Shadowbred

by Paul S. Kemp

  Rivalen smiled and Tamlin noticed his fangs for the first time. He presumed they were an affectation but could not be certain. “Only those who do not understand it would so describe it. Where have you heard such a thing?”

  Vees cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

  Tamlin hesitated. “I … read of it. I have studied what I could of shadow magic. A trifling amount, I assure you.”

  Rivalen regarded him with a half-smile. “Your reading habits are unusual, Hulorn. I am impressed.”

  Tamlin could not help himself. He preened. Rivalen continued. “The transformation into a shade is no curse, nor is it painful. It is a blessing. But it demands of its recipient a lifetime of service to the city.”

  Tamlin well understood the burden of service. “Intriguing.”

  Rivalen breathed in the wine. “I could arrange for you to learn more. Perhaps a tour of Shade Enclave at some later date?”

  “I would like that,” Tamlin said, and found that he liked Rivalen Tanthul, liked him a great deal. He seemed … certain of himself.

  “We were about to discuss weighty matters,” Vees offered.

  Tamlin dared one more personal question. “You said the transformation demands a lifetime of service. How long is that lifetime? How old are you, Prince Rivalen?”

  Vees looked agog. His mouth hung open.

  Rivalen’s eyes flared but he did not hesitate. “I am nearly two thousand years old.”

  Tamlin’s mouth fell open then. “Two thousand,” he said softly. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine. To live so long, to be immune to disease, to regenerate wounds. Tamlin well understood how Rivalen could call the transformation a blessing. Mister Cale was a fool.

  “I can see you are interested in learning more, Hulorn, and I am pleased by your interest. Most of those we have encountered since our return are small minded about such things. They see darkness and assume evil. Let us plan further discussion of it later. Not as representatives of our governments, but as friends.”

  Tamlin smiled, quite pleased with the offer.

  “I see I needn’t have been here to broker anything,” Vees said with a laugh. “You two already are boon companions.”

  Tamlin leaned forward in his chair and decided to be frank. “Prince Rivalen, you are aware of recent events in Sembia?”

  Rivalen nodded. “Of course. A most unfortunate turn.” He shook his head and looked thoughtful. “It is difficult to know in these days who works for good and who for ill.”

  “That it is,” Vees said sadly. “That it is.”

  Tamlin could not keep the indignance from his tone. “I assure you that I am no traitor to my nation, Prince Rivalen, if that is what you mean, nor is any noble of Selgaunt. Or of Saerb, for that matter. Mirabeta Selkirk has lied and murdered her way into a civil war so that she can seize and hold power.”

  Rivalen looked across the table at Tamlin. Shadows swirled around him. Tamlin wanted to quail before the golden eyes but held steady.

  “What you describe is consistent with some reports that we have received. The overmistress wishes to be queen, it would seem. I have lived a long time and seen her like before.”

  “The things some will do for power,” Vees said, and shook his head.

  Rivalen continued. “But even had I not heard those reports, still I would have believed you. Even our brief exchange here has shown me your measure. You are no traitor.”

  The words gave Tamlin great satisfaction. He hid his pleasure behind a drink of his wine. “Yes, well … I am but one man, and Selgaunt is but one city. We are in need of aid. Military aid.”

  “If I may be so bold, you are in need of much more than that,” Rivalen said. “Your city is overcrowded, filthy, rife with disease and hunger. Your priests hold disease and starvation at bay but for how long? How will they cope with winter, or when the siege begins and their spells are needed for other things?”

  Tamlin neither acknowledged nor denied Rivalen’s words, though both of them knew the Shadovar spoke truth. Rivalen continued, “The situation in Selgaunt, indeed, in all of Sembia, is dire. I am authorized by my father, the Most High, to offer assistance.”

  “What form will the assistance you offer take?” Tamlin asked.

  “We are a magical people, my lord,” Rivalen said, and shadows swirled around him, as if to make his point. “Many powerful priests and wizards work for the betterment of our city. And while the military forces with which we could aid you are not numerous, they are nevertheless formidable, and highly mobile.”

  Tamlin had no doubt, but he feared the price to be paid.

  “What do you ask in exchange?”

  Rivalen leaned back in his chair and gestured casually with his hand, as if he were requesting trifles. “I ask that the ties between our people become much closer. I would need a formal treaty between our cities, an embassy in Selgaunt, and an informal position as advisor to the hulorn. We also would request a trade alliance—the specific terms of which would be negotiated, of course—and use of your port for importing and exporting goods. Should the conflict in Sembia turn in favor of Selgaunt—and with Netheril’s assistance, I believe it will—we would expect you to advocate a similar arrangement with a few other key cities of the realm.”

  “Netheril?” Tamlin asked, puzzled. “You mean Shade Enclave.”

  Rivalen shrugged noncommittally and Tamlin let the issue die. In truth, nothing Rivalen had requested surprised Tamlin, nor did anything cause him concern. The Shadovar could have asked for much more and he would have given it. Tamlin was not in a position to haggle. He said, “We would expect a reciprocal arrangement with regard to the embassy. And the port access would be subject to an annual usage fee, of course.”

  “Of course,” Rivalen said.

  Tamlin shared a glance with Vees before saying to Rivalen, “Your offer is not unreasonable, but I would need a show of good faith to take to the Old Chauncel.”

  “I understand,” said Rivalen. “I can arrange for significant amounts of food to be transported into the city. Shadovar troops can have it here in a matter of a few days. At the same time, their presence will bolster your defenses. Would that serve?”

  Tamlin was not certain how much he liked the idea of Shadovar troops entering Selgaunt, but the city did need the food.

  “That is a start,” he said.

  “Here is an end, then,” said Rivalen. “Vees informed me that you have organized an attempted rescue of Endren Corrinthal, the nobleman of Saerb. He is imprisoned in Yhaunn, I believe.”

  Tamlin eyed Vees with disapproval, but said to Rivalen, “Vees’s tongue is loose, but that is correct.”

  “We can be of assistance with that as well.”

  “Indeed? How?”

  “I have men who …”

  Tamlin shook his head. “Out of the question. My agent would not welcome that kind of assistance.”

  “He is a bit unstable,” said Vees.

  Rivalen pressed his lips together, thoughtful, and said, “A distraction, then? At the moment of the attack? Surely that would assist your man? And a free Endren helps our cause greatly.”

  “It would have to be quite a distraction,” Tamlin said, half-jesting.

  Rivalen smiled and showed his fangs. “As I said, Lord Uskevren, we are a magical people. Yhaunn is allied with Ordulin against you and therefore against Shade Enclave. Consider it the first blow of our new alliance. I will endeavor to make it a memorable one. You need only alert me when the rescue is about to occur. I will see to the rest.”

  Tamlin nodded and smiled, feeling satisfied. He had made the decision that gave Selgaunt its best chance of survival. He said, “We have reached agreement in principle.”

  “Excellent,” Rivalen said.

  “Very good,” Vees said.

  Rivalen said to Vees, “I understand the temple your family has financed is nearly complete.”

  Vees nodded. “Indeed. Nearly so. When it is, I would be honored to give you a tou
r. There are some architectural flourishes that I am sure you will appreciate.”

  Rivalen nodded in agreement.

  “And speaking of a tour,” Tamlin said to Rivalen, “I intend to take you up on your offer of a tour of your city, Prince Rivalen.”

  Rivalen smiled politely. “I shall look forward to it.”

  Cale awakened at midnight inside Mask’s temple. Shirtless, he sat cross-legged on the floor and prayed to the Shadowlord for power. He also offered his gratitude for the opportunity to truly say goodbye to Jak, to bury him. On the Sembian plains, Mask had whispered to Cale that he was almost there. Cale was all the way there now.

  Spells filled Cale’s mind, sparked in his brain. Cale knew he would not be able to use the spells in the attack on the Hole, but he would use them before they got in and after they got out.

  He remained awake the rest of the night, smoking Jak’s pipe. When morning arrived he dressed, checked and rechecked his gear, sharpened his blades, and sought out Riven.

  He found him outside in the sun, watching the dogs roll in the grass. The wind off the sea was cool. The dogs noticed Cale, ran over and sniffed him. They whined at the stump of his wrist, but he patted them with his other hand and they licked him in greeting.

  Riven and Cale discussed final points of strategy while the dogs played. They would enter quickly and quietly, take a guard alive, and force him to take them to Endren. The Hole did not keep many prisoners, so Endren would not be hard to locate. After they had him, they would get the hells out.

  Easy. Except that it would be hard.

  In the distance, Cale could see the hilltop where they had buried Jak. Riven followed his gaze.

  “We could have used Fleet on this job,” Riven said.

  Cale nodded. “The shadowwalkers?” he asked.

  Riven shook his head. “I only see them at night. They’ll be along.”

  They spent the rest of the day preparing themselves. Cale knew they would have to kill guards to get Endren out. He told himself that it was justified, that he was trying to rescue an innocent man for the greater good of Sembia. But he knew that was a lie. He was prepared to rescue Endren and kill guards because he thought and hoped that it would somehow lead him to Magadon. Mask had promised him that Sembia’s plight would lead back to Magadon, and Cale believed the Shadowlord. And if Cale had to kill strangers to get to his friend, he would do it. He would not like it, but he would do it.

  Late in the day he and Riven took a meal together. Cale found it strange to be doing something so ordinary with Riven, something friends did together. He was not sure if Riven was his friend, but he knew they understood one another as no one else did, save perhaps Mask himself. If that was not friendship, it was still something Cale appreciated.

  Before they finished their meal, a familiar buzzing sounded in Cale’s ears—a sending. He tensed, shadows swirled. Tamlin’s voice spoke in his mind.

  The Shadovar offer a distraction at Yhaunn. When will you make the attempt? My spell allows you to respond. Use fewer than two score words.

  Cale frowned, still displeased that Tamlin had taken Vees’s advice and made common cause with the Shadovar. He debated whether to respond at all. Riven must have read his expression.

  “What is it?” the assassin asked across the table.

  “Tamlin Uskevren and the Shadovar are offering to provide a distraction to coincide with our move against the Hole.”

  Riven’s eye narrowed. “The Shadovar? What kind of distraction?”

  Cale shook his head. They stared at one another across the table. Both knew the attempt on the Hole was dangerous. A distraction could help.

  “Take it,” Riven said.

  Cale considered, nodded, and responded to Tamlin:

  After moonset tonight, he sent, and the buzzing in his ears stopped.

  “That will have to be something special to be worth our while,” Riven said.

  Rivalen Tanthul’s voice echoed through the corridors of Ssessimyth’s mind.

  Swim for Yhaunn. After moonset, destroy the harbor and dock ward.

  Ssessimyth knew where Yhaunn lay. He knew the location of most every city on the coast of the Inner Sea, at least those that had existed before he had been bonded to the Source.

  Thinking of the Source pained him distantly. He still longed for it. He sometimes felt as though the Source were still bonded to him, still one with his flesh. But he knew the sensation to be a phantom created out of his memories, out of his hopes. Rivalen and his shadowy brothers had magically removed the crystal from his flesh, torn it out in a shower of blood and veins and brain matter and pain.

  But Ssessimyth knew it was for the best. Rivalen meant him well.

  He undulated, propelled a vast amount of water into and out of his body, and cut through the cold depths. Had he been hunting, he would have kept to the deepest water and knifed surfaceward only after spotting prey, only for the kill. But he was not hunting and he made no effort to disguise his bulk or his passage. The cluster of his tentacles trailed behind him, waving rhythmically with each undulation. The sea cleared out before him. Nothing in the water could challenge him. He was supreme in his domain.

  He headed east and north along the Sembian coast. His pace devoured the leagues. He swam silently under ships, and past outposts of sea elves and warbands of tritons. He grew hungry and dived for the depths. He coasted near the bottom, the motion of his body tossing up a churn of sea floor behind him. Whalesong sounded in the distance, a poem of love and loyalty. Ssessimyth swam for it, spotted a mother humpback and her nearly grown calf far above him.

  He angled upward for the whales. Before the mother saw him, he was upon her. He rammed his head into her abdomen, whirled, and wrapped his tentacles about her body and squeezed. He was ten times her weight; she had no chance. She spun in his grasp, sang in terror, but could not escape his strangling hold. She grew exhausted quickly and issued a single command to her offspring.

  Flee!

  The calf sped off into the deeps, singing despair for its mother. Ssessimyth allowed the calf to escape and held the mother in the net of his arms until she suffocated. He devoured her, tearing off huge chunks of her flesh in his beak. Blood and fragments drifted toward the sea bottom but scavengers did not approach. They would wait until Ssessimyth departed.

  After he completed his meal and let the humpback female’s bones sink to the bottom, he sped for Yhaunn. As he approached, he twisted his tentacles into an arcane arrangement and recited the words to a spell known to all of his kind. Magical energy went forth from him and sped surfaceward to summon a storm.

  An hour later he breached the surface. Clouds blocked the stars and a cold winter rain pounded the sea. The rain cooled the warmer waters near the surface. Cool water better allowed Ssessimyth to control his buoyancy. In the distance, he spotted through the rain the cluster of lights that was Yhaunn.

  He sped toward the harbor, gaining speed as he went.

  After sunset, Nayan and his shadowwalkers returned. When the darkness grew deep, Cale, Riven, Nayan, and the shadowwalkers rode the night into an alley within the walls of Yhaunn.

  Wind-whipped rain thumped against their cloaks, so cold it was nearly sleet. The group pulled up their hoods and stepped out of the alley and onto a main thoroughfare.

  Two-and three-story wooden buildings with steeply-pitched tile roofs lined the paved street, crammed so closely together they fairly melded into one long structure that ran the length of the block. Streams of the city’s effluvium raced down the city’s open sewer channels on either side of the street. The downpour slicked the stone.

  The late hour and freezing rain left no passersby on the street. A few wheelbarrows dotted the walks, and an unhappy horse, soaked and shivering, stood tied to a hitching post outside a shuttered inn. Lights burned in a few second-story windows. Lanterns hung from hooked poles that lined the avenue. The rain had put out several. The others shook in the wind.

  A boy holding an oversized cloak
over his head darted out of an alley and untied the horse from its hitch. Cale and his companions sank into darkness out of habit and the boy never noticed them.

  “Here,” the boy said to the horse, and pulled the recalcitrant animal down the alley.

  They continued down the street until they reached a plaza that featured a bronze statue of a wizard in the midst of casting a spell. Sleet glazed the statue’s outstretched arm and hand. From the plaza, Cale got a good look at the whole of the city.

  Yhaunn lay in the bottom of a shallow, sloped quarry, not unlike an immense bowl. The city was sectioned into tiers built in stages down the quarry’s slope like giant steps leading downward to the sea. Walled earthen ramps bridged the tiers. At the bottom of the city stood the deepwater harbor, the piers, and the ramshackle buildings of the poor. Ships crowded the piers and despite the rain and hour, Cale could see several forms moving along the piers in quivering lantern light. Beyond the piers the Inner Sea stretched into the distance, dark and foreboding.

  The tall towers and mansions of the wealthy stood atop the highest tier. From that lofty perch the rich were afforded a pleasant view of the sea and a less pleasant view of their less fortunate citizens. Yhaunn’s buildings, even its noble mansions, did not show the architectural variety of Selgaunt. Most were square with a rounded turret or two, and all featured the pale limestone that once was pulled out of the quarry.

  Between the two extremes of the mansions and wharves stood the cramped wood-and-brick forest of buildings in which lived Yhaunn’s laborers, traders, craftsmen, and artists. A four-domed mansion in the center of the city and the tall, magically-lit spires of a guildhouse just above the wharves created a meager skyline.

  The city gave Cale the impression of being overstuffed, of overflowing its bowl. The buildings sprawled over every square of ground within the quarry and crawled up the sides.

  Cale turned and looked behind them. Overlooking the noble manses, and built not within the quarry but on top of its cliff wall, stood the Roadkeep—Yhaunn’s treasury, barracks, and gaol. A ramp of piled earth and crushed stone led down from the Roadkeep into Yhaunn. No traffic moved upon it. The night was too old, the sleet too heavy.