In a mental voice only Riven could hear, Cale projected, Dreams?
Riven looked up sharply, furrowed his brow, and shook his head.
No. I haven't dreamed since we came back from the Plane of Shadow.
Cale considered that as the boat scraped against a rock and began to pick up still more speed. Magadon continued to sing the song of summoning, even as his mental voice cursed the rocks and current.
Perhaps he's through with you? Cale said to Riven, but doubted it.
Riven knew whom Cale meant by "he." The assassin's eye narrowed and fixed on Cale.
I don't want him to be through with me, First of Five.
Cale heard the venom in Riven's mental voice and understood the feelings well. He had seen them in Riven before. When both Cale and Riven had served the Righteous Man in the Night Knives, Riven had been second to Cale. And in serving Mask, Riven was second again. Cale knew that a man in that position might do anything, might give anything. He recalled the assassin's prayers of the night before and wondered what Riven had asked of Mask, and what the Shadowlord had given and taken. For reasons he could not explain, Cale felt pity for Riven. The assassin was as caught up in the schemes of the Shadowlord as Cale, but he had no one to keep him grounded. Riven didn't have someone like Jak. Cale decided that he would try to give the assassin some ballast.
Listen to me, Riven, Cale said, in as brotherly a tone as he could muster. You give yourself over fully to Mask and you'll be stepping off a cliff bigger than anything we'll be seeing today. Keep yourself.
Riven answered with only a frown and a turned head.
Cale stared at him for a moment then shook his head. He had done what he could.
Magadon ceased his singing and Cale noticed for the first time that another voice had taken up the tune, a wondrous voice, an otherworldly, sing-song tenor. Cale scanned the churning river ahead and behind but could not see a source; it appeared to come from the rush of the waves itself. The words and the voice sent a charge of energy through Cale and he had to force himself to not stand in the boat. Where Magadon's version of the song had called to mind a majestic forest under the stars, the same words, sung in a different voice, had come to evoke an image of roaring waves, leaping fish, and the thrill of the hunt.
Remain still and non-threatening, Magadon projected to them, then he called aloud, "We hear your song, guardian, and beseech you to show yourself."
"White water," Jak shouted over the singing from his bench in the rear, pointing past Cale to the river ahead. Magadon cringed at the halfling's shout and the guardian's song faltered.
No shouting, the guide admonished.
Cale turned to see rapids around the next bend in the river. Rocks poked through the river's surface, causing swirls, little whirlpools, and foam. The water roared around them, roiling and splashing. A host of small cascades awaited them ahead, culminating in the distance in the torrent that spilled over the Dragon's Jaws. Cale dug his fingertips into the gunwales and tried to keep from spilling over the side as the boat began to lurch.
"We humbly request your presence, Guardian," Magadon said.
"I've been here all along, woodsman," said a voice from beside the boat, "at least for those with eyes to see. And please do not shout on my river, half-a-man."
Cale looked to the side of the boat and his breath caught. Rising halfway out of the roiling water to swim beside the boat was the guardian fey. Though roughly humanoid in stature-at least from the waist up-it looked to be composed of the river water itself. In its shimmering, liquid shape, Cale could make out the watery outline of long, unkept hair, laughing eyes, and a smiling mouth. Though Cale could see no means of propulsion-the creature appeared to have nobody below its manifested torso-the fey darted around the boat, gliding through the water with the ease and rapidity of a hummingbird in the air. The creature looked each of them over; an appraising glance. It lingered longest near the bow, eyeing Cale.
What's happening? Cale asked Magadon.
Do nothing; replied the woodsman, and grunted as he managed the boat through the increasingly powerful current. It is observing.
At last, the fey again took up station beside Magadon.
"You keep unusual company, woodsman," the fey said. "And sing out of tune. And confuse many of the lyrics. And befoul the Sylvan tongue. I am deeply offended."
The fey crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, still somehow keeping pace with the boat as it careened along in the current.
Keeping one eye on the rapids and one eye on the river fey, Magadon said, "I am but a simple guide, as you suggest. Forgive my mistreatment of your tongue."
He pulled the oars hard back as the boat tumbled down a small cascade. Cale's stomach raced up his throat.
"We've come to petition you for access to the Crossroads," Magadon said, struggling to keep his tone even. "We wish to journey to Skullport."
The fey's gaze darkened. It looked at Cale doubtfully.
"You seek the Sargauth then," it said. "Dark waters, those."
More rocks, Mags, Cale projected. Big ones.
Ahead, the river accelerated. The water boiled around huge, jagged rocks.
I see them, the guide projected back. Hold on tight.
The fey watched with amusement as Magadon tried to steer the boat away from the rocks.
"Beware now," the fey said and giggled, the sound like rain tinkling on metal.
The creature's body slammed into a rock, exploding into a shower of drops and mist, then instantly reformed on the other side, still grinning.
After passing the rocks, the full force of rapids seized them. Cale felt as if a hand had taken hold of the keel of the boat and thrown it forward. Foam churned, water roiled, and the boat thumped again and again against more rocks hidden just below the surface. Cale's teeth rattled in his head and his cloak was sodden. Throughout, the fey somehow swam along beside them, just out of arm's reach, smiling benignly.
"The Sargauth," Magadon said, breathing hard and trying to keep the boat from breaking into pieces. "Yes. Will you grant us passage?"
The boat slammed so hard into a rock that Cale thought for certain they had staved a side. The craft spun off the stone and rotated ninety degrees. Magadon righted them with effort. A dip, another. Water swamped the bow. Cale was soaked. The boat hit another rock, tumbled down another cascade. From the rear, Jak shouted, bounced high in the air, and would have gone overboard but for Riven's reflexes. The assassin grabbed the halfling by the cloak and yanked him back into the boat.
"Hang on godsdamnit, Fleet!" the assassin said.
Over the roar of the river, the fey frowned, waggled a translucent finger at the assassin, and said, "No. I think I shall not grant you passage. You and your friends wield words as though they were weapons. I remain offended."
Ahead, Cale could hear the roar of the falls. It was growing louder. The river bed was dropping by steps; cascade after cascade. The maple trees and canyon walls around them were blurs. The boat bobbed through the water like a child's toy. Cale knew that the mad rush down the waterway ended in a fall that none of them could survive.
Be quick, Magadon, Cale projected to the guide.
He held on as the bow crashed down another cascade and nearly unseated him. They had a thirty count, no longer.
"Guardian," Magadon shouted, and Cale felt the guide's desperation travel along the telepathic channels. "Please, what can we do to gain passage?"
Ahead a spearcast, Cale saw the Dragon's Jaws. It looked just as it had in Magadon's mental image: the river's current had carved a great U-shaped channel through the cliff face. Foaming water roared through the channel and vanished from sight, falling into the thick mist formed from the water slamming into the Dragonmere far below. Jagged boulders jutted from the waters before the Jaws.