by Monte Cook
That was when Morhion heard the Valesong.
An inhuman scream sounded. The mage whirled around and stared in horror. Before the basalt throne, the shadowking writhed in agony. The creature flapped dark wings spasmodically, clenching clawed fingers as if struggling with an invisible foe. Against the shadowking’s chest, the Shadowstar pulsated wildly in time to the throbbing music of the Valesong. In moments the star-shaped lump of metal glowed white-hot, sizzling as it burned into the shadowking’s flesh. Then, all at once, the medallion turned to liquid; glowing droplets of metal fell to pool before the throne.
As the Shadowstar melted, the shadowking spread its impossibly long arms in an anguished gesture. It tilted its head back as if to let out a bellowing howl of outrage, yet all that issued from its gaping maw was silence. The shadowking straightened. For a second, Morhion thought it gazed at him with faded green eyes, eyes filled with a look of unspeakable sorrow. Then, like a felled tree, the onyx creature toppled to the hard stone platform in front of the throne.
The shadowking was dead.
* * * * *
Mari reached the base of the pinnacle just as Ferret and Kellen, pale and wide eyed, crawled from their hiding place. The thief eyed Mari critically. Her clothing had been reduced to filthy rags that clung wetly to her body. Soot and blood smudged her face; her hair was a tangled rat’s-nest.
“By Shar above,” Ferret swore with a low whistle, “you look like a she-ore after a bad night of drinking, Mari.”
“Thanks, Ferret,” she replied with a weak smile. “You sure know how to compliment a girl.” Abruptly she slumped toward the ground. Ferret and Kellen rushed forward to support her.
“I think something has happened up there,” Kellen said quietly, gazing toward the summit.
“Maybe we should go see,” Ferret suggested, his beady eyes shifting nervously.
Mari agreed. Together, the three ascended the spiral staircase. They reached the pinnacle’s summit to see Morhion kneeling before the basalt throne. Prostrate beside him was a huge, dark creature.
“It’s dead,” Morhion said without looking up, his voice haggard. “He’s dead.”
Mari choked back tears. They had saved the world from the darkness of a second shadowking. Yet it was no victory to her. Caledan was gone, and she felt utterly hollow. Reluctantly, her eyes moved to the fallen shadowking. The dark body, once gleaming with sinuous life, now seemed merely a shell, the horned countenance a mask.
“I’m sorry, Mari,” Ferret said softly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.
She gave the thief a grateful look, then limped toward Morhion. Reaching down, she gripped the mage’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come,” she said, leading him away from the throne. “Let’s be gone from this place. There is nothing left for us here.”
“Wait.”
Mari looked up in surprise. It was Kellen. In his small hands he clutched the obsidian pipes, the instrument forged by Caledan’s shadow magic.
“I would like to play a song for my father.”
A sharp pang pierced Mari’s chest. For the second time now, she realized, Kellen had witnessed a parent destroyed by the dark magic of a shadowking. Yet his round face was calm, like a cherub carved of alabaster. Somehow, Mari knew, this child was stronger than any of them.
“Of course,” she murmured.
Kellen approached the fallen figure before the throne and lifted the glossy black pipes to his lips. For a moment he hesitated. A hush fell over the crater. Even the Valesong seemed to recede into the distance. It was as if the blasted land itself held its breath, waiting for him to play. Then play he did.
A melody rose from the pipes, gentle, mournful, and achingly beautiful in its simplicity. The voice of the pipes was so sweet and expressive that it seemed almost human, and Mari half-believed that, if she listened carefully, she could hear words in the music:
The Winter King lies sleeping
Beneath the barren briar—
All mantled in snow,
And crowned below,
With berries red as fire.
The Winter Queen stands weeping
Above her pale lord’s rest—
Awaiting the Spring,
In garb of green,
To bear her away on his breast.
So skillful was Kellen’s playing that it took Mari several moments to realize the song was one she knew. A time-honored ballad, “The Winter King” was one of the first songs learned by an apprentice bard. Mari shivered; the ballad seemed especially poignant in this desolate place.
Ferret let out a gasp. “Did you see that?” Mari and Morhion stared in shock.
The shadowking moved.
No—that wasn’t quite it. The limp body of the creature had twitched, but not of its own volition. It was as if something had moved beneath the dark skin. The shadowking moved again, and its torso expanded. For a terrified moment, Mari feared that it was breathing. Then she realized that whatever was struggling was not beneath the corpse of the shadowking. It was inside of it.
Kellen lowered his pipes. “Cut it open!” he cried. “Hurry!”
Ferret reacted immediately. The thief leapt forward, brandishing his dagger, and slipped the tip of the blade beneath the scaly skin of the shadowking’s belly and tore a jagged opening from navel to throat. A flood of dark, gelatinous ichor poured out. Inside the husk of the shadowking, something struggled. Something alive.
“I don’t believe this,” Ferret rasped. “Mari, Morhion! Help me!”
The thief plunged his hands into the slime and began to pull. Mari and the mage rushed forward to aid the thief. It was hard to get a grip on the slippery thing. Finally, as one, the three gave a heave. They nearly tumbled backward as a slime-covered form burst free of the shadowking’s body.
For a stunned moment, Mari could only stare. Then she approached the thing, kneeling beside it. Hesitantly at first, then with growing urgency, she used her bare hands to wipe the dark ichor away. She uncovered naked arms, a bare chest, and finally … a face. Gasping, she backed away. Two eyes fluttered open—faded, familiar green eyes. For a moment they stared in wild confusion, then they settled on Mari.
“Hello, Al’maren,” a hoarse voice whispered.
It was Caledan.
* * * * *
They built a fire in a small hollow at the base of the pinnacle, but Caledan did not think he would ever feel warm again. Mari had cleaned the worst of the slime from his gaunt body, and they had wrapped him in blankets and moved him close to the fire. Still he shivered. But a toothy grin lent life to his haggard visage, and the light in his green eyes, though feverish, was bright and keen.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to drop a few pounds for a while now,” he said wryly, scratching his bony ribs. “I just didn’t realize it would require such drastic measures.”
Absently, he ran his hand over his chest, wincing as his fingers brushed the oozing, star-shaped wound above his heart. Although it was the shadowking who had been burned by the molten Shadowstar, Caledan bore the brand.
“I don’t understand, Caledan,” Mari said softly. “It seemed that the song Kellen played helped free you from the shadowking. But I know that song, ‘The Winter King.’ Half the apprentice bards in the Heartlands can play that tune. There’s nothing magical about it.”
Caledan shook his head. “No, there isn’t.” His eyes grew distant. “You see, as I journeyed toward the Shadowstar, and then on to Ebenfar, my memories became dimmer and dimmer. As the shadowking grew within me, little by little it obscured who I was, like weeds choking a garden. I began to forget myself—my friends, my history, even my …” He swallowed hard. “… even the people I loved most.”
Mari clapped a hand to her mouth but made no comment.
“That’s why I decided to leave something of myself behind, for you to find,” Caledan went on. “Something that, if I did forget myself entirely, might be able to remind me of who and what I was. ‘The Winter King’ was the first song
I ever learned to play on my pipes as a child. I figured that, if it couldn’t help me remember myself, then nothing would. The problem was, I couldn’t let the part of me that was the shadowking know what I intended. I had to find a way to leave behind my message without letting the other discover what I was doing. And I did. I wasn’t certain anyone would understand what I was doing”—he smiled at Kellen—“but someone did after all.”
“Of course!” Mari said. “The signs you left behind!”
Kellen nodded solemnly. “The signs were clues to a song. I didn’t understand, though—not until I saw the last sign, the dark pipes.” Kellen ran a thumb over the instrument. “The pipes made me think that my father wanted me to play something, but I didn’t know what. Then I thought about all the other signs, and suddenly it was so clear. If I took the first letter of each of the signs—face, eyes, fist, and all the others—they were the notes of a song. I didn’t know what would happen when I played it, but I knew I had to try.”
Caledan gazed thoughtfully at the boy. “I am glad you did, Kellen. I was lost in a dark place. I thought I would be lost forever. But when I heard the music, it was like a light drawing me back. And I did remember. The first thing I remembered was you.”
Kellen ran to his father. Caledan encircled his son tightly in his arms.
“Don’t ever leave me again, Father,” Kellen said sternly.
“I won’t,” Caledan said fiercely. “I promise.”
Morhion did not wish to interrupt the reunion between father and son. However … “It is growing dark,” the mage said, “and this vale is filled with dire magic. We should be moving—if you are well enough, Caledan.”
The bard nodded and let Mari help him slowly to his feet. “I think I can manage to—”
His words were cut off by a howling gust of wind. A hazy form stepped out of thin air, crimson eyes blazing. Cold dread filled Morhion. In all the strange events, he had forgotten about …
“Serafi,” he whispered. I will not show fear! he vowed inwardly, though he could not keep his body from trembling as the spectral knight drifted closer.
“Your quest is over, mage,” the ancient spirit hissed. “Our pact is fulfilled. Now it is time for you to pay me my due.”
Morhion stared hatefully at the malevolent apparition. “So be it,” he spat.
“No!” Mari screamed, interposing herself between spirit and mage. “No, Morhion! You can’t!”
Serafi’s laughter echoed all around. “I am afraid the mage has no choice in the matter. For the second time I have helped him save his precious friend. Now his body is mine!” He raised his gauntleted hands. A sudden burst of frigid air knocked Mari roughly aside. Ferret hurled a dagger at the knight, but the blade passed harmlessly through his smoky form.
“What is going on?” Caledan cried.
“I made a bargain with this spirit for his help in finding the Shadowstar,” Morhion said simply. “The price was my mortal body.” The mage was beyond terror now, beyond pain. He wished only for the end to be swift. Wistfully he gazed at his friends, lastly at Mari. “I shall miss you all.”
“At last!” Serafi cried exultantly. “To know fleshly sensations again …”
The spectral knight encircled the mage in vaporous arms. Morhion screamed as cold fire stabbed his chest. He arched his back in agony, his feet leaving the ground as he floated in the ghost’s ethereal embrace. “Now you will die, Morhion,” Serafi hissed, “and I will live again, as I—”
“Not so fast,” Caledan growled, taking a faltering step forward.
“What is this?” Serafi’s sepulchral voice dripped venom. “A feeble, half-mad invalid would challenge me? Faugh! I have nothing to fear from you, Caldorien. Even I can see that you are without power now. Your shadow magic is gone.”
“Really?” Caledan said dangerously. “You’re awfully confident of that.”
The hot flames of Serafi’s eyes flickered. “A pact is a pact,” the dark spirit shrieked. “The mage is mine!”
“You’re wrong,” Caledan countered. He seemed ill no longer. An aura of dark majesty surrounded him. This man had been, however briefly, the King of Shadows. “Morhion belongs to all of us, and bargain or no bargain, I’m not going to let you take him.”
Before the spectral knight could react, Caledan whistled three sharp notes of music. A rift appeared in the air above him, like a dark wound in the fabric of the world.
“You wish to experience a new plane of existence, Serafi?” Caledan thundered. “Then how about the deepest pits of the Abyss?”
As the others watched in awe, Caledan thrust his arms above his head. Tatters of shadow streamed out of the rift to coil around the spectral knight. Serafi howled in fury. Above, engulfed by strands of shadow, Serafi began to spin, turning faster and faster, until his form was a dark blur.
“No!” the spectral knight’s voice screeched pitifully. “This cannot be!” Like foul water spinning down a drain, the cyclone emptied into the rift. Serafi’s voice became a terrified wail. “But he made a pact—” His words were cut short as the rift closed with a clap of thunder.
Caledan collapsed to the ground. Morhion dashed to him and picked Caledan up, shocked at how light his friend was, as if he were merely the husk of a man.
Caledan coughed weakly, leaning against the mage. “Well, the spirit was right about one thing,” he croaked. “I think that was the last of my shadow magic. It’s gone now. I know it.” Mari and Ferret approached quietly. “Something tells me I owe you a great deal, friend,” Caledan continued to Morhion. “Perhaps more than I can know. But I hope now you can consider that debt repaid.”
“I have never sought repayment, my friend,” Morhion said intently. “But I do thank you.”
Ferret looked around. “Hey, where did that kid go?”
“I’m here!” Kellen cried, bounding off the last few steps of the staircase that wound up the outside of the pinnacle. “I had to get something we left up by the throne.”
“What is it?” Mari asked, kneeling beside the boy.
“This.” Kellen held out his hand. In it was a star-shaped piece of metal attached to a silvery chain. The Shadowstar. It had cooled and solidified once more.
Mari took in a sharp breath. “I thought it was destroyed!”
“Don’t worry, Mari,” Kellen said solemnly. “I’ll keep it safe.”
Carefully, the boy slipped the medallion around his neck. The Shadowstar gleamed dully against his tunic, looking like an ordinary piece of jewelry. Mari cast a frightened glance at Morhion. Almost imperceptibly, the mage shook his head. If there was anywhere on the face of Toril that the Shadowstar was truly safe, it was with this strange and powerful child. Smiling, Kellen reached up and gripped Caledan’s hand.
“Can we go home now?” he asked.
Epilogue
One of the advantages of being a child, Kellen had learned, was that adults tended to forget that children were in the same room with them. Thus, simply by being quiet, Kellen managed to learn all sorts of interesting things. True, it was a little like eavesdropping, but it was the adults’ fault for not being more observant, or at least so it seemed to him.
Outside the window, snow was drifting like white goose-down between Iriaebor’s countless towers. Kellen sat in a corner of the common room of the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon, stringing together red berries and pine cones to make a garland. Everyone at the inn was getting ready for a celebration, for tomorrow was Midwinter Day. And this year, as Estah had said, there was more cause than usual for celebration.
As the blue winter dusk gathered outside, bright laughter filled the common room. At a long trestle table, the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon—with a few additional members—had been reunited.
“And you did what with my pickpockets?” Ferret rasped incredulously.
“Don’t get excited, my dear weasel-faced boy,” Cormik rumbled indignantly. “It was a business decision, that’s all.” As usual, the corpulent proprietor of the Pri
nce and Pauper was opulently attired. Tonight he wore a doublet of thick fir-green wool slashed to reveal silk of holly berry crimson.
“Your legion of pickpockets was competing with your corps of beggars,” Jewel expounded. The ageless thief had traded her traveling leathers for a graceful velvet gown the same dusk-purple hue as her eyes. “All too often your beggars were wasting time groveling before people who had already had their purses lifted.”
“It was terribly inefficient,” Cormik chided, adjusting his jeweled eye patch. “Under the new plan, the beggars approach a target first. If the mark doesn’t cough up some gold out of pity, the pickpockets move in to take it from him. It’s really a much more elegant solution.”
“And we doubled the profits from both beggars and pickpockets,” Jewel added. The matriarch of the Talondim clan reached out and patted her grandson’s hand affectionately. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to move your base of operations to Iriaebor, love. Cormik and I really have so much more to teach you.”
“That’s right, Ferret.” Cormik pressed his cheek to Jewel’s. “And now that I’m part of the family, you can be certain I’ll be checking up on you with great regularity.”
Ferret rolled his beady eyes. “Lucky me,” he said sourly.
Everyone ignored him.
With a puff of wintry air, Jolle came in from outside bearing an armful of firewood. The stout halfling stamped the snow from his boots and proceeded to build the fire into a cheerful blaze. Pog and Nog ran shrieking through the common room. The tiny halfling children were engaged in some game that only they could comprehend. Estah bustled in from the kitchen bearing a huge tray of steaming honey rolls. The red-cheeked halfling plunked the tray onto the table and stood, hands on hips.