."

"You owe me," Magadon said.

Cale held his calm with difficulty. "I know."

"What does Abelar want with you?" Riven asked.

Cale looked to Nayan and the shadowwalker shook his head. "The sending asked only for you to attend him," Nayan said.

"Perhaps he needs assistance with the war?" Cale said.

"That is not our fight," Magadon said.

"Maybe the Uskevren boy is in trouble," Riven said. "Rivalen Tanthul had him under his sway."

Magadon looked to Riven. "Rivalen Tanthul?"

Riven's eye narrowed. "Your fight now, eh?"

"I asked you a question," Magadon said, and advanced on Riven.

Riven's mouth hardened. "Take a step back, Mags. Do it now, and get your mouth under control."

"I want Rivalen Tanthul dead for what he did to me."

"That's both of us, then," Riven answered. "Step back."

Magadon did and turned to Cale. "Take me to Rivalen, Cale."

"No."

Cale's word brought Magadon up short. "No? I owe him."

Cale nodded. "As do I. As does Riven. But Rivalen Tanthul is no more our fight than is Sembia's civil war. Not now, at least."

Magadon's brow furrowed, his colorless eyes narrowed.

"We have other concerns," Cale said soothingly. "You need some time, Mags. You've been through a lot. We all have."

"Time is the last thing I need," Magadon said softly, and looked away. "Or have."

"Nayan, get him some food and a place to rest," Cale said. "He's had it harder than Riven and I."

The easterner nodded and beckoned Magadon into the temple. Magadon sighed, nodded, and followed Nayan.

"Mags," Cale called after.

The mindmage turned. He looked ten years older than he had when Cale had first met him. "Kesson Rel is the priority, Mags. Trust me."

Magadon nodded. "I do. I am sorry about my… tone."

"You're not yourself."

"No," Magadon said. "I am not."

He turned and Nayan led him off. Cale and Riven shared a look. "He's fading," Riven said.

Cale nodded.

"But you are going to answer this Abelar Corrinthal's call anyway."

Cale nodded again. "I'm indebted to him. And I've got enough debts outstanding. Time to start closing them out."

"I will come with you."

Cale shook his head. "This is my problem. You stay with Mags. I'll return quickly and we'll hunt Kesson Rel."

"He may be hunting us, Cale. You think of that? You think that duplicate was there by chance? He arranged it all."

Cale nodded. Riven was right.

"If he comes for us, he needs to find you and me together. Mags is safe in the temple. Not even Kesson Rel can scry here. No one can. Nayan can watch over him. I am with you," Riven said.

"Riven…"

The assassin cut him off. "I've got debts to pay, too, Cale. I am with you."

Cale stared into Riven's one good eye. "Well enough. I will find Abelar with a divination and we go."

"Now?"

"Now."

Cale's spell located Abelar quickly. The servant of Lathander had taken no steps to ward himself. He resided in an encampment along the shore of a small lake. Fires burned here and there in the camp. Hollow-eyed men, women, and children gathered around the fires, hovered near the tents.

Refugees, Cale figured, as he drew the shadows to himself and transported there with Riven.

They materialized before a group of seven armed men seated near a fire. The men leaped to their feet and exclaimed in surprise, but none drew blades.

Cale held up his hands, still leaking shadows. "We are friends and are here to see Abelar Corrinthal."

"He has answered," one of the men said.

A man as tall as Cale stepped forward. He wore a holy symbol on a chain around his throat-Lathander's sun. His long brown hair hung loose to his shoulders.

"I am Roen. You can only be Erevis Cale. Well met. My sending found you. Thank you for coming."

Old men, women, and children, perhaps attracted by the commotion of Cale's sudden appearance, hovered at the edge of the firelight. They eyed Cale and Riven warily. They looked dirty, underfed, fearful.

"All is well here," Roen called to them. "These men are allies."

The refugees nodded, some of the children even smiled.

"I will take you to Abelar," Roen said, and led them to a nearby canvas tent. "Abelar, the sending is answered."

Cale heard motion within and the tent flap flew open. Abelar Corrinthal stepped out and Cale scarcely recognized him. Dark circles stained the skin under his eyes. Lines of worry creased his brow. His red-rimmed eyes pronounced how little he had slept.

"Thank you for coming, Erevis," Abelar said. He eyed Riven appraisingly and without judgment.

"Why did you send for me?" Cale asked.

Despite his forlorn appearance, Abelar held Cale's eyes with the same calm intensity he had when first they'd met. "My father told me that you got him out of the Hole, that you can walk the shadows like roads. Is that so?"

Cale nodded and the shadows around him swirled. "Yes. That is so."

Voices behind Cale and Riven murmured. Abelar's men had followed them to the tent. Abelar nodded and took a deep breath, like he was leaping into deep water. "I thank you for that. But now… I need to ask your assistance again."

"Abelar, Sembia's civil war is not-"

Abelar's face twisted in grief. "To the Hells with Sembia. They took my son, Erevis. My four-year-old son."

"What? Who?"

"Malkur Forrin. His soldiers. They burned my estate and took my son to get at me. We pursued but… could not save him. I failed. Lathander failed. I need your help."

Before Cale could answer, Riven said, "They took a boy to get at you?"

Cale heard brewing anger in the assassin's tone.

Abelar nodded, his eyes filled with tears. "My son was born without his full wits. He will not understand what is happening to him. He has never been away from our estate. I cannot bear the thought of…"

He bowed his head and tried to compose himself. Roen stepped forward and put a hand on Abelar's shoulder.

"Forrin's army numbers over a thousand," Roen said. "We saw it for ourselves."

"Where did they take the boy?" Riven asked.

Abelar looked up, first to Riven, then to Cale, his eyes hopeful. "Their camp. He is in the midst of their army still, I presume. It is much to ask, I know, but I thought if you could pull my father from the Hole, you could…"

He trailed off, staring at Cale, at Riven.

Cale's thoughts turned to Jak, to Aril, and he did not hesitate. "We will help you get him back."

"Tonight," Riven said with a nod. "Steps over a line, taking a boy. Someone pays for that. In blood."

The men around them murmured approvingly.

Abelar stared at them with gratitude, nodded. "You are what I'd hoped. But not what I'd expected."

"Nor I," added Roen.

Riven chuckled.

"We bring him back here?" Cale said. "To you?"

Abelar looked surprised by the question, as if he had not considered it. His expression went from hopeful to troubled to pained. He shook his head. "No… no. Bring my son back here to my father. I… do not want him to see me this way."