Power filled Cale's mind. Despite his conflicting obligations to G.o.d and archfiend, the Shadowlord continued to answer his prayers. Cale did not understand it, not fully, but did not need to.

Each day after sleeping, Riven sat up, coughed, spit, and lit his pipe. The dark smoke curled into the dark sky. Magadon always sat apart from them, without armor, without his backpack full of gear, with only a dagger for a weapon. To Cale he seemed lost. Cale was determined to help him find himself again.

Throughout the days, Cale used a minor conjuration to summon food and water, mostly stew in bowls made of bread. The three men ate, smoked, talked, shaved, checked their gear and weapons, and idled away the hours. The time pa.s.sed slowly, but Cale could see Magadon regaining his strength. He ate more and more and Cale was pleased to see it.

"I am ready," Magadon said to them on the second night.

Cale and Riven nodded.

"Tomorrow, then," Cale said.

The next morning they took their fill of breakfast in silence. Afterward, they stood and readied themselves.

Cale held his mask and drew Weaveshear. Darkness leaked from the blade in lazy strands. Riven checked the buckles on his armor, tested the balance on both his sabers. Magadon sheathed the dagger Riven had given him on Cania.

"Mags, can you link us?" Cale asked tentatively. "Do not, if it will ... make things worse."

Riven looked a question at him, but Cale ignored it.

Magadon shook his head. "It does not make it worse. It just reminds me of what is."

The mindmage looked to Riven, to Cale, and Cale felt a soft tingle under his scalp.

We're linked, Magadon projected. He held out his palm and a yellow ball of light formed above it. The light flared, lengthened, shaped itself into the form of a blade.

Riven whistled softly and chuckled. The a.s.sa.s.sin patted Magadon on the shoulder. "Looks like you do have a weapon. Good to have you back."

Magadon nodded at Riven. To Cale, he projected, I'm with you. For as long as I can be I'm with you. For as long as I can be.

Whatever the price, Cale answered, I will fix it I will fix it.

Magadon smiled softly, an indulgent smile, and closed his eyes in concentration. A green glow haloed his head, spread to his arms, torso, and thighs, and sheathed him in force-armor made from his mind.

They were ready. Cale looked his friends in the face.

"I will put us directly into the cemetery, as near to the gate as I can. Ignore the wraiths as much as possible and move right for the darkweaver and the gate. All we need to do is get through it."

Magadon nodded. Riven tapped the holy symbol that dangled from a chain around his neck.

"We go," Cale said. He pictured the cemetery of Elgrin Fau in his mind, pulled the shadows about him, and moved them there.

CHAPTER FIVE.

20 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms Elyril arrived in Yhaunn with Kefil and donned the appropriate false face. She made her required appearance before the Nessarch, the rotund and bearded Andilal Tharimpar. She endured Andilal's ham-handed flirtations as she stood at his side and looked out of a Roadkeep balcony and down on the descending terraces of the city. The thin spires of Gla.s.scrafters' Hall, capped with orange domes that looked like flames, dominated the skyline of the city's center. Beyond and below it, in the lower terrace, the dock ward lay in ruins.

Elyril expressed concern and resolve on her aunt's behalf, and agreed to tour the destruction of the docks with the Nessarch's aide and son, Kalton Tharimpar, an entirely ordinary man of thirty or so winters with pale skin, a thin beard, and curly brown hair. When the time came, she inhaled minddust and brought Kefil along on a thick leather leash.

"That is the largest mastiff I have ever seen," Kalton said. He wore a fox-trimmed cape over his high-collared shirt and tailored breeches. A heavy blade hung at his side. He eyed Kefil warily.

"He has been my companion since childhood," Elyril said, and patted the dog's ma.s.sive head. Drool dripped from his enormous jowls. He licked Elyril's hand and stared distaste at Kalton.

They took a carriage down the city, across the ramp bridges that connected the various terraces, until they reached the docks. There, they disembarked.

Elyril shook her head at the immensity of the destruction. Piles of shattered stone and splintered wood littered the dock ward. Most of the city near the sh.o.r.eline lay in ruins. Dislodged piers jutted askew from the still muddy waters. All around her, the innards of crumbled buildings lay surrounded by the ruins of their skin. Kalton offered his hand and a.s.sisted Elyril through the destruction, smiling ingratiatingly but staying to one side of Kefil.

"Milady can see that progress has been rapid."

Elyril saw nothing of the kind but nodded anyway. Teams of laborers used carts and mules to clear the debris as best they could. Nods and curt bows acknowledged Elyril and Kalton, but nothing more. The workmen were too intent on their tasks. Kefil growled at shadows.

"He seems an aggressive animal," Kalton said.

"He is," Elyril agreed.

Flotsam from the destruction congealed like a scab along the sh.o.r.eline. An enormous, concave depression in the mud and stone marred the sh.o.r.e where the kraken had beached for the attack. Countless gulls wheeled in the air, cawing. Others prowled the mud for morsels.

"The creature was enormous," Elyril said.

"Unlike anything I have ever seen," Kalton said, his voice somber. "I a.s.sisted a ballista crew. We hit it three times. I think it could have been a hundred. The creature felt nothing." He looked about. "But we will rebuild. Did Milady ever visit the stiltways before recent events?" He pointed to Elyril's right, at an entire block of collapsed wooden buildings. The remains of stilts stuck up out of the ruins like shards of bone. Elyril thought them comical.

"I did not," she said.

"That is regrettable," Kalton said. "They were the soul of the docks. Shop upon shop, all on stilts and interconnected with ladders, swings, and chutes. I loved it as a child. Crime there had become a problem in recent years, but still ..."

"Drugs?" Elyril asked.

Kalton nodded. "Of all kinds."

Elyril wished she had seen it, indeed.

Kalton firmed up and said, "But that, too, we will rebuild, better than before." He pointed toward the northern end of the harbor. "The northern piers suffered damage only from the rush of water. Most are salvageable and, as you can see, several remain usable."

Split logs reinforced some of the northern piers. Four caravels flying the heraldry of Raven's Bluff sat at anchor near them. Dock workers swarmed over ships and docks, unloading crates and barrels. A half-dozen carracks floated nearby, awaiting their turn to unload.

"I am shocked at the destruction," Elyril said, though she was amused at the many ghosts of the dead that lingered around the wreckage, particularly around the stiltways. They floated here and there, grimacing. Kefil snapped at those within reach. Elyril continued. "The attack was outrageous, outside the bounds of decency."

Kalton licked his thin lips and looked about at the destruction. "On that we are agreed, Milady."

She put a hand on his forearm and saw the eager gleam it elicited in his eye. Kefil growled a warning.

"The rebels will be made to pay," she said. "I a.s.sure you of that. And my aunt soon will send additional aid to a.s.sist with the rebuilding here."

He placed his hand over hers and she held her smile despite his sweaty palm.

I wish to devour his b.a.l.l.s, Kefil projected.

The thought pleased Elyril but she commanded the mastiff to heel.

Kalton caressed her hand. "I am pleased to hear that. Your aunt is an impressive woman. As are you."

She smiled and gently disengaged her hand from his. "Would it be possible to speak to the Watchblades who were guarding the Hole the night of the attack? My aunt is interested in determining the specific ident.i.ty of the attackers who freed Endren Corrinthal."

He smiled and bowed. "We have already questioned them, as well as the corpse of the raider we felled, but you are welcome to speak to them again. The Watchblades I will put at your disposal. The corpse we preserved in antic.i.p.ation of further investigation. I will arrange for all of that tonight, if it suits you."

"It does. Thank you, Kalton."

He smiled. "But before any of that, I insist you join me for a meal. It is already late afternoon and I am spoiled by your company."

Kefil circled around to Kalton's shadow and tore it to shreds. Kalton did not notice.

"You flatter me," Elyril said, and faked a smile. "Of course I will dine with you."

Later, prior to the meal, she stroked Kefil and inhaled an extra snuff of minddust, which helped her endure Kalton's babbling and his storm of boring stories. She laughed aloud when a swarm of flies burst from his mouth. He gagged and spat and she laughed all the harder. He seemed puzzled by her mirth and she did not bother to explain.

Afterward, she returned to her official residence-a well-appointed, two-story home and office near the Roadkeep that housed official guests of the Nessarch.

Did you murder him? Kefil asked. The mastiff lay stretched before the stone fireplace, faking sleep. Kefil asked. The mastiff lay stretched before the stone fireplace, faking sleep.

"Of course not," she said. "I am an amba.s.sador. He is the Nessarch's son."

You are mad, Kefil said, and began to snore.

Elyril ignored the dog and prepared for her interrogations. She clothed herself in spells from Shar that allowed her to detect lies and that made her words supernaturally persuasive. She had the steward send for the guards from the Hole and interrogated them, one by one, in a small study.

Her spells made all of them deferential and cooperative but most had seen little. Moments after they had first heard the kraken attack, magical darkness had shrouded the interior guard post. They had never seen their attackers. The guards at the top of the lift had caught only a glimpse of the raiding party before they had been rendered unconscious by attackers who emerged from the shadows behind them.

Shadovar, Elyril a.s.sumed. She wondered how involved in events the Nightseer might have been. She pulled idly at the magical amethyst ring on her finger.

None of the guards had been complicit, Elyril determined, and none of them were lying. She had expected as much. The Nessarch's priests would have ferreted out any traitors.

The raiders numbered less than ten, by all accounts, but had moved so quickly and quietly that the guards had been unable to organize an effective response. By the time the guards had responded in number, Endren had already been freed. The guards had pursued, but one of the raiders sacrificed himself to give time for his fellows to escape; he killed seven guards with his hands before the other guards finally cut him down. His magically preserved body remained in the possession of the Nessarch's charnel keeper, in the bowels of the Roadkeep. Priests of Waukeen had questioned his corpse at the Nessarch's request, but learned nothing. They intended to try again, or so thought the guards.

The raiders never made it back to the lift. Instead, they fled down an old mineshaft. Stones and bolts had knocked them from the walls but no bodies had been found at the bottom. Importantly, Elyril learned that the Hole's zone of dead magic ended before the shaft hit bottom.

And that was how the raiders escaped, she a.s.sumed.

After hours of discussion with the guards, Elyril had learned little. Two tasks remained to her: an interview with a former guardsman named Phraig-the same Phraig who had been forced by the attackers to lead them to Endren-and an interview with the dead raider. Priests of Waukeen might not be able to compel the corpse to speak, but a priestess of Shar would.

While the steward sought Phraig-he had quit the guard recently-Elyril arranged for a carriage to transport her back to the Roadkeep.

When she arrived, she found that Kalton had instructed the staff to extend her every courtesy. A guard escorted her deep into the Roadkeep's lower levels. There, an elderly charnel worker in a stained leather ap.r.o.n met her.

"The corpse of the dead raider taken from the Hole," she said, and the small old man bobbed his head.

"Yes, Milady."

As they walked, the old man said, "The dead without a family or temple are brought here and interred in the old mines. We have converted them to catacombs."

Elyril nodded but paid little attention. The smell of death filled the air. She found it exciting.

Presently, they reached a small room. The elderly man fumbled with a key, turned the lock, and opened the door. Candlelight spilled out. The body of the raider, wrapped in grave cloth, lay atop a wooden table.

"Milady does not need to see the body underneath, I trust?" he asked.

"On the contrary," Elyril said. "I do."

The old man's face fell and he grumbled, "I will have to rewrap it, Milady. Has the Nessarch approved this?"

Elyril glared at him. "I serve the Overmistress of Sembia, granther. And the Nessarch answers to her. You are not too old to be flogged."

The old man paled and tottered to the table.

"No need to be hasty, Milady. No need for that, now."

He produced a small knife and slit the cloth that bound the body. Stink filled the room, despite the preservation spells. He cleared away the wrap to expose the body and stepped back.

"That will be all," Elyril said. "I need to examine his body for a certain mark. I will summon you when I have completed my investigation."

The thin, gray-haired man eyed her with suspicion but dared not gainsay her. He bobbed his head and withdrew. The closing door flickered the candle flames that lit the room.

Elyril ran her fingers over the dead man's purpling skin. An easterner, Elyril saw, from the eyelids and swarthy skin. But not a shade. Slashes from the guards' blades gaped in his flesh like open mouths. They whispered secrets to Elyril.

Make the book whole, they said. The storm will follow The storm will follow.

She touched her invisible holy symbol and quietly incanted the words to a spell that would pull a portion of the dead man's spirit back to his body. As she chanted, the room grew dark, the shadows long.

A soft purple glow emanated from the dead man's wounds. His eyes creaked open to reveal black orbs.

"Name yourself," Elyril commanded.

The stiff head turned awkwardly in her direction. The dead eyes fixed on her. "Return me to the night eternal, priestess."

"Name yourself," Elyril repeated.

The corpse's mouth hardened, but Elyril's spell pulled the words out. "I am Skelan."

Elyril leaned over his body, let her invisible holy symbol lay against the flesh of his chest. "Who were you?"

Creases lined Skelan's face as he tried to resist, but Elyril's magic compelled an answer. "In life, I was a follower of the Twilight Path and servant of the Shadowlord."

Elyril c.o.c.ked her head. "Mask?"