Shadowrealm - By Paul S. Kemp Page 0,63
at Rivalen, who surveyed the world as he might his own domain. Shadows leaked from him in long strands.
“Rivalen?” Cale asked. “What happened here?”
Rivalen seemed not to have heard him.
Cale started to ask again, but Rivalen spoke, awe in his tone.
“Another Shadowstorm is what happened here.” The words took Cale unawares. He and Riven shared a look.
Rivalen’s hand went to the black disc at his throat, a symbol not unlike the one Riven wore, a symbol eerily reminiscent of the dying sun and the black collar choking it to death.
“In the darkness of night,” Rivalen said. “We hear the whisper of the void.”
Cale felt chilled. “How can there be another Shadowstorm?”
“There are many worlds,” Rivalen said, his voice distant, the shadows around him dark. “Ephyras is older than Toril. Here, the Lady has already triumphed.”
“Triumphed?” Riven asked.
Cale thought of Sembia, of Faerûn, of all of Toril. “You’re telling us that the Shadowstorm withers a world, and kills its sun?”
“And more still,” Rivalen said, his voice the disconnected utterance of a man in a trance. “Nothingness is the end. Soon Ephyras will be gone entirely. Annihilated.”
Cale echoed the word, said it softly, the way he might a blasphemy. “Annihilated.”
He found himself looking at the dust, the death, the darkness, wondering if there were still more worlds that Shar had killed. He supposed there must be. She was responsible for the deaths of millions.
“There were people here,” he said, not a question.
Rivalen made no comment, though the shadows around him whirled.
“Dark and empty,” Riven oathed. “A whole world? A whole world.”
“All words die in time,” Rivalen said. “In time, all existence ends.”
“How can you look upon this and offer prayers?” Cale asked. He took the prince by the shoulder, pulled him around to face him.
Rivalen’s eyes flashed. He took Cale by the wrist, for a moment they tested one another’s strength, but determined nothing. They released one another and Rivalen stared into his face.
“How can you not feel awe as you watch a sun die?”
The shadows around Cale swirled. “Death does not awe me. Death is easy.”
“You are broken, Shadovar,” Riven said, contempt in his words. He advanced to stand beside Cale.
Rivalen stared at Cale, at Riven. “I acknowledge the truth that the fate of all worlds, of all of existence, will be the same as Ephyras. Is that broken?”
“You don’t acknowledge it,” Cale said. “You elevate it to an article of faith. You worship it.”
“That is broken,” Riven said.
The shadows around Rivalen whirled, as if stirred by the wind. “We are here because I wish to stop the Shadowstorm on Toril. To prevent this.” His gesture took in Ephyras.
“And I cannot figure that out,” Cale said.
Riven eyed the Shadovar, and said to Cale. “I trust him about as far as his blood will spray when I cut his throat.”
Rivalen leaned forward, his golden eyes ablaze. He towered over the assassin. “If I wished you dead, you would already be so. Do you think there is anything that I would do that you could thwart?”
Riven had both sabers free in a heartbeat. “Why don’t we find out?”
Cale shook his head. “Why stop it, Rivalen? This is what your goddess strives for.”
Cale’s question diffused the tension between Riven and Rivalen. The Shadovar prince stepped back and said, “My reasons are my own.”
“Not good enough,” Riven said.
Cale asked, “You can live forever but worship annihilation?”
“I do not worship it. I told you. I simply acknowledge its inevitability.”
“You seek rule over a realm whose fate is dust and death,” Cale said. “Why?”
“I forge meaning for myself in the face of ultimate meaninglessness.”
“But nothing you do will matter.”
The darkness around Rivalen whirled and he tilted his head to acknowledge the point. “In time.”
And all at once Cale understood Rivalen. “In time” was the crux of Rivalen’s life, the fulcrum that balanced meaning and meaninglessness. The prince wanted to control the pace of approaching annihilation. He wanted it to happen tomorrow, never today.
“You don’t want to stop the Shadowstorm on Toril,” Cale said. “You want to delay it, have it happen when you want it, on your terms.”
Rivalen regarded Cale for a long while. “You also must struggle with meaning, Maskarran.”
“Can the Shadowstorm be stopped?”
The prince stared into his face.
“Can it?”
Rivalen’s eyes flared. “No.”
Cale could find no words. Riven did, all of them curses.
“But it can be delayed,” Rivalen said. “Delayed for a time that is long even to Shadovar high priests. For the moment, that aligns our interests.”
“For the moment,” Riven said, and glared at Rivalen.
Rivalen