Марк Энтони - Curse of the Shadowmage

She blinked at the taciturn mage’s rare display of humor, then laughed. Reaching up, she patted Tyveris’s cheek affectionately. Despite his dusky skin, the big man’s blush was clear to see. “No, thank you, Morhion,” she replied lightly. “I think I have our good monk suitably charmed already.”

Tyveris scowled darkly, though his brown eyes glowed with devotion. “You never did play fair, Mari.”

Of all the old members of the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon, Tyveris was the biggest and strongest, but he also had the softest heart. Years ago, the big Chultan gave up the sword he had never enjoyed wielding and became a man of learning—though, when necessity required, he could still bring down a running horse with his bare fists. Mari was awfully fond of him.

The stairs ended, and the trio made their way down a dank, torchlit corridor. “Why do you want to talk to this thief, Mari?” Tyveris asked quietly. “I thought you and Caledan solved the mystery of the murders. It was the Zhentarim, right? You yourself told me the one we caught in the act was probably just a madman killing in imitation.”

“I thought so, too,” Mari said grimly, then filled Tyveris in on what she had learned concerning the strange happenings in Corm Orp and Caledan’s disappearance.

When she finished, Tyveris swore a rather colorful oath.

Morhion raised a single eyebrow. “That didn’t sound like any prayer to Oghma I’m familiar with,” he noted dryly.

Tyveris shot the mage a black look. “It’s a new one. I just made it up.” His expression became somber. “So Caledan’s in trouble again. The sages aren’t kidding when they say old habits die hard. Come on, then.”

Moments later they came to an iron-barred cell at the end of the corridor. “Wake up, Kadian!” Tyveris called out in a booming voice.

A haggard voice spoke out of the darkness. “I am awake.”

Tyveris took a torch from a bracket and held it aloft. Flickering light spilled through the bars to illuminate the cell. A man sitting on a bed of clean straw rose stiffly to his feet. The thief Kadian was a large man—taller than Tyveris, though not so broad—but his pale hair and round face gave him a boyish look.

“Is it time for the hanging?” Kadian asked. There was no fear in his colorless eyes, only grim resignation.

“No,” Tyveris said huskily. “The next hanging will be in three days’ time, on the Feast of the Moon.”

Mari stepped forward. “We’ve come to ask you some questions, Kadian.”

At this, the thief let out a mirthless snort. “Questions? Now that’s a novelty. No one’s bothered to ask me any questions before.”

She cast a scathing look at Tyveris, who shrugged sheepishly. Well, better too late than not at all, Mari thought. “Tell me, Kadian, did you kill that nobleman?”

Kadian laughed ruefully. “That foppish sot? He wouldn’t have been worth the trouble it would take to stick a knife in and pull it back out.”

“Just answer the question,” Mari instructed caustically.

Kadian locked eyes with her. “No,” he said flatly. “I did not kill the petty lord. I wanted to steal his gold, and that was all. I was probably doing him a favor. No doubt he would have lost it all gambling at dice the next night, and those who can’t pay their gambling debts have a habit of taking long midnight swims at the bottom of the Chionthar. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to die.”

Mari kept her voice cool and emotionless. “If you didn’t kill the petty lord, then who did?”

While there had been no fear in the thief’s eyes at the talk of his own hanging, suddenly they were filled with a stark terror so strong Mari was taken aback. Kadian gripped the rusting iron bars; he was shaking visibly.

“What did you see, Kadian?” she asked intently. “Who killed the nobleman that night?”

He opened his mouth, but it took a long moment for the words to finally come out. “The shadows,” he choked. “It was the shadows …”

Mari exchanged a startled glance with Morhion, then leaned closer to the thief. “Tell me, Kadian …”

In halting words, the thief told what had happened that night. When he finished, the three friends gazed silently at each other. None of them doubted the truth of the thief’s story. The finest Cormyrean actor could not have feigned so genuine a terror.

“I don’t understand, Mari,” an obviously shaken Tyveris said softly. “Does this have something to do with the weird shadows in Corm Orp?”

Mari ran a hand nervously through her thick auburn hair. “I’m not sure, Tyveris. I’m afraid it does.” She added grimly, “I trust that you will let Kadian go—”

“Wait!”

It was Kadian. Mari regarded the thief in surprise. The fear had not left his gaze. “I haven’t told about the man,” he said hoarsely.

“The man?” Mari asked.

Kadian nodded. “I saw him as the guards were dragging me away. He was standing in a dark corner, but the torchlight fell on him for a moment.”

Morhion moved forward. “Describe this man,” he demanded.

“He was tall, I think, with dark hair. His face reminded me of a wolf’s, and he was wearing a cloak”—Kadian’s brow furrowed in concentration—“a dark blue cloak, the color of a midnight sky.”

Mari gazed at Morhion in shock. As ever, the mage’s expression was emotionless, but a strange light glittered in his cold eyes. He turned to her and asked, “Mari, have you anything with you that belonged to Caledan?”

The mage’s question caught her off guard. “Yes,” she answered after a moment. “I have this.” She showed him the braided copper bracelet she wore on her left wrist. Years ago, Kera had given it to Caledan, and later he had given it to Mari as a symbol of their love.

“May I borrow it?”

Mari nodded, hastily slipping off the bracelet and handing it to the mage. He set the bracelet on the stone floor, and within the circle of metal he placed a small bit of white fleece drawn from one of the myriad pouches at his belt. Standing, he held out his arms and chanted in a guttural tongue. The bracelet flared brightly, and the fleece vanished in a puff of smoke.

Mari gasped. Before her stood Caledan. Had the mage summoned him with his magic? After a moment, she realized it was not Caledan at all. The figure did not move in the slightest, and if she concentrated she found she could see right through his body. An illusion.

“It is he!” Kadian hissed, reaching through the bars to point at the phantasmal Caledan.

Mari stared at the thief in shock. “This is the man you saw in the darkened corner? Are you certain?”

Kadian nodded frantically. “I will never forget his face as long as I live. It’s him, all right. Except the eyes aren’t right. They were deeper, and ancient … so terribly ancient, I thought they would drive me mad.”

Morhion said nothing, but banished the illusion with a wave of his hand. He retrieved the bracelet and handed it to Mari. The metal felt nauseatingly warm as she slipped it on her wrist once more. “I think we have what we came here for,” she said huskily. “Tyveris, call the gaoler. Tell him to release Kadian.”

“No!” the thief cried desperately. “Ask him to wait until the dawn. I beg you. Let me stay here tonight, where it’s safe.” He shuddered, gripping the iron bars with white-knuckled hands. “Don’t you see? The shadows come out at night …”

Mari nodded in sad understanding. Kadian would never be a thief again. She led the way out of the dungeon, finding that she herself was not so eager to face the night.

Midnight found Mari and Morhion sitting by the fire in the Dreaming Dragon’s deserted common room, piecing together what they knew. Though the Zhentarim beneath the Barbed Hook had indeed been plotting to take over the city, they had not masterminded the brutal murders. The Zhents had simply been victims like all the others. And Mari was beginning to suspect that she knew who their killer was, though it was a conclusion so terrible she could not bring herself to consciously consider it.