anger. “When Kesson’s dead, then it’s you and us, Rivalen. You have my word on that, too.”
Rivalen smiled, showing fangs. “As I said, priest, your word means nothing to me.”
A stab of pain behind Cale’s eyes caused him to wince, his eyes to water. Hate sizzled in his consciousness.
Kill him, Cale, projected Magadon. He is at the root of all of this.
He offers a way to kill Kesson Rel.
He lies, like my father.
Mags—
Kill him!
Magadon tried again to control Cale, to control his weapon arm and lunge at Rivalen. Cale thought of the Saerbians, and resisted.
To his relief, the shadows swallowed the shade prince, extinguished his golden eyes, and he disappeared.
Magadon’s attempt to control him ended.
Do not do it again, Magadon. Never again.
You are a liar, too. You are all liars. To the Abyss with you, Magadon said, and the connection closed.
Riven must have seen the mental exchange on Cale’s face. “You all right?” the assassin asked.
“Magadon,” Cale said, and the darkness around him roiled.
Riven stared at him a moment, then paced the dead grass. “There’s more to all this than that Shadovar is telling, Cale.”
“Agreed, but he wants to kill Kesson. He’s gone through too much to just set us up. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“After we’ve done that, after we’ve saved Mags, we’ll deal with whatever comes.”
Riven seemed to accept that. He stopped pacing. “Says something, him coming here by himself.”
“It does,” Cale said. It said Rivalen was not afraid of them.
They spent half an hour huddled against the rain, back to back, watching the darkness for the creatures that prowled the Shadowstorm. Cale felt like the green glow of Kesson’s spell made him a beacon, but they encountered nothing. After a time, the glow winked out and stayed gone.
“Spell has ended,” Cale said, and stood.
“Let’s move,” Riven said.
Cale smeared shadows into a lens, cast a minor divination, sought Abelar, found him, and caused the shadows to take them there.
Whether waking or sleeping, I dream of the Source. Cale has betrayed me, so the Source must be the tool of my revenge, my salvation. Remembering the feel of its power in my mind, the touch of its ancient intelligence, I feel a hole of longing open in my mind, an absence that needs to be filled.
I find myself standing near the hole, a gaping, jagged aperture in the mindscape of my mental domain. The stink of rot rises from it. I creep forward, peer inside, hoping to plumb the depths to which I have sunk.
Veins as thick as my wrist wind a jagged path along its sides, pulse like a nest of vipers. Its depth extends as far as I can see, the bottom lost in darkness, like me.
A voice whispers from within the hole, echoing up its sides. The veins throb when the voice speaks. It is my father’s voice.
“Cale cannot kill Kesson Rel. He has already failed once.”
I shake my head, trying to dislodge despair. “He will try again and succeed. I have seen him do things that no ordinary man could do. He will keep his promise.”
My father chuckles. “His promises are shit. He promised his god to return his divinity. He promised the same thing to me. He will say anything, yet he means nothing. Now he allies with Rivalen Tanthul, who tortured you. You cannot trust him. You must save yourself.”
I hear my own thoughts in the words and protest. “You lie.”
“No. You lie. To yourself. Soon the Shadowwalkers will leave the Wayrock. They intend to leave you here. No one will ever return for you. They wish you to die, alone on this island as you are in your head. It is Cale’s doing.”
The words strike at my fears. I lean forward, start to speak, lose my footing, and nearly fall into the hole. I jerk myself back, heart racing, breathing rapidly.
The veins that line the hole are pulsing.
“Be mindful,” says my father. “You are starting to slip.”
He laughs. I curse. Staring into the abyss, I realize that Cale cannot save me. He does not want to save me. I must save myself.
“You want revenge on those who damaged you—”
“You damaged me!”
“The Source offers everything you want.”
The ache for the Source’s comfort wells up in me, accompanied by the beginnings of a plot. A hear a sound at the bottom of the hole, as if something ancient has stirred to life after sleeping for ages. I lean over the edge. Something is moving down here, deep in the darkness.