Марк Энтони: Crypt of the Shadowking

The evening air was sweet and clear, and the stars began to come out one by one in the slate-colored sky, winking above the tops of the towers like jewels. Torches lined the streets, filling the city with light, and despite the coming night the avenues of the Old City were alive with people bustling about their business.

As Mista walked on, Caledan drew out a baliset and began to play a soft melody. The baliset, fashioned of maple and ash, had been a gift from Mari. Caledan smiled. After seven years, he had forgotten what a simple pleasure making music could be. He was glad Mari had reminded him of that. It seemed the Harper had reminded him of a good many things he had forgotten in his wanderings.

Caledan and Mista made their way past the Temple of Selûne, and finally he brought the gray mare to a halt before a well-kept but stark tower.

“Do you mind waiting out here?” Caledan asked the mare as he dismounted.

She answered him by stepping on his foot.

“Tough,” Caledan replied, tickling her knee so that she would lift her hoof. Mista snorted in indignation, and Caledan slapped her flank affectionately. The mare laid her ears back and bared her teeth.

“I’ll be back soon,” Caledan said with a laugh. Mista let out an indifferent whinny, then leaned forward and nuzzled her soft, velvety nose against his cheek.

Caledan shook his head, bemused, then turned to lift the knocker on the tower’s door. The full moon was just rising over the city’s towers, filling the streets with its pure, silvery light.

The tower’s door opened, and Morhion stared out in apparent stupefaction.

“Well, can I come in?” Caledan asked. “Or are you simply going to stand there staring at me?”

The mage blinked his eyes. “I am sorry, Caledan … I mean, Caldorien.” There was a trembling note in his normally smooth voice. “Please, come in.”

Caledan followed Morhion up the tower’s steps into the mage’s study. He sat and accepted a glass of wine, from which he drank deeply. All the while Morhion regarded him with an expression of confusion mixed with amazement

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve come here,” Caledan said finally.

“I know why you’ve come,” Morhion replied gravely. “You’ve come for satisfaction, to gain vengeance against me. I cannot say that I blame you. I have betrayed you twice, Caldorien.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not vengeance I want,” Caledan said flatly. He set down his glass and stood before the mage.

“Then what is it you wish?” Morhion asked, his blue eyes troubled.

“To tell you that I understand,” Caledan said simply. He walked toward a narrow window, gazing out at the city for a moment. He heard the sound of music and laughter drifting through the night. He turned to regard the mage. “You saved me twice with your ‘betrayals.’ Once in Darkhold, and once in the Shadowking’s crypt. For that I thank you.”

Morhion gaped. For the first time Caledan could remember, his face did not seem cold and imperious, but rather tired and lonely. “I have never … I have never allowed myself to hope that you would ever understand.”

Caledan reached out and laid a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “Believe it.”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a faint smile crept across Morhion’s face.

Caledan bid the mage farewell and let himself out of the tower, stepping into the warm summer night. “Come on, Mista,” he said as he mounted the ghostly gray mare and nudged her into a trot. “Let’s go home.”

Morhion sat at his desk, sipping a glass of pale wine. The wooden surface before him was littered with scrolls and parchments filled with scribbled notes. He had been deep in study earlier, but now the parchments lay untouched. They could wait.

“To you, Caledan Caldorien,” Morhion whispered to the silence of his study, lifting his glass. “To you, my friend.” He drained the wine and smiled again.

Suddenly, despite the balmy air coming through the window, Morhion shivered. His smile faded as he set the glass down. A shadow appeared before him, and as he watched it gradually began to take shape, its outlines growing clearer.

Fine crystals of frost appeared on the empty wine glass, and Morhion’s breath began to fog in the chilly air. He watched the apparition before him with a familiar feeling of dread.

“It is time,” the dark spirit said in a voice that made Morhion’s blood run cold. “Do not forget the bargain we made beneath the fortress of Darkhold.” The apparition’s eyes glowed a deep, bloody red. “The pact is binding.”

A writer with a fast-growing reputation in the fantasy field, Mark Anthony made his TSR debut as coauthor of the best-selling Kindred Spirits in the DRAGONLANCE ®saga’s Meetings Sextet, and went on to write memorable short stories in each of last year’s best-selling Tales II anthologies. Crypt of the Shadowking is the first novel under his sole byline.