Shadowrealm - By Paul S. Kemp Page 0,45

things.”

“They haven’t bothered her yet.”

Riven considered, shook his head. “No. She’s freezing. And how will she find her way?”

Cale felt his anger rising, but could not articulate why. “I can shield her against the cold. And animals find their way. Give him a chance, Riven. You are too damned ready to put down whatever you cannot save for certain.”

Riven stood, eyed him through the rain. “Him? Are we still talking about a horse?”

Cale realized that he was not and he understood his anger. He calmed himself. “A chance. Yes?”

Riven relented, shrugged. “Well enough.” He pulled darkness around his hands, used it to gently wrap the horse’s leg, temporarily hiding the fracture. The horse whinnied, and Riven jumped back to avoid a kick. When the shadows dissipated, the wound was healed. The mare put her weight on the leg, gently at first, then more confidently.

Cale approached her from the side, whispering soothing words. He placed a hand on her flank and intoned the words to a spell that would ward her from cold, at least for a few hours.

Riven faced her in the direction they had come and removed her bit. He smacked her on the flank and shouted. She neighed and bolted away at a dead run. Cale wished her well. They watched her until she vanished into the darkness and rain.

“She’s got a chance,” Cale said.

“Maybe,” answered Riven.

“So does Mags,” Cale said.

“Maybe.”

They stared at each other a long moment before the roll of thunder ended the moment.

“Let’s keep moving,” Cale said.

Magadon’s voice sounded in Cale’s head. How close are you, Cale? Matters are … difficult for me here.

We’re moving fast, Mags. Not long now.

Still dodging red-eyed shadows, Cale and Riven made their way east over the dead landscape. Soon they reached the Dawnpost. The winding, packed earth ribbon of the road stretched east, impaling the darkness. Marker stones lined its length at intervals. They reminded Cale of grave markers.

Using the darkness as stepping stones, they ate up the leagues. The storm continued to worsen as they moved toward Ordulin. The landscape itself grew more and more like the Plane of Shadow—drained of color, twisted, cold.

Wagons and carts stood abandoned along the Dawnpost here and there. Dried out corpses or animal carcasses sometimes lay near the deserted vehicles. They checked for survivors, found none, and kept moving.

Ahead, the land started to drop away, sinking toward the River Arkhen. The Dawnpost led toward a cluster of buildings that crowded the river’s banks. A mid-sized stone wall enclosed the center of the town, but dozens of buildings appeared to have spilled outside the wall. Most were one story and composed of mortared river stones, but a few two and three story structures deeper in the town peeked over the walls—the villas of the rich.

“Archenbridge,” Cale said.

Cale had been to Archenbridge only once, years before, escorting Thamalon while the Old Owl negotiated a caravan contract. That day seemed to have happened a hundred years before, on another world.

The town appeared abandoned. Cale hoped the inhabitants had fled north into the Dales and not been caught up in the storm. He picked the next spot into which he would shadowstep when movement drew his eye. He put a hand on Riven’s arm, pointed.

Four shadow giants appeared, walking the streets of the town outside the walls. They ducked through doors and shouted to one another over the thunder. Mail shirts covered their muscular, stooped forms and shadows bled from their pale flesh.

One of the giants emerged from a building with a chest in his hands. He shook it, grinned, and shouted to his companions. The other three giants materialized from the shadows near their fellow, one of them bearing another chest. The giants tossed both chests to the street and they broke open, spilling coins. The giants crouched down on their haunches and set to counting, speaking amongst themselves.

“Looting,” Riven said.

Cale nodded. Greed was universal, he supposed.

Riven looked over at Cale. “Storm seems not to affect them. They warded, too?”

Cale doubted it. “They are native to the Calyx. Maybe that renders them immune.”

“Well, they aren’t native to Sembia,” Riven said. “And if they’re the only four. …”

“Risky,” Cale said, and studied the buildings and streets nearby. He saw no other giants, no shadows. “But doable, though none can escape.”

“None will.”

“I’ve got the two on our left.”

Riven nodded. “Well enough. I’ll use the ring. On a three count. One, two, three.”

Cale stepped through the shadows, appeared behind one of the crouching giants, and drove Weaveshear through