Shadowrealm - By Paul S. Kemp Page 0,57
gaze returned to Abelar, Abelar saw no pity or understanding in it, just darkness.
“You have heard my words.”
Growing anger put an edge on Abelar’s tone. “My son is in this caravan.”
Shadows spun around the Shadovar. “The more pity you.”
Day after day of constant tension had drawn Abelar’s emotions taut and they snapped at the Shadovar’s words. Sudden rage stole his sense and he punched the Shadovar in the face with a gauntleted fist. Bone buckled and the man’s nose exploded blood. He fell to the ground, groaning, shadows whirling. Abelar drew his blade and advanced.
“The more pity me, you say? The more pity me?”
Ten Shadovar appeared around their fallen commander, blades bare. Arms closed around Abelar from behind, lifted him from the ground, and turned him around. His entire company looked ready to ride the Shadovar down. Trewe’s horse reared. Others whinnied and tossed their heads.
“Calm heads!” Regg shouted. It was he who had hold of Abelar. “Calm heads! Think of the refugees!”
Regg was right.
“All right,” Abelar said to him. “All right.”
“All right?” Regg asked.
Abelar nodded and Regg set him down and released him. Abelar turned to see the entire Shadovar force had stepped through the shadows and assembled before their commander in a bristling arc of steel. The bald Shadovar rose, and as Abelar watched, his nose stopped bleeding and the broken bones squirmed back into place. The Shadovar sniffed loudly and spit a glob of blood and snot.
“Attempt to cross the Mudslide and you all die.”
The shadows engulfed him and his troop and they disappeared into the darkness.
Curses made the rounds of the company. Lightning ripped the sky behind them.
“Gods damn it,” Abelar said.
“What the Hells is going on here?” Regg asked.
“How do you mean, ‘reconsider’?” Cale asked Rivalen.
The Shadovar prince approached them, but stopped short of the reach of their blades.
“A dimensional tether,” he said, nodding at the green glow that flashed around Cale. “Kesson tried to prevent your escape.”
“He failed,” Riven said.
“Did he? Why are you still within the storm, then?”
To that Riven said nothing.
“You had something to say,” Cale said. “About us reconsidering.”
“Yes. By now Sakkors and an army of Shadovar have intercepted the Saerbian refugees retreating before the Shadowstorm.”
“What?” Cale asked. The shadows around him churned. Those around Rivalen swirled in answer.
“They will not be allowed to cross the Mudslide and continue to Daerlun. Instead, they will sit with the river to their backs and Kesson Rel’s Shadowstorm closing in on them.”
“You are a liar,” Cale said.
“No. I will take you to them.”
Riven took a step forward and spoke in a low voice. “There are children in that caravan.”
“A solution is before you,” Rivalen said, giving no ground to Riven. “Assist me in destroying Kesson Rel. When he dies, so, too, does his Shadowstorm.”
Cale and Riven looked one to the other.
“Let them pass and we will help you,” Cale said to Rivalen. “You have my word.”
“Your word means nothing to me, priest. And while we debate and haggle, the Shadowstorm draws closer to the Saerbians. Their deaths will be on your head.”
The shadows around Cale roiled. Weaveshear bled darkness. “You are a bastard.”
“I am trying to save Sembia. Your intransigence leaves me little recourse.”
“A show of good faith, then,” Cale said, and indicated the glow of Kesson’s spell. “Get this off of me.”
Rivalen considered. “Very well.”
Riven stepped to Cale’s side. Shadows poured from his sabers. “You try anything other than a counterspell, you’ll find me less than helpful.”
Rivalen smiled, and took in his hands a holy symbol of platinum and amethyst. He intoned the words to a counterspell and shadows went forth from his outstretched hand and engaged Kesson Rel’s spell.
Cale felt the power of the two spellcasters charge the air around him. Green sparks shrouded him, flared, flashed.
Riven tensed and Cale held up a hand to head off the assassin’s attack on Rivalen.
“I am all right,” he said.
Rivalen’s face showed strain, then surprise.
His counterspell ended. The sparks of magical battle died. Kesson’s spell did not.
“You cannot counter it,” Cale said, not a question.
“No.”
Riven sneered. Rivalen glared at him, the shadows around him roiling.
“It will expire in time,” Rivalen said, his brow furrowed.
“How long?”
“An hour. No longer. When it does, verify my claims. I will meet you at the shores of Lake Veladon at midnight tonight. Then we can begin.”
“Begin what?”
“Go see that what I say is true. When you come to me at midnight, I will tell you what you need to know.”
Cale had no choice but that did little to mitigate his