Марк Энтони - Curse of the Shadowmage

“In ancient days,” the mage began, “a blazing star fell to Toril. The only one to see it fall was a wandering minstrel. Curious, he journeyed in the direction of the falling star and came upon a smoking crater. In the center of the steaming pit, the minstrel found a hot piece of metal shaped like a star. Thinking it beautiful, the minstrel quenched the piece of metal in a pool of water and fastened it to a silver chain, making it into a medallion. The minstrel donned the medallion, and from that day on his fortune changed. First he became a renowned musician, then a noble lord, and finally the ruler of his own land. The medallion was called the Shadowstar. The minstrel’s name was Verraketh—Verraketh Talembar.”

Mari and Estah exchanged startled looks, but they said nothing, not wishing to interrupt the mage’s narrative.

“In time,” Morhion went on, “the medallion granted Verraketh not only great fortune, but great magic as well. It infused him with awesome power—power over the substance of shadows. It was a magic that was passed on to his only son, Talek Talembar, who became a bard and a sorcerer in his own right. As the years went by and Verraketh aged not, he became known as the Shadowmage; his kingdom was called Ebenfar.

“The years turned into centuries, and the magic of the Shadowstar began to transform Verraketh until he was a man and a mage no longer, but a thing of pure and evil magic, which folk in fear named the Shadowking.” Morhion regarded his two listeners solemnly. “I think you both know the rest of the tale. Seeking dominion over all men, the Shadowking forged the Nightstone. But Talek Talembar defeated his father and sealed both Shadowking and Nightstone inside the crag upon which, an eon later, Iriaebor was raised.”

“So it was from his father that Talek Talembar inherited his shadow magic?” Mari asked.

“That is so,” Morhion replied. “There is something else I learned, though not directly from the Mal’eb’dala .” He turned to the halfling innkeeper. “Estah, what was the name of Caledan’s father?”

She scowled, obviously wondering at the purpose of this question. “It was Caledan Caldorien.”

“And the name of his father.”

“Why, Caledan Caldorien, of course,” Estah replied in consternation. “Morhion, you know as well as I that it’s a family name. It’s been passed down from father to son for centuries.”

“Yes,” the mage replied gravely. “Just like the shadow magic.”

Chill fingers danced up Mari’s spine. “Get to the point, Morhion.”

The mage pulled a sheaf of parchment from his belt and unrolled it on the table. He pointed to a series of runes. “This is the name Talek Talembar. It is written in Talfir, the language spoken in these lands a thousand years ago. Later, when folk came from the east, crossing the Sunset Mountains to settle the Western Heartlands, they brought their own language with them. Many of the old names, of both people and places, were still used, but the tongue of the easterners contained different sounds than the speech of the Talfirc. As a result, the old names were bastardized—their pronunciations changed—so they could be written in the new language.”

Morhion pointed to another line of writing on the parchment. The letters looked vaguely familiar, but Mari couldn’t quite read them.

“This is ‘Talek Talembar’ as it was written in the language of the easterners,” Morhion explained. “Only it wouldn’t have been pronounced the same as in Talfir. It would have sounded something more like ‘Calen Calendir.’ A few centuries ago, a new wave of immigrants came over the Sunset Mountains from the kingdoms of Cormyr and Sembia. These were our direct ancestors, Mari. They brought yet another language—the one we now speak—and the names of people and places in the Western Heartlands were changed once again, this time to conform to Cormyrean writing and pronunciation.” The mage pointed to the final line of writing on the parchment. “This is the Cormyrean version of the name ‘Calen Calendir.’ ”

Mari read the words, then looked at the mage. “Caledan Caldorien?” she whispered.

Morhion’s chill blue gaze locked on her own. “The very same.”

“But that means that Caledan is a direct descendant of Talek Talembar!” Estah exclaimed.

Mari spoke, half in a daze. “And a descendant of the Shadowking as well. Of course! It all makes sense now. That’s why Caledan’s shadow magic had the power to defeat the Shadowking. It came from the Shadowking himself!”

“It must be so,” Morhion replied grimly. “The same magic that flowed in the veins of Verraketh flows in Caledan’s.”

Mari grappled for understanding. “But if that’s true, why didn’t any of Caledan’s other ancestors become shadowkings?”

“I believe I know the answer to that,” Morhion explained. “Talek Talembar had many descendants, and all possessed the shadow magic, though many to only a slight degree. In them, the power of the shadow magic was diffused. None inherited enough of the magic to undergo the dark metamorphosis. Then Ravendas’s Lord Steward, Snake—who in truth served the Shadowking—summoned a shadevar, one of thirteen ancient beings of mayhem banished from the world by Azuth the High One. The shadevar’s orders were to hunt down and slay all in the Realms who possessed the shadow magic. This it did before we destroyed it.”

“Save for Caledan and Kellen,” Mari said in amazement.

“Yes. And in them, the shadow magic is concentrated as never before. I think that is why Caledan’s transformation seems to be progressing so quickly, while Verraketh’s took centuries.”

A terrible thought occurred to her. “Then will … will Kellen become a shadowking, too?”

Morhion shook his head. “I do not know. However, I suspect there can be but one Shadowking at a time. For now, let us concern ourselves with Caledan.” He rolled up the parchment and replaced it in his belt. “Oh, there is one more thing that I learned. The Shadowstar has the power to halt Caledan’s metamorphosis … or complete it.”

Mari pondered the implications. “You think Caledan is searching for the Shadowstar, don’t you?”

He nodded in affirmation. “Long ago, the Shadowstar was buried in the crypt of the Shadowking beneath Iriaebor, but at some point it was stolen by a tomb robber. I have discovered that it is presently in the possession of a mysterious personage known only as Stiletto.”

A thought struck Mari. “You couldn’t possibly have read that in the Mal’eb’dala , Morhion. Where did you learn about this Stiletto?”

For the first time in this grim conversation, Mari saw a troubled look cross Morhion’s impassive visage. “I dare not reveal my source,” the mage said coolly. “Suffice it to say that I know, and leave it at that.”

Mari did not press the point. Regardless of how Morhion had come by the knowledge, the important thing was that the Shadowstar had the power to save Caledan. The three agreed that they had to find the medallion before Caledan did.

“Do you have any idea who this Stiletto person is, Morhion?” Estah asked. “Or where we could find him?”

Morhion regained his composure. “I am afraid that knowledge has eluded even me.”

Mari tapped a cheek thoughtfully. “Stiletto … Too bad Ferret isn’t around to lend a hand.”

Ferret had once been a member of the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon. The weasely thief had helped the others escape the crypt of the Shadowking as it crumbled, while he himself was lost in the destruction. Despite his wily and greedy exterior, Mari had met few in her life as truly selfless as the thief Ferret. She wished he were here now, but it was a vain thought.