Tamlin sat alone in his study, dressed in a heavy overcloak. A single candle provided light. Cool night air shook the flame. Despite the cold, Tamlin preferred the window to be open. He felt less confined. Selune's silver crescent shone in through the open window.
He closed the book he had been reading and watched the play of shadows about the room. He wondered what it would be like to know the shadows so intimately that they responded to his will, to step through the invisible space that connected them, to live for millennia.
He had read all he could of shades, shadow magic, even a bit about ancient Netheril, though there was little to be found on the subject in Selgaunt. But books could teach him only so much. He wanted to know more.
A knock at his door drew his attention.
"It is Thriistin, my lord," said his chamberlain from the hallway.
"Enter."
The door opened and Thriistin stood in the corridor. The old fellow looked stricken. Dark circles painted the skin under his eyes and his mouth hung partially open. His alarm spread into the room and Tamlin rose from his chair, his blood pounding.
"What is it?" Tamlin asked.
"Word has come from our western scouts. Saerloon has marshaled. An army of thousands is preparing to march."
The words hung in the air, fat with dire portents. Tamlin sat down, remembered to breathe. To his surprise he did not feel frightened, merely numb.
"So many?" Tamlin asked.
Thriistin nodded.
Tamlin said, "Have the scouts sent to me. I will need further details. And notify Lord Rivalen immediately."
"Yes, Hulorn," Thriistin said, and hurried from the room.
The import of the words started to settle on Tamlin. His pulse sounded in his ears. A sudden headache put a knife through his temples. Mirabeta had not waited for the spring. War would come to Selgaunt not in months but in days.
Tamlin did not feel ready for it.
Rivalen walked the night-shrouded streets of Selgaunt alone. He had no destination in mind-he simply wanted to be seen. Others among his entourage did the same in other parts of the city from time to time. To appear less threatening, less foreign, Rivalen had ordered all of the Shadovar to keep the darkness that habitually coiled about them to a minimum.
Passersby watched him with more curiosity than fear. Some soldiers even saluted him. Rivalen was pleased. The citizens of the city were becoming accustomed to seeing a Shadovar among them.
Rivalen saw that most of the shops-those still open after nightfall-contained scant goods. Commerce had slowed almost to a halt as the city braced for war. Rivalen made a point to stop and examine what goods he saw. A dozen pairs of boots sat in the light of a glowball on the walkway outside a cobbler's shop. Rivalen stooped, picked up a pair made from cow hide, turned them in his hands.
"These are well made," he said to the balding cobbler, who watched him from a few paces away.
The man looked surprised that Rivalen had spoken to him. "Uh… thank you… my lord."
"What is their price?"
"Uh… one silver raven, my lord."
Rivalen nodded, produced the coin, and handed it to the cobbler.
"A fair price."
"Thank you, my lord."
Rivalen walked off, pleased to see that a small crowd had gathered to watch the transaction. There was hope in their eyes, the same hope he saw in the Hulorn's eyes when he looked at Rivalen.
Rivalen nodded at them and walked on. As he moved down the streets, through the crowds, he attuned the magical ring on his finger to the similar ring worn by his brother, Brennus. He felt the connection open.
Rivalen, his brother said.
Have you been able to locate Erevis Cale? Rivalen asked.
No, Brennus answered, and Rivalen heard the frustration in his brother's tone. It is inexplicable, almost as though he and his companions have vanished from the multiverse. I suspect something shields them but I cannot determine even that for certain.
What sort of something? A spell?
Brennus hesitated. I do not know, Rivalen. Perhaps a spell. Or perhaps something more.
Such as?
He is a priest. We know this.
It took a moment for Brennus's implication to register. Are you implying that his god is shielding him from us?
Rivalen found the very notion offensive. After all, Shar offered him no such boon, and he was her Nightseer.
Brennus said nothing and the silence stretched.
Perhaps he is dead? Rivalen offered at last.
Brennus answered, I would know if it were so. He could be hiding within an area of dead magic. Perhaps still in the Hole of Yhaunn. That is a possibility.
There, Rivalen said, comforted. Continue your efforts, and inform me if you locate him. What of Sakkors and the Source?
Yder has accomplished much. Sakkors is almost fully restored. Three hundred of our elite warriors under Leevoth arrived yesterday to bolster the five hundred battle-bred krinth already here. The Most High has put all of them at your disposal.
Mention of the Most High evoked a sense of unease, but Rivalen was otherwise pleased. Leevoth and his men were among the finest shade warriors in Shade Enclave. Each bore a glassteel blade infused with shadow magic that sheared through metal as if it were cloth.
Brennus continued. The Source itself is functional but its consciousness appears… damaged, hostile. The mind-altered krinth are able to control it for a time, but only for a time.
Then?
Their minds are consumed. They are left catatonic.
Rivalen nodded. He would have to use the Source's sentience sparingly. The mindmage, Magadon Kest, had altered only thirty or so of the krinth.
Events are moving quickly here, he said. Have Yder position Sakkors to assist should I need it. An hour or less away, not days. I will send for him at the appropriate time.
What more do you wish of me?
I want you here.
There?
Yes. Finalize matters on Sakkors and transport yourself here. I may have need of your divinations. And I wish to show the Hulorn good faith. He is increasingly nervous.
Very well, Brennus answered. Shall I bring Leevoth and his men, then, as well?
No, Rivalen answered. Their entrance is to be more… dramatic.
How do you mean?
A voice in the crowd called out to Rivalen.
Come as soon as you are able, he said to Brennus, and broke the connection.
"Prince Rivalen!" called a man in the crowd. "When will we have the aid of the Shadovar? Rumors say that the armies of the overmistress will soon come."
Others among the crowd nodded, murmured agreement.
"Assistance is on the way," he returned, loud enough for all to hear. For effect, he let the shadows around him churn. Eyes widened.
"Fear nothing," he said. "I regard Selgaunt as my own city. I assure you that no army will breach its walls."
Smiles, raised fists, and a ragged cheer answered his words.
Rivalen walked on among his future subjects.
Later he returned to his quarters and one of the Hulorn's messengers informed him that Saerloon had begun to marshal.
He could not hold in a smile.
CHAPTER NINE
26 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
Abelar, Regg, and their company-less the four score dead or incapacitated from the battle-raced toward Saerb. Mounts and men fought fatigue with every league they covered, but fear for their friends and families pulled them ever north and west. They had slept little. Roen and the priests kept them all fed on magical fare and they ate in the saddle. They stopped during the day only for Dawnmeet and as the stout Saerbian mounts required. Leagues of whipgrass-covered plains lay behind them. Leagues more still lay before them.