Shadowrealm - By Paul S. Kemp Page 0,80
studied his face. “Then do not fail.”
Cale smiled softly and nodded. “Farewell, my friend.”
“Fight well,” Riven said.
“That I will. Fly, dragon!”
Furlinastis tensed, extended his wings, and leaped into the dark air.
The dragon’s graceful form receded rapidly and soon melded with the darkness. Cale lost sight of him. The emptiness in him yawned. He needed to fill it or it would consume him.
I know now what you endured, he projected to Magadon. Magadon, do you hear me?
The mindmage did not respond.
“I should check on Mags,” he said to Riven.
“No, you shouldn’t. If he’s out of your head, leave it that way. He’s a distraction now. You holding up?”
“I’m losing myself, sinking.”
Riven nodded and put a supportive hand on his shoulder, his expression thoughtful.
Rivalen’s golden eyes burned dimly in the void of his face, twin echoes of Ephyras’s dying sun. “We should prepare before we seek Kesson Rel.”
“His counterspells steal for himself any wards or enhancements we might place on us,” Cale said. “We’ve seen it.”
The shadows around Rivalen roiled as he considered Cale’s words. “You’re suggesting we face him unprotected?”
“I’m telling you your protections benefit him, not you.”
“You afraid, Prince?” Riven said with a sneer.
Rivalen stared at Riven. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Riven said. “But not of death.”
“He casts spells faster than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Cale said. “And he’s resistant to magic.”
“Yours, perhaps,” Rivalen said. “He will find mine much harder to deflect. And even if he can steal spells, magical devices should still work. Use them if you bear any.”
Cale had only one. He drew Weaveshear. Riven withdrew the spell-absorbing stone he’d taken from the Sojourner and tossed it into the air in front of his face, where it took up orbit around his head. He drew his sabres.
“We should scry him first,” Rivalen said.
“He cannot be scried,” Cale said. “We’ve tried.”
“Not by you, nor even me,” Rivalen said, “but he can be scried by my brother.”
Abelar looked ahead at the roiling black wall of the Shadowstorm and felt an echo of the feeling he’d experienced when he’d first answered Lathander’s call in adolescence. His blood rose; he felt light.
He leaned over the dragon’s neck, looked back and down, and saw Cale, Riven, and Rivalen standing together on the receding plains. They weren’t looking at him. They had already turned their minds to Kesson Rel. He looked back farther, tried to spot the Saerbians under Sakkors, and thought he caught a blurry glimpse of motion atop the distant Stonebridge. Perhaps they were crossing even then. Love for his son and father warmed him, but love for Regg and Jiriis and his company drew him onward into darkness.
He drew his blade and faced the darkness of Shar’s Shadowstorm. Lightning shot out of the sky to trace green lines in the clouds around them. The air stank of char, as if the sky were afire. Thunder vibrated in his ears. The wind pulled at him.
“Faster, dragon!”
Furlinastis beat his wings, extended his neck, and shot like a fired quarrel through the air.
The magical ring on Brennus’s finger warmed. The mental connection with his brother opened.
Brennus, I need you to scry Kesson Rel. Tell me where he is, and what you see. We are nearly at an end.
Brennus sat at a table in an otherwise unfurnished room on Sakkors. The darkness embraced him. His homunculi wrestled on the floor, tumbling and squeaking. He sometimes thought of them as his family, but they were not. They were devices, nothing more. His family was his brothers and his father.
Brennus.
“I have killed you,” Brennus said to the ring, his tone uncertain.
Brennus.
It will take some time, Brennus projected to Rivalen.
We have little time, Brother. You must hurry.
Very well.
Brennus cut off the connection. He lifted his mother’s necklace, watching his homunculi frolic.
“Family,” he said, and wondered if he had done the right thing.
He intoned the words to the first in a series of divinations.
“We must wait a short time,” Rivalen said to Cale and Riven.
“A short time is all we have,” Cale said to him.
Rivalen leaned forward, his darkness mingling with Cale’s. “What does it feel like?”
Cale saw no reason to lie. “Like I am hollow. Like I will crumble soon.”
Rivalen nodded and leaned back, his expression preoccupied.
“Give me the chalice,” Riven said to the Shadovar.
The shadows around Rivalen swirled in agitation. “Why?”
“Give it to me or we will not help you.”
“A lie.”
“I will not help.”
“What are you doing, Riven?” Cale asked.
Riven looked at him, one hand on his holy symbol. “You could fail. I am your second. His Second.”
Cale