my poor attempt to represent matters as they stand. This is all based on the most recent reports of our scouts as well as what divinations have shown. The Shadowstorm appears to be accelerating as it moves west.”
“It grows in power as it consumes more life,” Rivalen said.
Tamlin stared at him for a long moment. “Yes—” he cleared his throat—“well, it seems it is not yet spreading east. Yhaunn, so far as we know, remains untouched. But we must wonder for how long? I think we must stop it soon, Prince.”
“You are correct,” Rivalen said. He withdrew the black king from the coffer, placed it over Ordulin on the map. “Kesson Rel is the cause of the Shadowstorm. To stop it, we must kill him.”
He toppled the king, though he knew perfectly well he could not stop the Shadowstorm. He would not even try. The Shadowstorm was Shar’s will. He could only contain it. Perhaps.
“Sensible,” Tamlin said and rubbed his hands together.
Rivalen picked up a black pawn, eyed it, and showed it to Tamlin.
“But to kill him, I require the assistance of Erevis Cale.”
The words stopped Tamlin in mid-nod, froze his hands, flushed his skin. “Mister Cale? Why? Surely you and I can accomplish whatever needs accomplished.”
Rivalen knew he had to trod with care. He played and would continue to play on Tamlin’s sense of inferiority relative to Mister Cale, but he knew not to play too hard lest the strings snap.
“Ordinarily, I would agree. But this is a matter of a unique kind.”
Tamlin shook his head, paced, then gestured at the map. “Look what we have done so far. How can Mister Cale be necessary?”
Tamlin spun on his heel, paced some more, and nearly spat his next words. “Mister Cale. Erevis Cale. What can require Mister Cale that I cannot do?” He stopped, eyeing Rivalen. “Is it because he is a shade? Then make me one. You know I want it.”
“It is not because he is a shade. It is because he is a Maskarran.”
“I do not understand. How is that relevant?”
The shadows around Rivalen churned with irritation, but he kept his voice patient. He did not wish to damage the relationship he had so painstakingly built.
“Kesson Rel is a divine being. A god. Quite minor, it is true, but divine nevertheless.”
Tamlin’s voice sounded small. “A god you say?”
Rivalen nodded. “Yes, but the unique circumstances involved in Kesson’s ascension render him uniquely vulnerable. That vulnerability can be exploited only by a special servant of Mask.”
“Mister Cale,” Tamlin said, with surrender in his tone. He took another black pawn from the coffer, closed his fist around it until the knuckles were white. “He will not help us.”
“Not willingly.”
Tamlin looked up, eyebrows arched in a question.
“Brennus is unable to scry Cale directly, but he has learned that Cale has been of service to Abelar Corrinthal. Our spies among the Saerbian refugees—”
“You have spies among the refugees?”
“Do not interrupt me again or ever,” Rivalen said, his voice rising with his ire. “Do you understand?”
Tamlin’s mouth hung slack under his wide eyes. He nodded slowly.
“Yes,” Rivalen said, more calmly. “We have spies. Not in human form, of course. But a few.”
Tamlin, his face still red from Rivalen’s rebuke, went for a wine chalice on a side table, and drank. Of late, Rivalen thought the Hulorn drank more than had been his custom.
“You will use the refugees against Mister Cale?” Tamlin asked.
“Mister Cale has an interest in their safety. We can use that to compel his cooperation.”
Tamlin’s expression showed pleasure at the thought of compelling Cale. “How?”
Rivalen took a white rook from the coffer, held it in the air over Saerb, beside the toppled white knight. He used a minor magic, released it, and it hovered in place.
“Leave that to me,” Rivalen said.
“And afterward? What of Mister Cale? I would rather he not be involved in what we have built here. His presence will vex me.”
Rivalen knew what Tamlin wanted to hear. He crushed the pawn in his fist, and let the pieces fall to the floor.
“Leave that to me, also.”
Tamlin licked his lips. “I would participate in that.”
Rivalen heard sincerity rather than bravado in Tamlin’s tone. It both surprised and pleased him.
“Perhaps you will have that chance,” Rivalen said.
“I would like a chance at more,” Tamlin said. “Shadedom, as I mentioned.”
Before Rivalen could respond, Tamlin went on. He must have rehearsed the words in the privacy of his mind many times.
“I have converted to Shar. Fully. I feel her here.” He touched his