Марк Энтони - Curse of the Shadowmage

Like a stag taking flight, he sprang over the wall and stretched his long legs to run lightly down the hill. His nostrils flared in anticipation. Instinct told him the chase was almost over.

And above all else, K’shar trusted his instincts.

It was midday when they brought their horses to a halt before the onyx bridge.

“ ‘Beyond lies the Domain of Ebenfar,’ ” Morhion read, translating the dim runes carved into a timeworn standing stone.

Mari nudged Farenth toward the edge of the yawning defile. She peered down, blinking dizzily. The vast depths tugged at her, as if trying to suck her down to the jagged rocks far below. Hastily, she backed Farenth away from the precipice. The slender bridge that arched over the chasm was made of black stone. Mari did not need Morhion to tell her that it had been forged with magic. On the far side of the bridge stood two colossi—gigantic statues hewn of basalt—forming a sinister gateway with outstretched arms. The towering statues were cracked and pitted, but Mari recognized their eyeless faces and spiny crests. They were shadevari. She shivered, gathering her forest green cloak tightly around her shoulders. There could be no doubt now that the ancient beings were inextricably linked with the Shadowking.

“Do you think Caledan has been here?” she asked, her voice breaking the brooding silence.

“There are no traces of his passing,” Morhion answered, “but that means nothing. He has left no sign for a long time—not since the last one in Soubar.”

“My father has been here,” Kellen said, his voice filled with quiet certainty. “Not long ago.”

Mari opened her mouth to question Kellen’s statement, then bit her tongue. After their battle with the shadowdragon at the ruined tower, she knew there was much about Kellen she could not possibly understand. “Then we had better get moving.”

“I’ll go scout out the bridge and make certain that it’s safe,” Ferret said. He dismounted, heading for the stone arch. A few minutes later he returned, looking vaguely queasy.

“What’s wrong?” Mari asked. “Will the bridge hold us?”

“It shouldn’t even be able to hold itself!” Ferret said with a shudder. “By all rights, that spindly excuse for an engineering project should have collapsed into the gorge centuries ago. Some sort of magic is holding it up.”

“It will bear us, then,” Morhion said in satisfaction.

“I suppose so,” Ferret replied grudgingly. “Unless the enchantment that glues it together conveniently decides to come unstuck just as we’re crossing.” He shot the mage an uneasy look. “Magic doesn’t spoil after a few centuries, does it?”

“It can,” Morhion said nonchalantly.

“Thanks for the reassurance,” Ferret grumbled.

Astride Tenebrous, Morhion volunteered to be the first to cross the ancient bridge. Mari came next, followed by Kellen, while Ferret brought up the rear—muttering something about “demented, suicidal wizards.” As she guided Farenth onto the narrow span, Mari noticed a single transparent crystal set among the bridge’s black stones. She asked Morhion what it was.

“I think it is a keystone.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is the magic of such keystones that keeps the arch from collapsing.”

Cautiously, they continued across the bridge. The horses snorted nervously, their hooves skidding on the smooth onyx stone. One slip would send horse and rider plummeting into the chasm. As they passed the center of the span, Mari noticed a second crystal embedded in the bridge—another one of the magical keystones.

Suddenly, a blast of cold air snatched at Mari’s cloak, and Morhion looked up, his long golden hair flying wildly back from his brow. The horses clattered to a halt. In front of the mage, a dark form coalesced out of thin air. Serafi. Mari’s heart froze as she thought of the most recent pact Morhion had forged with the spectral knight.

The mage’s voice was a mixture of loathing and revulsion. “What do you want, Serafi?”

The dusky knight bowed mockingly in midair. “Why, as always, I wish to help, Morhion. You are being followed. Your pursuer is a half-elf, a skilled tracker. I know not who he is, but he comes to kill you—which, of course, I cannot allow.”

“K’shar.” Mari whispered the name of the Harper Hunter. “How far behind us is he?”

“A few minutes at most,” the ghostly knight said coolly. “You must prepare yourselves to encounter him.”

Morhion clenched a fist in anger. “If you’re feeling so benevolent, Serafi, why don’t you dispatch him for us?”

The spirit’s burning eyes flashed. “Would that I could exert my will so directly upon the world of the living,” he hissed. “But my incorporeal form allows it not. You must deal with the Hunter yourselves.” With that, the spectral knight blurred into a swirl of dark mist, vanishing on the keening wind.

“Well, he’s a big help,” Ferret noted acidly.

“Let’s get moving,” Mari said with urgency. “We have only a few minutes to find a place to confront K’shar.”

“At least we have the advantage of surprise,” Ferret said hopefully.

“It may be our only advantage,” Mari replied grimly. “K’shar has been known to single-handedly lay waste to legions of Zhentarim and Red Wizards.”

As quickly as they dared, they guided their mounts across the remaining span of the bridge. As they stepped off onto solid ground, Mari noticed a third crystal embedded in the surface of the bridge. An idea struck her.

“All right, I have a plan,” she told the others. “It may not be a good one, but I don’t think we have a lot of options.”

Scant minutes later, the four were hiding behind the gigantic foot of one of the stone colossi. Mari peered cautiously over the statue’s clawed toe. Very soon, on the opposite side of the bridge, a tall figure appeared out of the mist. The Hunter was a striking man, his form-fitting black leathers a suitable match for his deep-bronze skin and golden eyes, and a vivid contrast to his close-cropped white hair. Swiftly K’shar started across the span, moving with little thought for his own safety. When he reached the center of the onyx bridge, Mari leapt from behind the statue. She stood at the end of the bridge and raised her short sword high. The blade glowed with brilliant purple magic.

“Greetings, Hunter!” she shouted, her voice ringing out clearly in the cold air.

K’shar halted at the center of the bridge, instantly crouching into a wary stance, a cat ready to pounce. A faint smile touched his lips.

“Greetings, Al’maren,” he said in a formal tone, transforming his crouch into a fluid bow. He straightened with a curious expression. “I must thank you, Renegade.”

Mari was taken aback by this. “Thank me, Hunter? For what?”

“For providing me with a most excellent chase,” the half-elf replied smoothly. “Never before have I had such a worthy opponent. You have given my life new meaning, Al’maren, and for that I will always be in your debt.”

Mari laughed harshly. “I don’t suppose that means you’ve decided not to kill me.”

“I think you know the answer to that, Renegade.” K’shar’s smile became a feral grin. “What is the chase without the kill?”

“A pleasant walk in the countryside?” Mari offered with mock ingenuousness.

K’shar shook his head. “It is nothing. I know you understand this, Al’maren. You have your duty, even as I have mine.” The half-elf tensed, ready to spring across the bridge.

“I wouldn’t make a move if I were you,” Mari said. “You see this crystal?” Mari gestured with the blade to the nearest of the three clear stones embedded in the bridge. “It’s a magical keystone. Without it, the bridge will collapse. My friend is a mage, and he has cast an interesting enchantment on my sword—an enchantment of magical dispelling. Mages can be so terribly handy, can’t they? If I strike the keystone with this blade, the crystal will shatter. And I think you’re intelligent enough to guess what would happen next, Hunter.”