Riven and Cale looked at one another and cursed in unison.
"Kesson sought the dragon for millennia," Magadon said. "To kill him and recover what he had lost, but he could not locate the beast. As the centuries passed, Kesson grew weak from his lack. Soon he had power only on the Plane of Shadow, then only in the Adumbral Calyx, then only in his spire."
The gnome shrieked. The tendons and veins in her neck stood out like ropes under her skin.
Cale had heard enough. Kesson Rel did not have Mask's divine spark. Furlinastis did. They had been on the wrong hunt.
"Let her go, Mags. We've got what we need. The dragon is our prey, now. And we know where to find him."
Magadon held onto the gnome.
"There is more here yet, Cale," the mindmage said, his eyes hard. "It's deep, but I can get it."
Magadon's pupils disappeared altogether. His eyes went solid white, like those of Mephistopheles.
"Enough, Mags," Cale said.
Magadon seemed not to hear him. Creases and veins lined his brow. The gnome screamed again. Magadon smiled. He was taking pleasure in exerting his will over another.
"Enough, Mags," Cale said. "We have what we need. We are leaving."
Magadon did not stop. The gnome started to shake. The blood vessels in her eyes popped, drenching them in blood.
"Mags, enough!" Riven said. "Enough."
The assassin took Magadon by the shoulder and pulled him away from the gnome.
Magadon snarled, whirled on Riven. The assassin had a blade drawn and at Magadon's throat so fast it was a blur.
"Slow down, Mags," Riven said softly.
The rage left Magadon's eyes. His pupils returned.
"All right?" Cale asked him, and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes," Magadon answered. "I'm sorry, Riven."
Riven lowered his blade, nodded.
Magadon looked back on the gnome, her small form gibbering on the floor. He looked away, regret on his face.
Cale said, "Don't give in, Mags. I understand your fight."
"You cannot," Magadon said, and offered no further explanation.
Cale could think of nothing more to say.
Another boom shook the stone hemispheres he had created.
"Lower the light," he said, and pictured in his mind the hill outside Elgrin Fau.
The light dimmed and shadows formed.
Cale breathed easier and his flesh began to regenerate. He recited the words to a counterspell and unwound the magic that prevented magical transport from the room.
The moment he did, patches of shadow clotted all over the room and giants materialized, blades in hand and violence in their eyes. No longer held at bay by Magadon's light, undead shadows streaked in through the floors, ceiling, walls.
Cale ignored them all, pulled the shadows about himself and his comrades, and rode the darkness to Elgrin Fau, leaving the Adumbral Calyx behind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
Dawn's light showed distant smoke on the horizon. The faint stink of it hung in the air. Saerb was still a few leagues to the east. The smoke was to the northeast, not from Saerb, but from the direction of the Corrinthal estate. Abelar did not call for a Dawnmeet. He stared at the smoke, his heart and mind racing.
"It cannot have been Forrin. We would have seen signs of his forces."
"Agreed," Endren said, and Abelar heard the concern in his father's voice.
Regg said, "It could be nothing more than a brushfire."
Abelar nodded but the expanding pit in his stomach belied the gesture. It did not smell like a brushfire. And even if Forrin's main body had not yet reached Saerb, he knew that an advance force of scouts or raiders could have attacked the estate. Forrin had already shown his willingness to target civilians.
Abelar, Endren, and Regg stared at the smoke in silence for a time while the company geared up. Abelar's hand went to his holy symbol. He chose to believe the smoke came from something other than the Corrinthal estate. He did not think Lathander would have granted the miracle back in the village, would have returned his father to him, only to have Abelar fail to reach his son in time. But belief did not chase his fears.
"Mount up," he said to his father and Regg, then called Jiiris to him. Her green eyes mirrored his fears back at him. She understood what the smoke might mean. Everyone did. Abelar held onto his emotions and kept his voice level.
"Ride on to Saerb. We're ahead of Forrin's main force. Endren, Regg, Roen, and I will take two score men to investigate… the smoke."
She nodded, reached as if to touch his hand, but stopped just short.
"I would rather accompany you, Abelar."
He shook his head. "No. Take the company to Saerb and organize an evacuation. Regg's father will be at Oakhaven, and he is ill. Send men to secure his safety. Then send word to the nobility that we are to muster on the western shore of Lake Veladon. Make sure they know that my father rides with us, that he is calling the muster."
Jiiris nodded. "And from there?"
Endren put in, "Depends on our numbers. And Forrin's. Once our forces are assembled, we'll evaluate."
Abelar said, "We will meet you there. Be wary, Jiiris. There may be raiders afoot."
She lowered her gaze, nodded. "I am sorry, Abelar."
He refused to acknowledge the implication of her words.
"Stay in the light," he said to her.
She looked him in the eyes, firmed up. "And you, my lord."
The company said its farewells. The bulk of the men moved east to Saerb. Abelar, Endren, Regg, Roen, and a score more headed northeast toward the smoke, toward the Corrinthal estate, toward Elden.
They pushed their mounts into a gallop. Abelar tried to keep alert for any signs of raiders but he could not focus. The grass and the trees blurred in his vision.
The men spoke little, and the silence was telling. Abelar felt numb, dazed. With each of Swiftdawn's strides, he felt a little more of him shaken loose. He could not stop imagining one horrible end or another for his son. Tears wetted his cheeks and he gave Swiftdawn her head. She pulled away from the rest of the group. Abelar heard his companions calling after him but he ignored them. He had to see. He had to know.
And he had to be first.
The smell of smoke grew stronger as he dashed through the grasslands and woods that he knew well enough to navigate in his sleep. Clouds masked the sun. Abelar's mouth went dry as he neared a familiar rise that would allow him to see the estate. He slowed Swiftdawn, topped the rise, and saw the destruction below him.
"No," he said, and the tears started anew. He had expected it, but expecting it did nothing to prepare him for the sight of it.
He heeled Swiftdawn and she tore off down the rise and toward the estate.
The gates lay flattened on the ground, trampled underfoot. Dried blood spattered the gatehouse. Flames had consumed the manse and barracks. Both were little more than blackened skeletons of wood and stone. They still radiated heat. The village stood unmolested, but unoccupied and ghostly. The stables, too, remained, but they were empty of horses. Abelar halted Swiftdawn near the gatehouse. He saw no bodies.
Perhaps most of them had fled. Perhaps Elden was safe in Saerb even now.
"Hail!" he called. "Anyone!"
A murder of crows, startled by his shout, took flight from behind the manse. Their caws mocked his hopes. His heart climbed up his throat.
"Abelar!" Endren called from behind him.
The rest of his companions had reached the rise. They, too, saw the destruction, the crows.
"Wait, Abelar!"
His companions thundered down the rise and over the plains, but Abelar did not wait. He had to see. He whickered at Swiftdawn and she walked him around the ruins of the manse. Spots of churned earth dotted the grounds; blood stained the grass here and there.