the column of darkness. Rain dripped from their cloaks.
Both men turned and looked back toward Sembia but the Shadowstorm was too far away to see. Cale saw only the rocky ledges of the Wayrock and the boundless blue-gray of the sea. White clouds dotted the sky. There was no indication of the black lesion spreading across Sembia, across Faerûn.
Still staring into the distance, Cale said to Riven, “Never do that again.”
Riven, too, stared over the sea. “I do what needs done, Cale. Get clear on that. I’ll do it again next time, and the time after that. You don’t get to give up.”
The truth in Riven’s words stung. Cale faced him. “I wasn’t giving up.”
Riven said nothing. He didn’t need to. Cale sighed, looked away. He was tired and did not understand how Riven was not.
“How do you keep fighting, Riven? Why? Not for Sembia.”
Riven made a dismissive gesture. “No. Not for Sembia.”
“Then?”
Riven tapped the holy symbol he wore around his neck, the black disc. “This is why. Mask wants Kesson Rel dead and his divinity returned to him. That is enough of a why. Should be enough for you, too.”
Cale stared at the disc, at Riven’s face. “It’s not.”
“Then find something that is. This is a long way from over.”
Cale shook his head. “You don’t understand. You can’t.”
Riven stared at him for a moment. “You’re tired. I see that.”
Cale looked Riven in the eye, grateful for even that little bit of shared understanding.
“Yes. I’m tired.”
Riven’s face did not change expression. “It’s a lot of weight.”
“It is.”
“Bear it. We can only see this through together. You see that, yes? Find a way to stay with it.” When Cale said nothing, Riven went on, “Cale, you didn’t kill Jak. You didn’t. And you didn’t take Magadon’s soul, and you didn’t make that Uskevren boy join with the Shadovar. You’re carrying weight that is not yours to bear. No damned wonder you’re tired.”
Cale heard the words, heard the sense in them, but they did nothing to ease the burdens he bore. Safe, far from you. That was what his god had said to him.
“Let’s go,” he said and started up the drawbridge.
Magadon stepped out of the darkness of the temple’s interior and appeared in the archway. The mind mage looked as thin and dried out as an old stick, wan, with circles the color of bruises under his eyes.
“Mags,” Cale said, and tried not to wince at Magadon’s appearance.
Riven’s two dogs bolted through the archway past the mind mage and for their master, a blur of brown fur and wagging tails. Riven knelt to meet them, rubbed heads and sides. They growled playfully and jumped on him.
Magadon walked up to Cale, wavering in his stride like a drunk. He looked even paler in the light.
“You all right, Mags?” Cale asked.
“I want off this island, Cale,” he said. “Now.”
Each time Magadon said “Cale” instead of “Erevis,” Cale felt it like a punch in the stomach. He and Riven shared a look. Riven stood and pointed at the temple.
“Go on,” he said, and the dogs darted back inside. To Magadon, he said, “You don’t look well.”
“That’s because I’m not.”
“Then why leave the island now?” Riven asked. “Stay. Get better.”
Cale saw anger in the crease between Magadon’s eyes, quickly suppressed.
“My own affair,” Magadon said.
“Is that right?” Riven said.
Cale reached out to touch Magadon’s shoulder. The mind mage recoiled but Cale persisted, taking his thin shoulder in hand.
“Listen, Mags. Kesson Rel is here, in Faerûn. He opened a rift. The Calyx is pouring through. It’s rolling across Sembia.”
A spark touched tinder in Magadon’s white eyes and something kindled there. Cale decided to take it as hope and was pleased to see it.
“Where? We’ve got to kill him, Cale. I can use the Source to …”
He stopped, white eyes wide, perhaps realizing he’d said too much. He took a step back, and his gaze darted about, as if looking for an escape.
“The Source?” Cale and Riven said in unison.
Magadon licked his lips, steadied himself.
Cale spoke softly. “What are you talking about, Mags?”
Riven did not speak softly. “We nearly died taking you out of the Source. The Hells if you’re using it for anything again. The Hells if you’re leaving this island. You’re not yourself. You’ll wait—”
Magadon’s face contorted with rage. He emitted a roar and bounded forward for Riven, hands reaching as if for the assassin’s throat.
Riven put a short, sharp kick in Magadon’s gut and the mind mage doubled over at his feet, gasping, coughing, retching.