Jak heard Riven spit, and heard the tell-tale whistle of the assassin's sabers whirling through the air.
"Something else wants the first bite, eh?" Riven chuckled darkly then added, "Whatever it is, it damned well better be hungry."
CHAPTER 7
EPIPHANY OF THE SELF
They sped through the overgrown cemetery toward an unknown danger, trailed by a cloud of wraiths.
Another wraith emerged from each crypt they passed, as if their very presence summoned the creature from its tomb. Cale continued to hold forth Weaveshear. He managed to channel waves of the Shadowlord's power to keep the wraiths at bay even though he had pulled the mask from his face. Cale couldn't breathe easily with it on. Sweat soaked his tunic. He was exhausted. Beside Cale, Jak held his holy symbol before him. The halfling frequently stumbled, and Cale could see that he was wilting.
"I'm getting thin, Cale," Jak said, in a voice gone hoarse.
"Hold on, little man," Cale said. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Get us to the gate, Magadon! Hurry!"
Despite the rush of "memories" flooding Cale's consciousness, he no idea what to expect at the gate.
The guide nodded and picked up the pace. Cale and Jak struggled to keep up while backstepping. Together, they set up an invisible wall of resistance that prevented the wraiths from closing. But they could not hold it forever. Though the wraiths had not yet made a determined push, with each step they increased the pressure. More and more the creatures tested the limits of Cale and Jak's collective strength.
The shadow fog grew so tangibly thick around them that Cale felt like he was moving through water; or perhaps he was just exhausted. The wan glow of Jak's bluelight and the blazing eyes of the wraiths provided the only light.
"Here!" Magadon shouted.
"Dark!" Riven oathed.
Cale and Jak turned to see a wide declivity before them, swathed in a churning cloud of darkness. In the center of that cloud hulked a horror, the originator of the fog, the master of the wraiths. From the misshapen spheres of its huge body and head sprouted masses of black, rubbery tentacles, each as thick around as Jak's waist, and fifteen paces long. The tentacles reminded Cale of the tendrils that had transformed him into a shade back in the Fane.
A cluster of eight spiderlike eyes, as black and unforgiving as flecks of obsidian, looked out from over the creature's clacking, insectoid mandibles. The monster was spinning a pinwheel of shadow strands from its body into the fog the way a black widow spun her webs. Somehow Cale knew that the creature was a darkweaver-the gatekeeper left behind by Kesson Rel. The wraiths-the dead of Elgrin Fau-were its thralls, and the shadowstuff was its tools.
The darkweaver sprawled atop a wide, oval platform of black-veined marble that sat in the center of the declivity.
Once a place for solemn ceremony, the platform had come to serve as the darkweaver's roost. Immediately behind the creature, two rune-encrusted obelisks rose from the platform, each as tall as a hill giant and as big around as the trunk of a mature elm. A curtain of translucent golden energy hung between the magical posts, sparking and sizzling like lightning. Occasionally, the energy coalesced into a bright gold wall and shot a flash of light into the dark sky-the source of the light they had seen from the city's outskirts.
This was the gate of Kesson Rel, Cale knew. The shadow sorcerer's final jest; the Chosen of Mask's final betrayal. Cale had no idea where it led-perhaps back to the world of Elgrin Fau, but perhaps not. Still, he knew it was a way out, and that was enough.
Cale needed to get out. Desperately. The longer he stayed on the Plane of Shadow, the more of its darkness sank into his skin and polluted his soul, further transforming him, filling his mind with memories that could not possibly be his own. He felt as if something was pushing around the edges of his mind, probing for weakness, trying to worm its way into his consciousness and overwhelm his identity. He held it back only by the dam of his will. And he couldn't hold it back forever, anymore than he could hold back the wraiths forever.
A cloud of shadows roiled around the darkweaver. It appeared as though the creature were swimming in waters of pitch. Its alien eyes fixed on them and its front tentacles squirmed in agitation, reminding Cale of a nest of giant snakes. It keened through its mandibles, the sound alien and menacing.
The wraiths responded as if that keen was a war horn summoning them to battle. As one they uttered a moan and threw themselves against the divine force channeled by Cale and Jak.
The two friends held for only an instant before their wall of resistance shattered with an audible crackle of energy. They staggered, pushed backward by the power backlash, while the dead of Elgrin Fau swarmed forward like a cloud of bats, red eyes seething.
Behind them, the darkweaver's mandibles began to churn. Its tentacles squirmed obscenely, but it didn't leave its position directly in front of the gate. It was Kesson Rel's guardian and it would not leave its charge.
"We make a stand here, then," said Riven above the rain, eerily calm. His sabers whirled as he watched the approaching wraiths. "Back to back. Nothing gets close and lives."
Magadon took a knee and set his bow to singing. Cale marveled at his rapidity. Arrow after arrow flew into the cloud of wraiths as they streaked forward. The head of each missile glowed white, charged by the power of Magadon's mind. Some flew harmlessly through the wraiths' insubstantial bodies, but others struck home, eliciting agonized moans from the undead. Jak, his face wan from the psychic war with the undead, drew his short sword and dagger and took a step nearer to Cale.
Cale spared a glance behind, at the gate behind the darkweaver. He knew that golden glow was their only hope. He hesitated, made up his mind, then grabbed Magadon and Riven by the cloaks.
"Not here!" he said. "We make for the gate. Mags, keep firing."
Cale knew that if they could cut their way through the darkweaver quickly, they might escape the wraiths and gain the gate. They needed only to hold the wraiths at bay for a bit longer.
Heedless of the poor footing afforded by the wet grass, the four pelted down the declivity, directly at the wriggling tentacles and black eyes of the darkweaver. Magadon came last, covering their retreat by firing into the swarm of wraiths.
Despite the dire situation, Cale felt a momentary flash of hope.
As they closed, two of the darkweaver's front tentacles rose before it and began to wave hypnotically.
In his head, Cale heard a soft, reasonable, but strangely-accented voice say, Stop for moment, and place weapons at your feet. This be only a misunderstanding. You be not harmed if you stop now. Gate be by you used.
Despite the poor syntax, Cale felt the magic in that command pull at his will. Weaveshear vibrated slightly in his hand, and Cale resisted the compulsion.
Jak didn't.
"A misunderstanding," the halfling said thoughtfully, slowing. "That makes sense."
He reduced his run to a jog and sheathed his blades. Nodding agreement, Magadon too lowered his weapon and slowed his pace. The wraiths moaned in anticipation, still speeding forward.
Cale and Riven slowed their own pace, nearly slipping on the rain-soaked grass. Jak and Magadon stopped all together, looking around with bemused expressions. Cale and Riven tried to pull them along, but they resisted.
"Move," Cale ordered the halfling.
"He'll let us use the gate," Jak said. "Ease down, Cale."
"Nine Hells!" Riven oathed. The assassin and Cale looked at the darkweaver to see its tentacles scrabbling up the declivity toward them. The squirming motion of those limbs made Cale want to vomit.
Riven looked past Magadon to the advancing cloud of wraiths. He took fistfuls of Magadon's cloak and shook him.