Rath meditated, waiting for nightfall. Fayne had sworn Shadowbane would get the note, and that he would be punctual. The woman had subsequently fled-while Rath had gone in search of food for them-but no matter. The human was the more important, and Fayne's absence meant one less distracrion.
He'd drunk three bottles of brandy the night of the revel, when the elf woman had scarred him. He'd paid for all the healing he could afford, but the marks were still there. He'd drunk until he couldn't see them in the mirror anymore. And he'd paid for whores who wouldn't wince to see his face. The next morning, his employer had come upon him as he lay aching from liquor and burns and women.
Now, he would wait for the next move in this game. And he would be sober.
He breathed in and out, in time with the ticking. He'd listened to the clock for a long while-it helped him to focus and align his breathing with the world around him. It was off, he thought, but only slightly. Craftsmen would be required to fix the clock soon-on the morrow, perhaps. After this business was concluded.
The girl fidgeted again, distracting him.
He'd brought her food. He'd even ungagged her long enough to pour soup down her throat-slowly, so as not to choke her. He hadn't unbound her wrists-no need. He'd helped with her roilet so that he didn't have to untie her. She'd nearly died of embarrassment, but he'd just stared at her with the same bored expression until she yielded. There was nothing erotic about it.
Even as he meditated, he was aware of her staring at the back of his head. What a curious creature. At least her fear kept her quiescent enough.
Finally, when he found his thoughts settling too much on her, he opened his eyes and turned his head. She quickly looked away, but he knew she'd been staring at him.
He sighed. Feeling the lightness in his ready joints, he rose and crossed to her. "I will not harm you, girl," he said. "I have not been paid to slay you. If you are hurt, it will be accidental and as a consequence of your own actions." He frowned. "Understand?"
She nodded. From the way she flinched when he turned his head toward her, he could tell the mangled half of his face frightened her. That brought a twinge of anger, but he suppressed it.
"I will remove this," Rath said, touching the gag in her mouth. "But you must promise you will not scream or attempt any magic. There will be consequences. Yes?"
She nodded, and her eyes looked wet.
The dwarf sighed, then pulled the gag out of her mouth. She gasped and coughed but made no loud sounds. This was good.
She looked at him, lip trembling. "What-what are you going to do with me?"
Rath frowned. "Just hold you here for a time. Nothing more."
"Are you-are you going to…?" Myrin trembled and edged a little away.
"Humans." Rath rolled his eyes. "I would swear by any god you could name that you are the most despicable, insecure, bastard blood in the world, but I know the ways of my own kind and find them worse." He shrugged. "You have no dishonor to fear from me."
"Why not-" Myrin swallowed hard. "Why not unbind me? Am I a threat to you?"
"No," he said, perhaps faster than he should have.
She pursed her lips. "You fear me?"
"I fear nothing," Rath said. "I have nothing to fear from you."
"Prove it." Myrin puffed herself up as big as she could in her frail body. "Unbind my hands. If you have nothing to fear from me."
"Hmm." Rath couldn't argue with her logic. "Why do you want them unbound? You cannot escape."
"Uh." Her eyes widened. "My wrists hurt."
Rath said nothing, only reached around to do as she asked. She hadn't lied: the ropes had left red welts on her wrisrs. He pulled away and let her rub her skin.
"There," said Rath. "Satisfied?"
"Yes." Myrin brought a wand of pale wood from behind her back and rhrust it under his chint. Rath felt sparks hissing out of it. "Hmm," the dwarf said.
Myrin stared ar him, her eyes very wide. She breathed heavily.
"You should do it," Rath said. "I have slain many-men and women both. And children."
Myrin breathed harder and harder. Rath could feel her heart racing, see the blood thudding through her veins on her forehead.
"Do ir," Rath teased.
The girl inhaled sharply.
Then he slapped the wand away and swatted her head at the temple with his open hand, as one might stun a rabbit. She collapsed to the floor limply. Lightning crackled and died.
"Wizards," he murmured, rolling his eyes.
THIRTY-FIVE
On nights when Selune hid behind a veil of angry clouds, the streets of Waterdeep became much like those of Downshadow below. Moon shadows deepened and buildings loomed. Even the drunk and foolish had the sense to lock their doors against unseen frights. Few but the dead walked such nights. Even Castle Ward, protected by the Watch and the Blackstaff, was risky after dark-particularly on a night like this.
But Waterdeep's darkest nights knew something Downshadow never could: rain.
Watet cut against Kalen's cloak like a thousand tiny arrows. Every drop was a command to reverse his course-every one a despairing word. His body told him to lie down and die. The spellplague was taking him, he knew.
Kalen took the crumpled note out of his pocket and read it again. This was surely a trap, he thought, but he had no choice. In particular, he thought of Myrin. Fayne could care for herself, certainly, but Kalen could not abandon Myrin. Powerful as she might be, she was still a lost, confused girl. And if her powers overcame her control, no one could predict what destruction might follow. He'd barely stopped her that night after the ball.
And Rath had to answer for Cellica's murder-he would see to that.
Kalen knew that even if he failed, Talanna and Araezra would hunt down the dwarf, but that gave him little comfort. The Guard could do little more than avenge him, and vengeance would mean little to his corpse and less still to Myrin and Fayne, if Rath killed them.
No, he would go, no matter the obstacles-no matter the rot inside him. He would not fail. One last duel-that was all he needed. Just this one last fight.
He opened his helmet and vomited into the gutter. Passersby hurried along.
He staggered down the alley near the Blushing Nymph festhall, which led to a tunnel into Downshadow near the Grim Statue and whispered under his breath.
"I will make an emptiness of myself," Kalen murmured against the rising bile in his throat. "A blackness where there is no pain- where there is only me."
He shuffled past rain-slicked leaves and unrecognizable refuse. His head beat and his lungs felt waterlogged. The fronts of his thighs were numb-he felt as though he wore heavy pads beneath his leathers. If he hadn't worn such heavy boots against the rain, he'd have thought his toes frosrbitten. His hands were steady, but that was scant comfort. Dead flesh was steady. His stomach roiled.
"A blackness where there is only me," he said again.
He repeated the phrase until the aches subsided. They did not leave him-not fully-but they faded. He would not recover, he knew. Not if he did this.
"Every man dies in his time," he murmured. "If tonight is my time, so be it."
His hands felt dead as he wedged his fingers under the lip of a metal plate, uncovered beneath the alley's debris. The reek did not offend him, for he could hardly smell it. The trap door had been used that night, he knew-it was loose. It awaited Downshadowers who prowled the rainy streets, and would for hours hence. Crearures of shadow risen from below. What was he, but a shadow come from above?
A shudder, worse than ever before, ripped through him, and he curled over, hacking and coughing. He wedged his helm open and spat blood and bile onto the metal door. It dripped onto the cobblestones and swirled with the rain.
When the fit passed-he had half expected it would not-Kalen righted himself and gazed at the rusty ladder that led into the shadows beneath the city. 't
"Eye of Justice," he prayed. He didn't beg. "Be patient. I am coming soon."
He wiped his mouth and beg
an to climb down. ¦
Downshadow felt surprisingly empty that night. Its inhabitants saw night in the world above as their due, when they could dance or duel at whim, love or murder at their leisure. Those with eyes sensitive to light could walk freely in the streets, and a heavy rain or a mist off the western sea would hide their deeds, be they black or gray.
No space was emptier on such nights than the plaza around the Grim Statue: a great stone monolith of a man on a high pedestal, his head missing and his hands little more than stubs of stone. Tingling menace surrounded the figure, filling the chamber with quiet dread. A careful onlooker would see tiny lightnings crackling around its hands at odd moments.
Kalen knew the legend that this had been an independent and enclosed chamber designed as a magical trap. However, the eruption of the Weave during the Spellplague-as story would have it-caused the statue to loose blasts of lightning in a circle continuously for years. The walls had been pulverized under the onslaught, making the twenty-foot statue the center of a rough plaza.
Eventually, the lightning had subsided as the statue was drained of its magic. In recent years, lightning flashed from the statue only occasionally. The surviving walls, a hundred feet distant from the statue, marked the danger zone of the statue's destruction. The ramshackle huts and tents of Downshadow extended only to that limit, and most of those were abandoned. Only a fool or a fatalist would live so close to unpredictable death.
A favored game among Downshadow braves was to approach the statue as closely as possible, taking cover behind chunks of stone, to see where their courage would fail them.
Kalen stood at the edge of the round plaza, scanning the neighboring hollows and warrens for any sign of his foe. He saw little movement in the dead plaza, but for a pair of figures that stalked through one of the broken passages nearby.
Then he saw Rath step into the open from behind the remains of a blasted column twenty paces distant. His hands were empty, his face calm and emotionless. He wore his sword on his right hip, as Kalen had hoped he might. The dwarFs right hand was wrapped thickly in linen.
"I thought you wouldn't come," said the dwarf. "Thar her note wouldn't bring you."
"You were wrong." Kalen put his hand on the hilt of Vindicator but did not draw. He knew the tricks of the Grim Statue-knew how its lightning could be random, but it almost always triggered in the presence of active magic. If he drew his Helm-blessed sword…
"I am pleased," the dwarf said. He made no move to draw.
Kalen saw that Rath's face, while not as horrible as on the night of the revel, still showed evidence of burn scars across its right side. His left side was unchanged, and Kalen could tell from his stance that he coddled the burned side. Proud of his looks, Kalen thought. He would remember that. If he could find a way to make the dwarf emotional, it could be an advantage.
"Agree to let them go if you kill me," Kalen said. "They mean nothing to you."
A flicker of doubt crossed Rath's scarred face. Then he shrugged. "What is this if?"
"Agree," Kalen said.
Rath shrugged. "No," he said. "Your little blue-headed stripling has another use to me."
Kalen didn't like that reply, but it wasn't a surprise. He shivered to think of the possibilities.
"What will you do next, dwarf, after I am dead?" Kalen had approached within ten paces, and the two of them began to circle. "Do you have other vengeance to take?"
Rath sniffed. "I kill for coin-vengeance means little," he said. "But I do know of hatred." He smiled, an expression made unpleasant. by his ruined face. "Two guardsmen. Araezra Hondryl and Kalen Dren-they will die as well."
Kalen smiled, reached up, and pulled off his helmet, showing the dwarf his face. 1
Rath's eyes narrowed to angry slits. His hands trembled for only: a moment. He was realizing, Kalen thought with no small pleasure, how deeply and completely he'd been fooled.
"Well," the dwarf said. "I suppose I need slay only one other after you."
Kalen smiled and put his helm back in place. He circled Rath slowly, keeping his hand on Vindicators hilt and one eye on the statue.
"You should draw your sword this time."
"If you prove worthy of it," said Rath. "This time."
Kalen was so intent on letting the dwarf strike first that when Rath finally moved, it almost caught him off guard. One moment, Rath was circling him peaceably, and the next he was lunging, low and fast and left, where Vindicator was sheathed. Only reflexes and instincts built up over long years on mean streets sent Kalen leaping back and around, sword sliding free of its scabbard to ward Rath away. Vindicator's fierce silver glow bathed them in bright light, making both squint.
But Rath didn't follow. Kalen saw him dancing back, and felt his hairs crackle just in time to see the Grim Statue slinging a bolt of green-white lightning at him. Kalen couldn't dodge and only barely brought Vindicator into the lightning's path. He prayed.
Kalen felt the force of the blast like a battering ram, blowing him back and away from the statue. He tumbled through the air, trying vainly to twist and roll, and landed outside the plaza in a gasping heap. Lightning yet arced around him, and he twitched and hissed as it faded. If Rath had come upon him then, Kalen would have had no defense.
But the dwarf was merely standing over him when Kalen could finally move again, a wry smile on his face.
"What glory would I gain," asked the dwarf, "if I let some relic of another age vanquish you, the mighty Shadowbane? Come. On your feet."
Kalen coughed and spat and started to rise-then slashed at Rath's nearest leg. Laughing, the dwarf flipped backward and waited, a dagger-toss distant, while Kalen rose.
"Draw your steel," Kalen said, brandishing Vindicator high.
"You have done nothing worthy," said Rath.
"Then come to me with empty hands, if you will," Kalen said, taking a high, two-handed guard. "I tire of your child's games."
That seemed to touch Rath, for his neutral smile faded. He streaked toward Kalen like nothing dwarven. Kalen cut down, dropping one hand from the sword.
Steel clashed, followed by a grunt of pain.
Rath danced back, and Kalen coughed and struggled to stay on his feet.
The dwarf reached down and touched a dribble of blood forming along his right forearm. He looked at the cut curiously, as though he had not been wounded in a long time and had forgotten what it was like. Kalen gestured wide with the dirk he had pulled from his gauntlet, gripping it in his bare left hand. He let himself smile wryly inside his helm.
"I underestimated you, paladin," Rath said. "I shall not make that mistake again."
The dwarf reached for his sword in its gold lacquer scabbard and untied the peace bond. He closed his eyes, as though in prayer, and laid his fingers reverently around the hilt.
"You know what an honor this is," said Rath. "To find a worthy foe."
"I do."
The dwarf drew the sword in a blur, opened his eyes, and lunged.
Kalen almost couldn't block, so fasr was the strike. Rath's steelshort and curved and fine:-screeched against Vindicator, but both blades held. The speed stunned Kalen enough to slow his counter, which mighr have taken out Rath's throat if he'd been faster.
Instead, the dwarf leaped away, then lunged back, slashing. He did so again and again, moving so fast and gracefully that Kalen could hardly follow him with his eyes and parried almost wholly by touch.
Kalen worked his muscles as hard as he could, bringing the steel around to foil Rath's strikes, trying always to catch his slender sword between his own blades, but to no avail.
They exchanged a dozen passes before Rath fled, down the hall to the great cavern. Kalen gave chase, and might have lost everyrhing when Rath came at him suddenly. The dwarf could reverse his motion as though by will, in defiance of momentum or balance.
Kalen parried the blow with his dirk, but he felt Rath's blade slit open the leather over his bicep. He took a wider guard-a narrower profile. He tried t
o bring Vindicator around, but hit nothing as Rath flowed away from him, running along the wall of the corridor. The dwarf plunged into the tunnels, and Kalen followed.
They ran from corridor to corridor, slashing and scrambling forward. Their swords sparked, trailing silver lightning through the halls of Downshadow. Rath struck a dozen times with his blade, but Kalen parried every attack-with sword, dirk, or gauntlet. Each time, Rath bounded away and Kalen cursed, panted, and followed. Lurking creatures scurried out of their way as the men ran and fought, roused from hiding by the duel. The combatants ran on, heedless.
"A darkness where there is only me," Kalen whispered through gritted teeth.
Rath vaulted off a nearby wall and slashed down hard enough to break through Kalen's guard and ring his helmet soundly. Instead of following through, he leaped away and continued the chase. Kalen grunted and sped after him.
"Why do you keep fighting, Shadowbane?" Rath's calm voice showed no sign of strain. "I can see you tiring-feel you slowing."
Kalen said nothing, but ran on.
They ran between crumbling chambers. The magic of Kalen's boots drove his leaps high and far, but the dwarf still eluded him. The dwarf seemed able to run along the very walls if he wanted.
They broke into the main chamber of Downshadow, with its tents and huts, lit by the dancing firelight that flowed across the ceiling. Inhabitants clustered around cook fires erupted in curses, then fled the path of the avenger and his quarry. Vindicator's silver glow made them bright, shining warriors as they chased each other.
They plowed through the heart of the encampment, leaping over cook fires and around startled natives. Hands reached for steel or spell but Kalen and Rath flew past without pause. They knocked down tent poles, sent stew pots flying, and generally wreaked chaos across the cavern. Rath struck Kalen several more times, but his leathers held. He could not land a single blow on the dwarf, but felt certain that when he did, Rath would fall.
"What will it take?" Rath asked as he vaulted up a wall, caught an overhanging ledge, and swung over the side, seizing higher ground.
Kalen jumped after the dwarf, grasped a broken handhold-his gauntlet screeching-and swung himself up. He caught a narrow metal pole that lay between the ledge and the wall-a waste pipe for the Knight 'n Shadow, he realized, which perched in the cavern wall just above their heads.
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