with concern. He greeted Abelar with an arm clasp, but greeted Cale and Riven with a nod and an uncertain smile.
“You’re well,” he said to them all, but with his eyes on Abelar.
Abelar laughed, a single guffaw as coarse as a wood rasp.
Concern wrinkled Regg’s brow. “Forrin?”
“Dead,” Abelar answered, his voice hollow.
The Saerbians nearby who heard the news raised fists, called Forrin’s death deserved. That news, too, would spread quickly.
“Is the war over then, Abelar?” asked a heavyset matron, her graying hair disheveled, her clothing road-stained.
“No, Merdith, it is not.” To Regg, Abelar said, “Where is my son?”
“With Jiiris. He fell asleep in your father’s arms and we put him in your tent.”
Abelar nodded, thanked Regg.
Regg put a hand on Abelar’s shoulder. “Whatever happened, Abelar, the Morninglord—”
Abelar shook his head, the gesture as sharp as a blade. “It is night, Regg. No more of Lathander just now.”
Regg looked as if Abelar had slapped his face. His arm dropped. Merdith gasped. Some of the other Saerbians nearby overheard Abelar’s words, and uncertain, worried mutters moved through the throng.
“Abelar …” Regg began.
“Leave it alone, Regg,” Riven said, and the softness in his tone surprised Cale. “Just take him to his son.”
Regg’s face flashed anger but only for a moment before he beat back whatever words he might have said. He started walking.
“Come. Your father will be pleased to see you, Abelar.”
“And I him,” Abelar said, and Cale thought his voice sounded like that of a man who had not slept in a tenday. “How fare matters here?”
“As it was when you … left. Watchmen guard the perimeter. Roen and the men lead patrols of the approaches. But we cannot remain here. If Forrin brings an army … I mean, if the army of the overmistress comes. …”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Abelar nodded, his eyes focused on some distant point on the water of the lake.
To Cale and Riven, Regg said, “I will see to shelter for you two. Rain is coming.”
As if to make his point, thunder shook the sky to the east. Distant lightning lit the clouds. The crowd murmured; some scrambled for the safety of their tents.
Cale shook his head. “Thank you, but unnecessary.”
Regg grunted indifference, but Abelar pulled his eyes from the lake, stopped, and faced Cale. “Unnecessary?”
Cale nodded. “We must leave, Abelar. Other matters require our attention. There is … much afoot.”
He thought of Kesson Rel, Magadon, his promises to Mask and Mephistopheles. Shadows swirled around him, agitated, dark.
Abelar looked stricken. The circles under his eyes seemed drawn with charcoal. He had left more than Forrin’s corpse behind in Fairhaven.
“I have started down a path …” Abelar said. He looked past Cale to the sky, to the storm, as if there were hope there. Finding none, he trailed off.
“I know,” Cale said softly.
Regg put a comforting hand on Abelar’s shoulder but said nothing.
Abelar inhaled, straightened up. “There is much to be done here. The bulk of the overmistress’s army remains in the field and we are too few to face it. These people need to be led to safety, Selgaunt or Daerlun. There is much afoot here, as well, and I would that you stay. Both of you.”
The statement touched Cale. He liked Abelar. Jak would have liked him, too.
“I advise against Selgaunt,” he said. “The Hulorn has allied with the Shadovar and is not to be trusted.”
“Daerlun, then,” Regg said.
“You served the Hulorn, yes?” Abelar said.
“I did, but no longer. The Shadovar have great influence over him now. I think you and your people will not be welcome there.”
Abelar considered, nodded. “Daerlun, then. But I repeat my request—stay. Help us. Help … me.”
In refusing, Cale felt as if he were betraying Abelar, but there was nothing for it. “We will return if we can,” he said, and clasped Abelar’s hand. “I mean that. As for the path you are on, turn from it. It can be done.”
Riven cleared his throat, shifted on his feet.
Abelar’s face clouded and he did not release Cale’s hand. “How do you know? Did you?”
The shadows around Cale roiled, crawled up Abelar’s arm. The question might as well have been a punch. He shook his head.
“No. But my path is different. We’re different.”
They stared at each other, one once in service to the light and drifting toward darkness, one in service to shadow and just drifting. Thunder growled.
“Perhaps not as different as you think,” Abelar said at last and released him.
Cale could say nothing to that.
“I owe you both much,” Abelar said, adopting a formal