Марк Энтони: Curse of the Shadowmage

“You’re up early,” Caledan said cheerfully.

“No,” Mari countered crisply. “I’m up late.”

It took a moment for the implication of her words to register on his angular visage. His grin faded. “How about if I told you that I went out for a midnight constitutional and lost track of the time?”

Mari gazed at him steadily. “You can give it a try, but don’t get your hopes up. I’d really hate for you to be disappointed.”

Caledan winced. “I was afraid of that.” He shrugged off his ragged cloak. Beneath, he wore the old travel-stained black leathers he preferred for night work.

Mari stood, taking a half dozen paces toward the stairs before turning to regard him. “All right, Caledan. Where have you been all night? You can tell me now, or if you’d rather, we can scream at each other first. But either way, you are going to tell me.”

Caledan opted to cooperate directly. “I went to the Barbed Hook,” he said. “It’s a tavern down in the New City, on the waterfront.”

“I’ve heard of the place,” she said coolly, crossing her arms. “The clientele consists of brawling sailors, besotted dockhands, one-handed cutpurses, and a generous sprinkling of harlots. A little too high class for you, don’t you think?”

Caledan grimaced. “I’ll be generous and ignore that. Do you remember the spy we discovered in the High Tower?”

“A man dancing around trying to pull a dagger out of his back before he drops dead is a curiously memorable image.”

He pretended not to hear the sarcasm in her voice. “I did a little investigating and found out that our spy had been seen down at the Barbed Hook, so I decided to scout things out. Guess what? I noticed a few of our friend’s cohorts disappearing down a hidden passage into a back storeroom. One of them bore ritual scars on his cheekbones. There’s no question about it. They were definitely Zhentarim.”

Mari arched an eyebrow. She had a sinking feeling. “ Were Zhentarim?”

“You can stop worrying,” Caledan snapped in annoyance. “I didn’t harm a hair on their evil little heads. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to. Whatever you may think, I’m not so impulsive I’d follow three Zhentarim into their hideout without someone to back me up.” He shook his head in frustration. “But I still can’t understand this overwhelming desire of yours to sit and have a pleasant chat with every member of the Black Network we turn up. That’s exactly why I left—”

Caledan halted, swallowing his words. Mari finished for him. “That’s exactly why you left me behind last night. Is that what you were going to say?” He stared at her sulkily. Mari felt her wrath building. He had gone too far this time.

“How dare you?” Her voice was low and even, but there was scorching fire in it. “How dare you sneak behind my back, like some cowardly adulterous husband, just so you can indulge your childish impulses? In case you’ve forgotten, Caledan Caldorien, you are not the only Harper in Iriaebor.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “Well, maybe I should be. After all this time, you still don’t have the faintest idea how evil the Zhentarim are, do you, Mari? There’s only one thing worth doing with a member of the Black Network—and that involves a good sharp blade, not polite questions.” His voice rose dangerously. “And by the way, I am not your husband.”

“Believe me, I’m aware of that fact,” Mari replied caustically. All in a rush, harsh words she had been saving up for months poured out of her. “I just don’t understand, Caledan. You never would have behaved this rashly a year ago. I’m not sure exactly what is going on, but you … you’ve gotten careless—no, not careless, but reckless . You don’t give a damn about anything or anyone these days, least of all yourself.” She was shouting now. The noise would wake everyone up, but she didn’t care. “You’ve changed, and I’m not certain I even know who you are anymore, Caledan Caldorien!”

“Maybe you never did,” he snarled, clenching a fist in rage. “Maybe you don’t have the faintest idea, Mari Al’maren!”

It happened so fast that, afterward, Mari was never certain what really happened. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caledan’s shadow expand on the wall, growing to monstrous proportions. Like a black serpent, the shadow lashed out an arm, striking at her own shadow. A searing line of fire raced across her cheek. She screamed, reeling backward, falling to her knees. Dazed, she lifted a hand to her cheek. It came away wet with blood.

Suddenly, Caledan was there, kneeling beside her. “By the gods—Mari, are you all right?” His voice was desperate. “Mari, talk to me!” He gripped her shoulders with big hands.

She shrank away from him, casting a furtive glance at the wall. Now their shadows were mundane silhouettes, nothing more. Gradually, she let herself relax into his strong embrace. “I’m all right,” she gasped. “It’s a scratch, that’s all.”

“But how did …?”

Mari thought of the way his shadow had moved … or had it? She had been angry and distracted. Caledan could make the shadows dance on the wall—that was the nature of his shadow magic—but the shadows he controlled did not have physical substance or the ability to harm. Maybe in her rage she had imagined it. She could have scratched her cheek when she fell in her attempt to back away from him. She realized that her anger had receded, whatever the explanation for her injury. All she felt now was a great weariness.

“Forget it, Caledan.” She took a deep breath. “It’s nothing. Really.”

Mari pulled herself to her feet. She drew a handkerchief from her pocket and blotted her cheek; already the flow of blood had stopped. There were more pressing matters to concern her now. She took her wine-colored cloak from its hook and opened the door.

Quickly, Caledan stood. “Where are you going?” he asked in confusion.

“The Barbed Hook. It might have slipped your mind, but we still have a mission to complete.” She gave him a wan smile. “So are you coming or not, Harper?”

His wolfish visage was unreadable. At last he nodded. “Lead the way.”

The narrow crag upon which Iriaebor’s Old City was built soared a full three hundred feet above the surrounding plains. Leaving the precarious towers and mazelike streets of the Old City behind, Mari and Caledan made their way down a serpentine road to the sprawling New City below. It was nearing midmorning, and the New City’s broad avenues were crowded with throngs of cityfolk. Iriaebor was prosperous these days.

And that was precisely why the Zhentarim would love to dig their claws into the city once again. With Iriaebor’s gold draining into their own coffers, the Black Network could fuel their evil designs of domination in a dozen other lands. Mari still wasn’t certain how the strange murders might benefit a Zhent plot to overthrow the city, but she didn’t doubt that they could. The Zhentarim were as insidiously ingenious as they were wicked.

A thought struck her. Kellen had told them about the apparition he witnessed yesterday, and she wondered if this strange occurrence had something to do with the Zhentarim. Mari had no doubt that Kellen had in truth seen the ghost of Talek Talembar. She had witnessed Talembar’s shade once herself, far away in the Fields of the Dead, and Kellen’s description of the ghost coincided with her memories. Yet what did the appearance of the ghost portend? And what of his peculiar message? The old king hath fallen … and a new king doth rise to take his place . Perhaps it was a warning that the Zhentarim plotted against City Lord Bron. The appearance of the ghost had left them all shaken, except for Caledan. He had merely brushed the strange occurrence aside, as he did everything these days.