Марк Энтони - Curse of the Shadowmage

She was jolted from her reverie as Farenth skidded to a snorting halt, bridle jingling and leather creaking. Mari had long ago learned to trust the horse’s instincts. Her hand strayed to the knife at her hip. “What is it, friend?” she whispered. They had stopped in a low hollow at the base of a round hill. Atop the hill was a circle of wind-worn standing stones, raised by some forgotten folk. A soft mist was slowly rising from the ground, and Mari’s spine tingled with a preternatural chill.

“All right, show yourself!” she called out sharply, suddenly certain she was not alone. The mist swirled, and seemed to take on human form.

The first things Mari noticed about the woman were that she was very beautiful and very pale. Her skin, her hair, her clothes—all were as gray as the rising fog. The second thing—and this Mari noticed with surprise—was that the woman was not standing on the ground. Rather, she drifted atop the mist as if she were no more solid than the vapor itself. Mari’s arms broke out in gooseflesh. This was no living person, but an apparition. Farenth pranced skittishly, and Mari tightened her grip on the reins.

“Who are you?” she dared to ask in a quavering voice.

The ghostly woman’s words floated eerily on the wind. “Do you not know me by this?” She lifted a hand to her breast. There Mari caught a glint of light and a silvery shape: a harp surrounded by a crescent moon. Mari’s breath caught in her throat. Finally she managed to whisper the word, her voice trembling with awe.

“Kera?”

The spectral woman smiled wistfully. “I was certain you would know me, Mari Al’maren. Though we have never met, it is as if we were sisters.”

Mari shook her head, choking back a sob. Once, long before Mari had ever met Caledan, he and Kera had been lovers. They had worked together as Harpers and were betrothed. All their plans were shattered when Ravendas murdered Kera, an act made all the more loathsome by the fact that the two women were sisters. All these years, Mari had felt a sort of kinship with the Harper woman she had never known. Now she found herself face-to-face with her. It was wondrous, and bitterly sad as well.

“Weep not, Mari,” the ghost intoned. “I have never begrudged you Caledan’s love. I am joyous he found one to make his heart whole once more. And do not be sad that you have parted ways, for you came to each other wounded, and now you each leave with those old wounds healed.”

Mari bowed her head.

“I have but one thing to ask of you, Mari.”

She looked up, her cheeks damp with tears. “Anything,” Mari said fiercely, and meant it. “I will do anything you ask, Kera.”

The ghostly woman smiled fondly. Then her smile vanished, and there was an urgency in her colorless eyes. “Though you have parted with Caledan, do not turn your back on him. He needs your help, Mari, now more than ever.”

Mari shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. Is Caledan in some sort of danger?”

“All of Toril is in danger.” The spirit was fading, her edges blurring with the mist. Her voice echoed faintly on the wind. “Beware the king, Mari. He must not ascend the throne …” The tendrils of fog swirled, the ghostly woman faded.

“No, Kera, don’t go!” Mari reached out a hand. “What do you mean?”

It was too late. An evening zephyr stirred the mist. When it cleared, the ghost of the beautiful Harper was gone. Mari gazed for a time into the gloaming, hardly able to believe what she had just witnessed. Finally she nudged Farenth’s flanks, and the big horse started into a trot, his hoofbeats muffled by the moist grass. Mari huddled inside her cloak, but all the rest of the way to Iriaebor she could not stop shivering.

It was full dark when she reached the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon, where a missive from the Harpers was waiting for her.

“It arrived earlier this evening,” Estah explained. “I told the messenger I wasn’t certain when you’d return.”

Shaken by her encounter with the ghost of Kera, Mari was glad to have something mundane to concentrate on. She sat by the fire in the common room and let Estah bring her a cup of chamomile tea. She drank down the hot tea and finally managed to control her shivering.

Breaking the wax seal on the scroll, she unrolled the parchment and began to read. In moments, it was clear that this was no routine directive. By the time she finished reading, her shivering had commenced anew.

Estah returned and noticed Mari’s pallid face. “Dear one, you look as if you’d seen a ghost!”

Mari smiled ironically. “I’m afraid that’s only half of it, Estah.”

Estah drew up a chair and listened raptly as Mari spoke of her encounter with Kera’s shade. At some point, Mari looked up and noticed Kellen was there, sitting on the floor and watching her intently. For a moment, the Harper realized how much he looked like his aunt Kera—far more so than he resembled his mother, Ravendas.

“First Talek Talembar, now Kera,” Estah said in soft amazement. “What can these appearances mean, Mari?”

“I’m not sure. But I don’t think this is a mere coincidence.” She gestured to the parchment before her. In it, she explained, were two disturbing pieces of news. The first concerned a strange occurrence in the village of Corm Orp. Apparently, some local harvest festival had descended into a riot in which several people were hurt. The details were unknown, but the villagers whispered of how shadows had come to life and attacked them. “Sound familiar?” Mari asked.

“It sounds like the creatures you and Caledan saw in the Zhentarim hideout,” Estah agreed. She frowned in puzzlement. “But you said the creatures were dispelled. And there hasn’t been another murder in Iriaebor since you and Caledan left.”

Mari took a deep breath. “I know. That brings me to the second report. Caledan was supposed to meet with a Harper operative in Corm Orp on the same day as the festival, to receive his orders. But Caledan never showed up at the appointed meeting place.”

Estah clutched her apron worriedly. “What are you saying?”

Mari gazed directly at the halfling innkeeper, her expression grim. “Caledan is missing.”

It took a moment for the implication of this to register on the halfling. Then she gasped. “But you don’t … you don’t think the strange happenings in Corm Orp have anything to do with Caledan?”

“I’m not sure what to think, Estah.” Mari squared her shoulders. She recalled Kera’s urgent words. Do not turn your back on him, Mari . “It’s time I paid a visit to someone I should have spoken to a long time ago. There’s only one person in Iriaebor who ever witnessed one of the murders and lived to tell about. I’m going to find out what he saw.” She pulled her cloak about her shoulders. “If he hasn’t been executed yet, that is.”

An hour later, Mari picked her way down the slimy stone steps that led to the gaol beneath Iriaebor’s High Tower. Behind her came Morhion; she had fetched the mage on her way to the tower and filled him in on all she knew. Leading the way down the steps to the dungeon was another draftee—a big, bespectacled man with dark, coppery skin.

“I hope you know I’m doing you an enormous favor, Mari,” the big man grumbled. He was as powerfully muscled as a warrior—in fact, he had been a warrior once—but now he wore the plain brown robe of a monk. Or, to be more exact, a Loremaster of Oghma. “It would be decidedly awkward if City Lord Bron’s chief advisor were to be caught sneaking around the dungeon at night to talk with murderers on death row.” He turned to glare at Mari. “In fact, I have half a mind to go back right now.”

“Shall I cast that charm spell so he’ll be forced to do our bidding, Mari?” Morhion asked with a musing smile.