Марк Энтони - Curse of the Shadowmage

K’shar glanced once at the stars to fix his bearings. Then, like a stag taking flight, he plunged into the trees, running swiftly, tirelessly, and without sound. Something told him that this was going to be the hunt of a lifetime.

It was twilight on the day after their battle with the gibberlings when the companions reached the trading town of Hill’s Edge. They crested a rise and saw a small cluster of lights shining in the gloom below, next to a sinuous strip of onyx that Morhion said was the River Reaching.

“You might want to take off your Harper badge, Mari,” Cormik advised. “Hill’s Edge is near the west end of Yellow Snake Pass, which means it’s crawling with Zhentarim. The Black Network seems to think the pass is their own personal highway through the Sunset Mountains.”

Mari gave the patch-eyed man a sharp look. “Thanks, Cormik, but aren’t you forgetting something?” She gestured to the collar of her jacket, where in the past she had proudly worn the badge of the Harpers.

Cormik gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, my dear. I’m afraid I forgot.”

“Are we growing senile already?” Jewel inquired condescendingly.

He gritted his teeth. “No, we aren’t. But we are growing a trifle irritable.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jewel said with a bright laugh. “Personally, I’m having fun.”

They guided their mounts into town, searching for a place to stay the night. Cormik was right. They scouted out five inns, and each showed signs of Zhentarim occupation. While Mari no longer wore the moon-and-harp symbol, her face was known among the Zhentarim. The last thing they needed was to be delayed by an encounter with the Black Network. It looked as though they were going to have to spend the night outdoors.

“Oh, good,” Cormik grumbled. “I simply adore sleeping on the ground. I can’t tell you how much I love getting all those dry, prickly bits of moss stuck down my shirt.”

Everyone ignored him.

They rode out to the western edge of town, toward the bridge over the River Reaching. On the way, they passed one last inn—the Five Rings, according to the brightly painted sign. They almost rode by without examining the place, then stopped, more out of a sense of duty than any hope that this establishment would prove different than the others.

Mari suddenly gave an abrupt laugh. “This place will do just fine,” she told the others.

“Let me guess,” Cormik said dryly. “Either you know something we don’t, or you’ve suddenly been blessed by magical powers of prescience.”

“Er, the first one,” Mari replied glibly. She pointed to the upper left corner of the inn’s front door, where a small symbol had been scratched into the green paint. “It’s a Harper sigil,” she explained. “It means ‘friend.’ Harpers have stayed at this inn recently, which means …”

“No Zhentarim,” Morhion concluded for her.

“No mossy ground!” Cormik countered firmly.

“No more whining,” Jewel sighed thankfully.

The proprietor of the Five Rings was a red-faced man by the name of Faladar, and it was clear from the outset that he was no friend to the Zhentarim. He greeted the companions in the common room, though ‘confronted’ might have been a better word. “I hope you’ll forgive the impertinence,” he said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. “These days I like to ask my guests where they’ve journeyed from.”

“We came from Iriaebor to the south,” Morhion replied smoothly. “We’re traveling the Dusk Road.”

Faladar fixed Morhion with a piercing look. “You didn’t come over Yellow Snake Pass, then?”

“No,” Mari said, “we aren’t from … the east.” The significance of her words was not lost on Faladar. She could as easily have said, “We aren’t from Zhentil Keep.”

At this he grinned, apparently satisfied. “Come in, then, come in,” he said merrily. “You look like honest folk—er, except for that one.” He shot a questioning look at Cormik. “Are you certain he’s in your group?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mari said with an air of resignation.

Cormik gave her a wounded look.

The Five Rings was bustling, but Faladar saw to their needs quickly and with good humor. Soon their horses were stabled, their gear was stowed in a large suite on the second floor, and their bellies were filled with a repast of meat pie and barley beer.

After supper, Jewel and Cormik decided to delve into the underworld of Hill’s Edge in hopes of learning something about Stiletto. The two could have covered more territory if they had split up. However, neither trusted the other to reveal all he or she might learn, and so they went off together. Mari talked with Faladar after Kellen and Morhion headed upstairs.

In their chamber, Kellen watched thoughtfully while Morhion studied his leather-bound spellbook. As Morhion had explained, once a mage used a spell, the memory of it was wiped clean from his or her mind and had to be learned anew. Endless study was one of the many prices of magic. Kellen wondered when he would be allowed to learn spells, but he knew better than to ask. When the time was right, Morhion would let him know.

The door opened and Mari came in. Morhion looked up from his book, and for a moment a smile flickered across his usually impassive face.

“Faladar remembers Caledan,” Mari said, her brown eyes glowing. She sat down and recounted her conversation with the innkeeper. Faladar had been sweeping the front step of his inn when a striking man with dark hair and a blue cloak passed by on a white mare, heading for the bridge across the River Reaching.

Morhion closed his spellbook. “So Caledan is still following the road. How long ago did Faladar see him?”

“Four days ago. We’ve gained a day on him.”

Morhion nodded thoughtfully. “The Shadowstar draws him onward, but he is not certain where he’s being led. I imagine he must pause often, trying to determine in which direction the call is strongest. If we ride hard, we may catch up to him in a few more days.”

“I hope you’re right,” Mari said earnestly. “We can’t let him get to the Shadowstar before us.”

Kellen was just climbing into bed when Jewel and Cormik returned after paying a visit to the local thieves’ guild. The complicated etiquette of the underworld required that local thieves welcome their traveling brethren for a single night. After that, wandering thieves were fair game. Unfortunately, the two had not learned anything specific about Stiletto.

“However, I think we may be getting warm,” Jewel said, her dusky violet eyes sparkling. “Cormik and I got the impression that the thieves in Hill’s Edge started feeling Stiletto’s bite several months before we did in Iriaebor. That may mean they’re closer to his base of operations.”

“That’s something,” Mari said, then explained what she had learned from Faladar. Feeling optimistic, they went to bed. Tomorrow was going to be another long day.

Kellen woke in the middle of the night, with the same strange feeling as he had on the day when he saw the ghost of Talek Talembar. Something was going to happen. Something important. He sat up in bed. Cool moonlight spilled through the chamber’s round glass window. The mark of magic on his left hand throbbed fiercely.

Kellen rose quietly from his bed. The others were sound asleep. He could move very quietly when he wished, and Cormik’s steady snoring helped mask any noise. He slipped out the chamber door and moved down the corridor. As he went, he hummed a soft melody under his breath. The shadows to either side of him swirled, gathering around his slight form in a soft cloak of darkness. He smiled in satisfaction. To passing glances, he would be all but invisible.