Марк Энтони - Curse of the Shadowmage

“I don’t understand, Caledan,” Mari said softly. “It seemed that the song Kellen played helped free you from the shadowking. But I know that song, ‘The Winter King.’ Half the apprentice bards in the Heartlands can play that tune. There’s nothing magical about it.”

Caledan shook his head. “No, there isn’t.” His eyes grew distant. “You see, as I journeyed toward the Shadowstar, and then on to Ebenfar, my memories became dimmer and dimmer. As the shadowking grew within me, little by little it obscured who I was, like weeds choking a garden. I began to forget myself—my friends, my history, even my …” He swallowed hard. “… even the people I loved most.”

Mari clapped a hand to her mouth but made no comment.

“That’s why I decided to leave something of myself behind, for you to find,” Caledan went on. “Something that, if I did forget myself entirely, might be able to remind me of who and what I was. ‘The Winter King’ was the first song I ever learned to play on my pipes as a child. I figured that, if it couldn’t help me remember myself, then nothing would. The problem was, I couldn’t let the part of me that was the shadowking know what I intended. I had to find a way to leave behind my message without letting the other discover what I was doing. And I did. I wasn’t certain anyone would understand what I was doing”—he smiled at Kellen—“but someone did after all.”

“Of course!” Mari said. “The signs you left behind!”

Kellen nodded solemnly. “The signs were clues to a song. I didn’t understand, though—not until I saw the last sign, the dark pipes.” Kellen ran a thumb over the instrument. “The pipes made me think that my father wanted me to play something, but I didn’t know what. Then I thought about all the other signs, and suddenly it was so clear. If I took the first letter of each of the signs—face, eyes, fist, and all the others—they were the notes of a song. I didn’t know what would happen when I played it, but I knew I had to try.”

Caledan gazed thoughtfully at the boy. “I am glad you did, Kellen. I was lost in a dark place. I thought I would be lost forever. But when I heard the music, it was like a light drawing me back. And I did remember. The first thing I remembered was you.”

Kellen ran to his father. Caledan encircled his son tightly in his arms.

“Don’t ever leave me again, Father,” Kellen said sternly.

“I won’t,” Caledan said fiercely. “I promise.”

Morhion did not wish to interrupt the reunion between father and son. However … “It is growing dark,” the mage said, “and this vale is filled with dire magic. We should be moving—if you are well enough, Caledan.”

The bard nodded and let Mari help him slowly to his feet. “I think I can manage to—”

His words were cut off by a howling gust of wind. A hazy form stepped out of thin air, crimson eyes blazing. Cold dread filled Morhion. In all the strange events, he had forgotten about …

“Serafi,” he whispered. I will not show fear! he vowed inwardly, though he could not keep his body from trembling as the spectral knight drifted closer.

“Your quest is over, mage,” the ancient spirit hissed. “Our pact is fulfilled. Now it is time for you to pay me my due.”

Morhion stared hatefully at the malevolent apparition. “So be it,” he spat.

“No!” Mari screamed, interposing herself between spirit and mage. “No, Morhion! You can’t!”

Serafi’s laughter echoed all around. “I am afraid the mage has no choice in the matter. For the second time I have helped him save his precious friend. Now his body is mine!” He raised his gauntleted hands. A sudden burst of frigid air knocked Mari roughly aside. Ferret hurled a dagger at the knight, but the blade passed harmlessly through his smoky form.

“What is going on?” Caledan cried.

“I made a bargain with this spirit for his help in finding the Shadowstar,” Morhion said simply. “The price was my mortal body.” The mage was beyond terror now, beyond pain. He wished only for the end to be swift. Wistfully he gazed at his friends, lastly at Mari. “I shall miss you all.”

“At last!” Serafi cried exultantly. “To know fleshly sensations again …”

The spectral knight encircled the mage in vaporous arms. Morhion screamed as cold fire stabbed his chest. He arched his back in agony, his feet leaving the ground as he floated in the ghost’s ethereal embrace. “Now you will die, Morhion,” Serafi hissed, “and I will live again, as I—”

“Not so fast,” Caledan growled, taking a faltering step forward.

“What is this?” Serafi’s sepulchral voice dripped venom. “A feeble, half-mad invalid would challenge me? Faugh! I have nothing to fear from you, Caldorien. Even I can see that you are without power now. Your shadow magic is gone.”

“Really?” Caledan said dangerously. “You’re awfully confident of that.”

The hot flames of Serafi’s eyes flickered. “A pact is a pact,” the dark spirit shrieked. “The mage is mine!”

“You’re wrong,” Caledan countered. He seemed ill no longer. An aura of dark majesty surrounded him. This man had been, however briefly, the King of Shadows. “Morhion belongs to all of us, and bargain or no bargain, I’m not going to let you take him.”

Before the spectral knight could react, Caledan whistled three sharp notes of music. A rift appeared in the air above him, like a dark wound in the fabric of the world.

“You wish to experience a new plane of existence, Serafi?” Caledan thundered. “Then how about the deepest pits of the Abyss?”

As the others watched in awe, Caledan thrust his arms above his head. Tatters of shadow streamed out of the rift to coil around the spectral knight. Serafi howled in fury. Above, engulfed by strands of shadow, Serafi began to spin, turning faster and faster, until his form was a dark blur.

“No!” the spectral knight’s voice screeched pitifully. “This cannot be!” Like foul water spinning down a drain, the cyclone emptied into the rift. Serafi’s voice became a terrified wail. “But he made a pact—” His words were cut short as the rift closed with a clap of thunder.

Caledan collapsed to the ground. Morhion dashed to him and picked Caledan up, shocked at how light his friend was, as if he were merely the husk of a man.

Caledan coughed weakly, leaning against the mage. “Well, the spirit was right about one thing,” he croaked. “I think that was the last of my shadow magic. It’s gone now. I know it.” Mari and Ferret approached quietly. “Something tells me I owe you a great deal, friend,” Caledan continued to Morhion. “Perhaps more than I can know. But I hope now you can consider that debt repaid.”

“I have never sought repayment, my friend,” Morhion said intently. “But I do thank you.”

Ferret looked around. “Hey, where did that kid go?”

“I’m here!” Kellen cried, bounding off the last few steps of the staircase that wound up the outside of the pinnacle. “I had to get something we left up by the throne.”

“What is it?” Mari asked, kneeling beside the boy.

“This.” Kellen held out his hand. In it was a star-shaped piece of metal attached to a silvery chain. The Shadowstar. It had cooled and solidified once more.

Mari took in a sharp breath. “I thought it was destroyed!”

“Don’t worry, Mari,” Kellen said solemnly. “I’ll keep it safe.”

Carefully, the boy slipped the medallion around his neck. The Shadowstar gleamed dully against his tunic, looking like an ordinary piece of jewelry. Mari cast a frightened glance at Morhion. Almost imperceptibly, the mage shook his head. If there was anywhere on the face of Toril that the Shadowstar was truly safe, it was with this strange and powerful child. Smiling, Kellen reached up and gripped Caledan’s hand.