is but I have learned that I cannot stop him alone. It will take a Chosen of Mask.”
The shadows around Cale spun. “Learned? How?”
“I am willing to lay our past differences aside …”
“I’m not,” Riven said.
Rivalen continued, “… to rid Sembia of this threat. Our interests coincide. We both want the same man dead.” “He’s not a man,” Cale said.
The shadows around Rivalen churned. “No. He’s not. But we can end this, and him, together.”
Cale considered. He wondered if Rivalen, too, sought what Kesson had stolen from Mask. He reminded himself that Rivalen had kidnapped Magadon, bonded him to the Source. That had been the beginning of Magadon’s descent. Rivalen Tanthul was a bastard, not to be trusted.
“To the Hells with him, Cale,” Riven said. “We do it our way.”
“Agreed,” Cale said reluctantly. “No.”
Riven sneered. “You fly away now, little shade. And the next time we see you, our discussion will be a little different.”
Rivalen never lost his mask. He showed no anger, did not even raise his voice.
“I believe I can make you reconsider.”
Drizzle sank through Abelar’s armor and caused the leather and padding under the steel to chafe. After spending several hours riding with his father and son in the wagon, he rode on Swiftdawn at the head of the column of Saerbians. His father and Elden rode in the body of the caravan.
Behind them, the Shadowstorm expanded, devouring the sky and casting Sembia in darkness. The roiling black thunderhead, streaked through with flashes of lightning, was gaining on them.
“We need to move faster,” he said to Regg. He kept his eyes from the rose enameled on Regg’s breastplate.
His friend looked back at the storm and nodded. “We may have to abandon the wagons. There are not enough horses for all, but we would move faster afoot.”
“Not with the children and elderly,” Abelar said. “And they would all be exhausted in a few days.”
Regg surrendered to Abelar’s point and grunted agreement.
Abelar looked on the long column of men, women, children, and wagons that snaked out behind him. Oxen and horses, heads lowered against the rain, stubbornly pulled their burdens through the muck. Mothers cradled children, and tried to shield themselves from the rain with blankets and cloaks. Men walked beside wagons and helped push when they bogged down in the soft earth. They were moving at a crawl. If the storm continued its present course and speed, they would be caught in mere days.
A sharp roll of thunder from behind elicited gasps and turned heads. Dozens of lightning bolts lit the ink of the Shadowstorm.
The Lathanderians of the company rode up and down the caravan, offering encouragement, spell-summoned food, or a prayer of blessing. Smiles and grateful nods greeted their passage and the Lathanderians kept flagging spirits from sinking into despair. But Abelar knew that blessings and food would mean little if they could not outrun the storm.
“We continue west to the Mudslide,” he said. “Then south to the Stonebridge and on toward Daerlun.”
“The race is on,” Regg said softly, and patted Firstlight.
Hours later, the caravan reached the Mudslide, a murky flow that ran south out of the Thunderpeaks, then hooked east, back toward the River Arkhen and the Shadowstorm. It made a triangle out of Sembia’s plains, with the river on two sides and the Shadowstorm on the other. Ordinarily not a very wide river, the recent rains had swollen its width.
The men, women, and children dismounted wagons and horses, plodded through the muddy shallows, and re-filled waterskins. The pack animals were unyoked and watered. Abelar released Swiftdawn to drink and forage.
To Regg, he said, “Roen and his fellow priests should summon as much food as they can. Let’s put a hot meal in everyone’s bellies. We eat quickly and press on.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Check on my son.”
Regg nodded and rode off, calling Roen to his side.
Abelar walked through the caravan on his way to the small, roofed wagon in which his father and son rode. He kept his eyes off the sky, off the storm. The refugees smiled at him, nodded, but he saw the questions in their eyes, the confusion. He did not bear his shield. He did not display a holy symbol. Returning greetings and smiles, he offered no explanation for their absence and went to his son.
He found Elden and Endren standing in the rain outside the wagon. Elden was smiling and petting the muscular side of the ox yoked to the wagon, perhaps in preparation for unyoking it. Endren stood