Curse of the Shadowmage

by Monte Cook

  Cormik lurched to his feet, pulling the apple from his mouth and flinging it away. “I do like food,” he gasped, “but not when I’m the main course.”

  Already the gibberlings were recovering from the blast, and some recalled their prey. Morhion slashed out with his knife, keeping several of the beasts from leaping onto the platform. Cormik drew a jeweled dagger long enough to serve as a short sword and plunged it into the belly of another gibberling. It fell howling into the crowd. Instantly, several other gibberlings set upon the creature and tore it apart in a gory feast.

  “We’ve got to free the others,” Morhion said urgently, waving his knife at an advancing gibberling.

  “I suppose you want me to go,” Cormik complained as he eviscerated another of the creatures. “Very well, but do cover me. And remember, gibberlings don’t like bright lights.”

  One of the disgusting creatures clambered onto the slab right in front of Morhion, its open maw dripping saliva. The mage kicked out, shattering its jaw and throwing it backward. Concentrating for a moment, he muttered the arcane words of a spell. A spark shot up from his hand, bursting overhead in a ball of radiance that hovered in the air like a tiny sun.

  Immediately, the gibberlings descended into bedlam. The creatures cowered against the light, yowling and whining piteously, frantically running around in small circles. Cormik wasted no time. He hiked up his robe in distaste, stepping on the flat heads of some of the sniveling, prostrate creatures, knocking others aside as he made his way toward the stone cage where Mari, Kellen, and Jewel were imprisoned.

  A huge boulder covered the only exit from the prison. “It took a score of them to push the boulder into place,” Mari shouted through a gap in the stones. “We’ll never be able to move it!”

  “I wasn’t thinking of moving it,” Cormik replied. Grunting, he picked up a large rock and hurled it against the cage’s stalagmite bars. The thin columns of stone cracked. Face puffed and red with effort, Cormik hefted another rock and heaved it at the cage. This time two of the stalagmites shattered, creating an opening wide enough for the three to scramble through.

  “Thanks for getting the door, Cormik,” Jewel said brightly as she climbed out of the cage. “You’re a perfect gentleman.”

  “I think I’ve given myself a hernia,” Cormik groaned.

  The gibberlings still cowered under the brilliant magical light, and Morhion took the opportunity to climb off the platform. Something crunched beneath his boot. He looked down and saw that it was an old skull. A human skull. Bones were strewn around the stone slab, along with bits of armor and rusted weapons—the remains of past meals. A glint of silver caught Morhion’s eye. Bending down, he picked up a metal cylinder. A wax seal covered one end of the silver tube. Morhion broke the seal, and a curled piece of parchment slipped out. Carefully unrolling the paper, he saw that it was covered with the spidery writing of magic. A wizard’s scroll. The spell inscribed there was not one that Morhion recognized. It seemed to have something to do with … feathers.

  “Morhion!” Mari cried out. “The gibberlings are getting used to the light.”

  Morhion looked up, shoving the scroll into a pocket of his vest. Mari was right. Shading their beady eyes with clawed hands, some of the furry creatures were climbing to their feet. Others were already shambling forward. Their hunger was stronger than their fear. A few of the braver gibberlings advanced on Mari and the others, gnashing yellow fangs. Hastily, Morhion cast another spell, and a flurry of blazing purple sparks whirled in the air. The sparks quickly sizzled through fur to the creatures’ tender flesh. The gibberlings snarled and rolled, batting their paws against their smoldering pelts. Morhion quickly moved toward the others.

  “Duck!” Mari shouted as he drew near.

  Without hesitating, he crouched down. Mari swung her short sword, neatly decapitating two gibberlings who had been just about to pounce on the mage’s back.

  “We have to get back to the bridge!” Jewel exclaimed, waving a curved dagger to keep a slavering gibberling away from a wide-eyed Kellen.

  Morhion concurred, but now dozens of the creatures were braving the light to close in around the companions, and more joined them every second. He slashed his knife at one of the creatures, cutting a mortal gash in its side. In moments the things would overwhelm them with sheer numbers.

  “We’ve got to do something!” Mari grunted as she brought her sword down in a slashing arc. Her blow cleaved a gibberling in two, revealing the creature’s inner anatomy, which consisted largely of stomach. Mari slashed again, and Morhion noticed something interesting. Chittering with terror, several gibberlings had scrambled away from a shadow on the cavern wall—Mari’s shadow, cast by the magical sphere of light. He wondered …

  “Kellen, can you bring our shadows on the wall to life?” he asked quickly. “Make them large, and turn them into frightening shapes?”

  Kellen nodded gravely.

  “But there’s no need to bother with Cormik’s shadow, love,” Jewel added glibly as she yanked her dagger out of a dying gibberling. “It’s already frighteningly large as it is.”

  Cormik glowered at the impertinent thief, but before he could utter a biting retort, Kellen had lifted his flute and begun to play a haunting melody. Their shadows moved on the cavern’s rough stone wall. The five silhouettes expanded, looming like twisted giants as they stretched out long, menacing arms.

  Instantly, howls of fear rose from the army of gibberlings. The creatures abandoned their prey as they bit and clawed each other in a frantic effort to escape the undulating shadows.

  “Keep playing, Kellen!” Morhion shouted above the cacophony. “It’s working!”

  “They’re not very intelligent creatures,” he called out, “but they do remember what they’re afraid of. I think they encountered Caledan a few days ago, and now they are terrified of shadows. For good reason.”

  The gibberlings were dispersing, scurrying into tunnels and crevices.

  “Come on!” Morhion shouted. “I think we can make it to the bridge now.”

  As they pushed their way through the panicked horde toward the stone arch, a stray claw sliced a shallow gouge in Mari’s leg. Kellen’s face was gray and strained, but he did not stop playing. The shadows continued to writhe threateningly on the cavern wall.

  At last they reached the bridge. The narrow span of stone was swarming with fleeing gibberlings, all snarling and scratching in an effort to climb over each other.

  “We’ll never make it across that,” Cormik said in disgust.

  “Allow me to clear the way,” Morhion replied with mock congeniality. Fluid words of magic tumbled from his lips, and a small crimson sphere appeared in his hand. As Morhion finished the incantation, he hurled the sphere at the bridge. It sped through the air, expanding rapidly into a huge, blazing ball of fire.

  The creatures never knew what hit them. The fireball raced along the length of the bridge, igniting everything in its path and exploding in searing flame when it hit the far end. Engulfed in fire, scores of the creatures careened off the bridge, plunging into the chasm like shooting stars. When the smoke cleared, the bridge was empty. Only a thin layer of ashes covered its scorched surface.

  “After you, Cormik,” Morhion said graciously.

  “You’re too kind,” he replied with a nasty grin as he stepped onto the bridge.

  A sharp crack! resounded on the air. The bridge shook violently as a jagged line snaked across its surface. As they watched in horror, more cracks spread out from the fissure. Chunks of stone broke off the edges of the arch, dropping into the void. The bridge was collapsing. Jewel grabbed Cormik’s belt and pulled the crime lord backward just as the rock beneath his boots crumbled. There was another sharp, rending sound. All at once, the bridge disintegrated, collapsing into the darkness below.

  “The fireball,” Mari murmured, gazing at the now-impassable chasm. “The heat of it must have weakened the bridge.”

  Morhion scratched his chin, giving the
others a sheepish look. “Everyone makes mistakes now and then.”

  “This one was a doozy, love,” Jewel commented smartly.

  “Thanks,” the mage replied.

  Kellen lowered his flute for a moment. “Morhion,” he said breathlessly. “The orb of light, it’s fading.” He raised his flute and resumed playing.

  The others looked up. Sure enough, the ball of magical light Morhion had conjured was beginning to flicker. The shadows on the wall were growing dim. Already some of the gibberlings were creeping back out of their hiding places, eyeing the receding shadows warily as they edged toward the companions. Soon there would be nothing to hold back the horde.

  “Hurry, Morhion,” Mari said. “You’ve got to cast the light spell again.”

  “And I presume you’re going to rewrite the rules of magic so I can do this?” he replied acidly. “Once a mage has cast a spell, he cannot cast it again until he has relearned the incantation. And something tells me I don’t have the time.”

  The globe of light flickered alarmingly. The shadows were barely visible on the wall now. More gibberlings crept from their holes and crevices, then still more. With grim expressions, the humans backed slowly toward the edge of the precipice, weapons raised. The drooling horde closed in.

  Kellen lowered his flute. “There goes the light!” he cried.

  Above them, the glowing sphere flickered erratically. In seconds the spell would expire. It was hopeless.

  Or was it? Morhion sheathed his knife and drew out the scroll he had found. He didn’t know exactly what the spell did—that would take hours of study to learn—but he had a hunch.

  “Everybody, sheathe your weapons and hold on to me!” he shouted.

  The others just stared at him.

  “Do it!” he commanded fiercely.

  Startled, they did as they were told. Morhion wasted no time. He lifted the scroll and began to read the arcane incantation in the fading light. Just as he was speaking the final words, the hovering sphere of magical light vanished in a puff of smoke, plunging the cavern into darkness. Chittering with glee, the gibberlings rushed forward, ready to gobble up their prey.

  “Now jump!” Morhion cried.

  He leapt backward off the cliff. The others were too surprised to stop him. Clutching the mage, they toppled over the precipice with him, screaming as they plummeted into the darkness below. Above, the thwarted gibberlings howled in dismay.

  It will be now or never, Morhion thought in panic.

  For a split second, as they fell through the chill dark, speeding toward a bloody death on sharp stones below, it seemed as if they would all die. Suddenly, the scroll in Morhion’s hand burst into flame and was consumed as the magic of the spell was released. A heartbeat later, the five reached the bottom of the chasm. However, instead of being dashed upon jagged stone teeth, they found themselves cushioned by a blast of warm air that came from nowhere. The gust of air dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, lowering the five safely—if not gently—to the hard ground.

  Slowly, Morhion got to his feet, smiling. His hunch had proved right.

  Dazed, the others pulled themselves to their feet, blinking as their eyes adjusted once more to the dim green phosphorescence that filled the cavern, trying to understand what had happened.

  A dark shape dropped down from on high, striking the bottom of the defile with a loud plop! Moments later, another shape fell from above, and then another, all landing disconcertingly close to the companions.

  “It’s the gibberlings,” Mari breathed in amazement. “They’re jumping after us!”

  “Remarkable,” Cormik muttered in awe. “They’re even more stupid than I thought.”

  In seconds, it was raining gibberlings. The creatures shrieked and snarled as they fell, striking the ground with wet thuds and dying instantly. Dodging the deadly rain of doomed gibberlings, the five picked their way along the bottom of the chasm.

  At last they left the grisly cascade of furry creatures behind. Before long, Jewel caught a faint whiff of fresh air. They ducked into a side tunnel and soon stumbled out of the granite hill and into the night. The storm had ended; now tatters of clouds raced across a moonlit sky. The companions leaned against the rain-slick rocks, catching their breath.

  “You know, Jewel,” Cormik grumbled, “that was without doubt the worst campsite at which I have ever had the displeasure of spending a night.”

  “Well, you can pick the next one if you think it’s so easy, love,” Jewel replied tartly.

  Cormik opened his mouth for a scathing retort, but Morhion held up a hand. He had had enough for one night.

  “Let’s just go find the horses,” he said wearily, and that was what they did.

  Ten

  K’shar had always loved the night.

  The golden moon of midnight hovered above the low stone buildings of Twilight Hall, its pale-wine illumination conjuring as many purple shadows as it banished. Somewhere in the distance, a nightingale sang in sweet mourning. And despite the lateness of the year, the wild perfume of nightflowers wafted on the wind. Silent and wraithlike, K’shar moved from one pool of darkness to the next, piercing the gloom easily with eyes as brilliant and golden as the moon above. He was at home in the dark; but then, darkness was in his blood.

  Twilight Hall, which stood on a green hill in the center of the city of Berdusk, was the western stronghold of the Harpers. It was not, as its name implied, merely a large meadhall or gathering place, but rather consisted of a number of stone buildings clustered around a central courtyard. Yet there was more to Twilight Hall than even this, for much of the compound lay beneath the ground—including the dusky meeting hall for which the Harper fortress was named. Though K’shar had joined the Harpers more than twenty years earlier, he had spent little of that time in Twilight Hall itself. Most of his days were spent traveling the Heartlands, hunting down such prey—be it Zhentarim, Red Wizards, or goblin lords—as the Harpers commanded. K’shar was the best Hunter the Harpers had. This was not a matter of pride, just fact.

  Tonight, K’shar was to learn the details of his latest assignment. He could only hope that his new quarry would prove more interesting than the last several. It had been long since he felt challenged by one of his adversaries. The Red Wizards of Thay were always overconfident and thus easily tracked; the Zhentarim were simply stupid. Again and again, the fugitives were too easily caught, too easily slain. When they lay dead at his feet, his blood had only just begun to surge with the passion of the chase, and he was left feeling hollow and unfulfilled. Perhaps, he thought—and not for the first time—he should leave the Harpers. Perhaps he should seek out challenges more worthy of his talents.

  K’shar pushed aside these foolish, discontented thoughts. He was bored, that was all. As soon as he began the chase again, he would feel better.

  K’shar approached the compound’s central building and stepped into the pool of torchlight by the main door. Two young Harpers stood guard at the portal, and by the surprise on their faces, he knew they had not heard his soft approach. He bared white teeth in a feral smile. Apprentices! he thought wryly.

  The young Harpers did not recognize him—this was not surprising, given the rarity of his visits to Twilight Hall—but after examining his letter of summons from Belhuar Thantarth they let him enter, their eyes wide and respectful. K’shar wound his way down through a dim labyrinth of corridors and staircases until he reached a pair of gilded doors. Without hesitating, he pushed them open, striding into the Great Hall beyond.

  Instantly, a dozen pairs of eyes riveted upon him. K’shar was striking to look at. He knew this, even as he dismissed it as meaningless. His skin was a deep, burnished color, like ancient bronze; his golden eyes were eerily at odds with his colorless, close-cropped hair. He was unusually tall and thin, a fact accentuated by the tight-fitting black leather he wore, but he showed none of the awkward gangliness that usually afflicted such individuals. Rather, his leanly muscled limbs seemed like supple whips.
His slightly pointed ears, tilted eyes, and uncanny grace betrayed the elven blood that mingled with the human in his veins.

  The cavernous Great Hall was of ingenious construction. Hewn by dwarven stonesmiths out of the surrounding rock, it seemed not a cavern at all, but a dusky, primeval forest. Countless columns were carved to resemble trees, their stone branches stretching to support the high ceiling. The walls were covered with lifelike leaves of copper and gold that seemed to flutter in the flickering illumination of the rushlights scattered about the hall. The floor, of mottled green-and-brown marble, added to the illusion.

  Belhuar Thantarth looked up as K’shar approached. The Master Harper was holding council—hence the presence of so many Harpers in the hall—but when he spotted K’shar, he quickly dismissed the others with a wave of his hand. In moments, Thantarth and K’shar were alone in the stone forest.

  “K’shar, I am glad you could come.” Thantarth’s deep voice echoed in the now-empty hall.

  K’shar inclined his head slightly. “It is my duty to serve the Harpers,” he said formally, even as a part of him wondered if this was truly so. Was his duty to the Harpers, or simply to the chase?

  “It is with a heavy heart that I set this task before you, K’shar,” Thantarth said somberly. “For both of those whom we ask you to seek are—or at least were, until recently—among the most exalted of Harpers.”

  While K’shar listened with growing interest, Thantarth explained what had transpired. There wasn’t a Harper alive who had not heard the tale of the Shadowking in Iriaebor. The deeds of Caledan Caldorien and Mari Al’maren were heroic folklore passed down to all Harper apprentices. Thus it was all the more shocking—and intriguing—that K’shar’s new prey were none other than these two legendary figures, now turned renegade.

  “Caledan’s transformation must be stopped at any cost,” Thantarth finished firmly. “Whatever his deeds of the past, the Harpers cannot allow a shadowking to walk the Heartlands once more. Mari Al’maren has forsworn her vow as a Harper, and we can assume she will attempt to protect Caledan. While your mission is to find and destroy Caldorien, you are also authorized to … dispose of Al’maren should she block your way.” Thantarth appeared troubled, but his expression was resolute. “Do you accept this mission, K’shar?”