Crypt of the Shadowking h-6

by Mark Anthony

  There was no one in sight.

  The three galloped hard across the rolling terrain, letting the warm sun dry them as they rode. But the spring sunlight could not counteract the chill in Caledan's chest.

  The three companions stopped for the evening as the golden orb of the sun dipped toward the horizon. They made camp in a low hollow beneath a hill and took turns keeping watch throughout the night. But they saw no further sign of the mysterious black-robed assassin.

  They reached the monastery of Oghma late in the afternoon of the following day. The road leading into the foothills was simple enough to find. Two tall, weatherworn standing stones marked the way like sentinels at the mouth of a narrow, wooded valley. The road climbed steeply through sun-dappled groves of aspen and pine until finally the trees gave way to a grassy meadow at the foot of a sharp, iron-gray peak still tipped by snow.

  That's a monastery?" Caledan asked in astonishment, staring at the massive stone edifice hulking on the rocky mountain slope above them. "It looks more like a fortress."

  "It is a fortress," Tyveris said with a deep laugh. "This was wilderness only a short time ago, remember, and monks have to protect themselves too, every bit as much as ordinary folk. Ravendas wouldn't hesitate to attack this place if she knew a copy of The Book of the Shadows was here."

  The steep, winding path that led to the monastery's gate was too narrow for the horses, so the three climbed up the last part of the trail on foot. Caledan let fall the massive bronze knocker, and after a long while a panel in the gate opened, revealing the face of a wizened old loremaster.

  "Hail, brother," Tyveris said, holding his palms open in greeting. "Hallowed is the name of Oghma, the Binder of all things."

  The wizened old loremaster smiled and nodded. "Indeed, hallowed is the Binder's name."

  The old loremaster opened the gate and led them across the tiled courtyard into the monastery. Despite the stark-ness of the outside of the stone building, inside it was warm and comforting, its walls paneled in dark wood and its floors covered with finely woven rugs. The loremaster left them in a small receiving room.

  Minutes later the abbot of the monastery shuffled forward to greet them. Abbot Derevel was a tall, gray-haired man with bright eyes and a kind smile. Derevel sent a pair of monks to see to the companions' horses, then led the three to his study, offering them wooden cups of warm, spiced wine. They accepted gratefully. The air was crisp and chilly in the mountains despite the advent of spring.

  Tyveris did most of the talking, bringing Abbot Derevel up to date on all of the happenings in the Realms which might be of interest to the disciples of Oghma.

  "I appreciate your patience in telling me all the latest news, Loremaster Tyveris," Derevel said finally, "but surely you did not journey all this way simply to pay a kind visit to an old loremaster who does not travel as much as he used to. Is there some matter in which I might help you?"

  Tyveris nodded. "Indeed there is, Abbot Derevel. You see, we're looking for an ancient book, one written in Talfir."

  Derevel nodded. "Our library is not large, but it does contain some rare tomes written in that tongue. What do you seek?"

  "It's called the Mal'eb'dala, The Book of the Shadows," Tyveris said. "I'm told your Loremaster Erill might have made a copy from the original in the library of Elversult."

  Abbot Derevel raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That's true. Old Erill did make a copy of the Mal'eb'dala. That was several years ago, not long before he passed on to Oghma's halls."

  Caledan grinned eagerly. "Can we take a look at it? It's important."

  The abbot stood up, a frown on his face. "I'm afraid not," he said, shaking his head as the three companions stared at him. "You see," Derevel went on, "the Mal'eb'dala is no longer here.

  "It's quite odd, really," the abbot continued. "Had you come here asking for the same tome a month ago, I would not have even recognized the title. But just last tenday a traveler came from the city asking to borrow the book. He seemed a scholarly man and offered to leave us several rare volumes in trade. I saw no reason not to let him borrow the tome and take it with him." Derevel looked at Tyveris in concern. "Have I unknowingly done some wrong?"

  "I'm not certain, Abbot Derevel," Tyveris said, pushing his spectacles up. "These are dark times in Iriaebor, and there are wicked folk who seem interested in learning about ancient mysteries."

  "Do you know the name of the one who borrowed the tome, Abbot Derevel?" Man asked.

  "I wrote it down. It's here somewhere." The abbot rummaged through the papers strewn across his desk. "Tall, quite stern-looking fellow… Ah, here we go." He lifted a scrap of paper and held it up to the fading light coming through the window. "Yes, I lent the book to one Morhion Gen'dahar of Iriaebor."

  Caledan stood abruptly and snatched the paper from the abbot's hand, staring at it with hard, unblinking eyes.

  "Is this someone you know?" the abbot asked, taken aback.

  "Yes, I know Morhion Gen'dahar," Caledan said in a low voice, as if the name were a curse. "I know him too well, that treacherous mage."

  "I won't do it," Caledan said in disgust, pacing the back room of the Dreaming Dragon. "I will not go begging at the tower of Morhion the mage. Not for The Book of the Shadows. Not for anything. Is that clear?"

  Man glared at him hotly, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "You're being utterly unreasonable, Caldorien. So far that tome represents our only chance to learn what Ravendas is digging for beneath the Tor. I don't care if you and this wizard had some sort of fight years ago. What could he have done that's so bad you're afraid to see him again?"

  Caledan shook his head and laughed, a hard, bitter sound. He ran a hand through his dark hair. "If I'm afraid to pay a visit to Morhion the mage, it's only because I fear I will kill him the instant I lay eyes on him." Caldorien turned and stomped upstairs, leaving her alone.

  He had been like this ever since their visit to the monastery in the Sunset Mountains three days before. It had rained in heavy, cold sheets the entire journey back. At least they had not encountered the black-robed assassin again, but then it would have been impossible for anyone to follow their tracks in the torrential weather.

  Mari sighed and sank into a chair by the fire, resting her head in her hands. Caldorien could make her feel so weary. Sometimes she wished she could forget him, forget Iriaebor, forget the Harpers and simply return to Elturel. But she had knelt on the cold earth by Master Andres's tomb the day she had left, and she had promised her mentor she would be strong. How could she give up now?

  Mari felt a hand grip her shoulder. She looked up in surprise to see Ferret regarding her with his dark, close-set eyes.

  "Ferret, I didn't know you were here. I thought… I thought Caledan and I were alone."

  The wiry thief smiled crookedly. "I'm sorry. It's a habit Sneaking around, that is."

  She tried to return his smile but failed miserably. His pointed nose twitched, his expression speculative. "You heard?" she asked.

  Ferret shrugged. "Of course." He pulled up a chair and drew out a dagger, carefully sharpening the edge with a small whetstone. Mari regarded him curiously, wondering what the thief wanted. Of all the members of the old Fellowship, Ferret was the one she understood least. Why the rogue had ever thrown his lot in with a Harper in the first place she couldn't imagine.

  The room was dim save for the flickering glow emanating from the hearth- Ferret continued to sharpen his knife. Suddenly Mari realized he was waiting-waiting for her to ask something. "Tell me about the mage Morhion," she said finally. "I need to know, to understand why Caldorien hates him so."

  Ferret set down the whetstone. He tested the dagger's edge with a thumb, spun the blade experimentally on a fingertip, and nodded in satisfaction. He scratched his stubbly chin thoughtfully, his dark eyes glimmering in the firelight.

  "Hate is a simple thing, Man," he said finally in his raspy voice. "If you hate someone, you act on it." He thrust the dagger into the wood of the
table for emphasis. She flinched at the sudden motion. "That's what I do anyway. Of course, I'm just a thief. But then, I think the same is true for anybody." He worked the dagger free and slipped it into a hidden sheath inside his brown tunic. "But you know, I don't think Caledan does hate Morhion. After all, once they were the best of friends." He brushed the scar the knife had left on the surface of the table. "It's just that sometimes old wounds are hard to erase."

  'Tell me, please," Mari said, leaning forward.

  "I'm no storyteller."

  He started to rise, but Mari reached out and gripped his hand. "Please."

  He looked at her in surprise, then shrugged and sat back down. "You know about Kera?" For a moment Mari thought she saw a look of sorrow flicker across the thief's usually imperturbable face. But it was only the firelight, she supposed.

  "Yes. Estah told me. Ravendas murdered her." "There's not much to tell after that," Ferret went on. "After her army disbanded, Ravendas fled back to Dark-hold, the Zhentarim fortress in the Far Hills. Caledan followed."

  "But why?"

  “To kill her, of course. I was ready to go myself. I had my daggers all sharpened and poisoned." Ferret sighed wistfully. "But Caledan forbade me, and I… well, I figured it was the least I could do, to obey his wishes. He wanted to punish Ravendas alone. I can't really blame him for that, though I myself wouldn't have minded sticking a knife in her." The thief's words sounded nonchalant, but there was a murderous look in his dark gaze that startled Mari.

  "Caledan actually made it into Darkhold," Ferret continued. "That's no mean feat, by the way. There isn't a fortress in a thousand leagues more heavily guarded. But there was one who ignored Caledan's orders and followed after him."

  "Morhion?" Mari whispered.

  Ferret nodded. "The mage Morhion. And it was the fault of the mage that the two of them were discovered within Darkhold. They were forced to flee before Caledan could confront Ravendas. And by what secret route they managed to escape the fortress, I would give my left hand to know. There are any number of thieves who would pay quite a sum in gold in exchange for that particular information." "Why did Morhion follow Caledan to Darkhold?" Ferret shook his head. He didn't know. "To help Caledan? To hinder him? Who can say, with the mage? Thieves may be treacherous, Mari, but at least with us you always know where you stand. No one ever really knew what Morhion's motives were, except himself, I reckon."

  Mari bit her lip in thought. "So Morhion's actions prevented Caledan from gaining his revenge upon Ravendas?" "Exactly."

  "And Caledan has never forgiven the mage for that?" "Or himself."

  The two were silent for a time. Finally Mari reached out and touched the gouge that Ferret's dagger had made in the wood of the table. "Estah will be mad at you for this, you know."

  The thief smiled, displaying crooked teeth. "I know. But she'll forgive me."

  Mari paused a moment. "Do you think Caledan will ever forgive Morhion?"

  Ferret gazed at her flatly.

  "No."

  Mari barely saw Caledan at all the next day. He shut himself in his room upstairs after breakfast and did not emerge. Mari helped Estah in the kitchen during the morning and occupied the afternoon with her baliset, strumming softly as Pog and Nog listened drowsily until finally they drifted to sleep on a rug before the fire. It was verging on evening when Caledan appeared suddenly at the foot of the stairs, walking purposefully into the inn's back room. "Get your cloak, Harper," he said. "Where are we going, Uncle Caledan?" Pog asked in a sleepy voice, looking up at him.

  "Finish your nap, Pog. You, too, Nog," Caledan told the halfling children. "Mari and I are going to visit someone, that's all."

  Mari looked at Caledan in curiosity. "Well, we have to get a look at that damnable book, don't we?" he told her gruffly.

  Mari set down her baliset and pulled her cloak about her shoulders. "I wasn't arguing." "That's a change."

  The two slipped down the back alley behind the inn and into the city, making certain they weren't observed.

  Mari was thankful Caledan had changed his mind. Now they just had to find the mage. None of the companions had seen Morhion in the last seven years, but they knew the place to start looking for him was the laboratory tower to which he had moved after the Fellowship disbanded. The tower stood on the eastern side of the Tor on the Street of Runes, not far from the Temple of Selune. By the time they reached the quiet avenue, the westering sun had sunk behind the tower of the city lord, casting a premature twilight over the Street of Runes.

  Caledan brought Man to a halt.

  The tower was dilapidated. Dead vines clutched at the timeworn stones like skeletal fingers trying to pry the walls apart. Weeds and witchgrass grew wildly amidst the piles of rubble that had tumbled down from the tower's crumbling buttresses. The high windows stared out over the city like dark, empty eyes, and the peaked roof looked as if it had caved in years ago. A pall hung over the place, a mantle of dusty silence, of decay.

  "This is it," Caledan said grimly. "Or was it, anyway."

  Man shook her head. It looked as if Morhion's tower had been long abandoned.

  "Maybe he's dead," Caledan said with a mock laugh. He gathered his patched cloak about him against the evening chill.

  Mari circled the base of the tower, looking for a way inside. The arched doorway had collapsed into a pile of jagged rubble, but there was a dark, gaping crack to one side of the doorway. It looked almost wide enough for her to squeeze through. She shrugged off her heavy cloak.

  "What are you doing?" Caledan demanded.

  "Something useful," she snapped.

  She ducked her head to peer into the crack-and stars flashed before her eyes. She cried out in pain, taking a dizzy step backward as she rubbed her aching head.

  "You're right," Caledan said drily. "That's the most useful thing you've done in ages."

  "Shut up, Caldorien." Something was wrong here. Very wrong. She began running her hands along the tower's wall. The cracked and weathered stones felt strange, smoother under her touch than they looked. An idea glimmered in her head. She tried to stick her hands into the crevice in the wall.

  Her fingers met solid stone.

  "It's an illusion!" she whispered in sudden understanding.

  "What are you talking about, Harper?"

  "The wall, scoundrel. I know it's difficult, but try not to be so dense. Here, feel it for yourself." She grabbed his hand and held it against the stones. "It looks like it's crumbling, but it feels solid."

  Caledan's eyes widened in surprise as he felt along the wall.

  "I'm willing to bet the rest of the tower is the same," Mari went on. "Someone is using magic to make it look as if it's moldy and abandoned."

  Caledan shook his head, frowning.

  They heard the sound of a heavy iron bolt, and suddenly a door swung open where a moment ago there had been only blank wall. Golden torchlight spilled out onto the street. Mari and Caledan stared in shock.

  A man clad in a simple but expensive-looking robe of pearl gray stood in the doorway. He was tall-far taller than even Caledan-and his face was lost in the shadow of a cowl. The man stood in silence for a long moment, then lifted his hands slowly to push back the robe's heavy hood.

  "Caledan Caldorien. It has been some time," the man said, his tenor voice as burnished as brass. He gestured to the open doorway. "Enter."

  Minutes later Mari found herself sitting in the study of Morhion the mage, an octagonal chamber at the top of the tower, anxiously clutching a goblet of crimson wine in her hand. She had always thought a mage's work chamber would be a dark and cluttered place, littered with stacks of moldering scrolls and myriad jars filled with foul concoctions. However, Morhion's study was a surprisingly clean and pleasant room. Neatly kept bookshelves lined the walls, and intricate Sembian rugs covered the floors. A small fire burned on the hearth, and dozens of candles bathed the room in a warm glow of light. The air was sweet with the faint, dusty fragrance of dried herbs.


  Caledan paced the room in agitation, having drunk the wine the mage offered him in one swift gulp. His shaggy eyebrows were drawn down over his pale eyes. The tension seemed to hang in the air between the two men, an almost palpable thing. Mari did not dare say anything.

  Morhion sat at an uncluttered table of polished rosewood, sipping his wine calmly. The mage was a handsome man, one of the handsomest Mari had ever seen. His features were fine and noble, and his golden hair fell about his broad shoulders like a lion's mane. Yet his deep blue eyes were so cold and calculating that Mari found it disturbing to gaze at him for any great length of time.

  "You have come seeking something, Caledan," the mage said. "Perhaps you can stop for a moment and tell me what it is before your pacing wears a hole in my floor."

  Caledan snorted in disgust and sank down into a leather armchair, glaring at the mage. "That's one thing I never did like about you, Gen'dahar. You always pretended you didn't understand things you knew perfectly well. You know why we're here. It's the book, the one you took from the monastery of Oghma in the Sunset Mountains."

  The mage nodded. "The Mal'eb'dala? I suspected as much."

  "What do you want with it?" Caledan asked accusingly.

  "The same as you, I imagine," the mage answered, unperturbed by Caledan's tone. He stood and walked to a narrow window, gazing out over the city. "Ravendas seeks something buried deep beneath the Tor, and in the past she has shown an interest in The Book of the Shadows. It is not so difficult a connection to make. I had hoped the book might hold the secret to defeating Ravendas, to driving her from Iriaebor."

  "Why should you care, mage?" Caledan asked, gritting his teeth. Morhion turned to regard Caledan with his unblinking gaze, and Mari noticed that even Caledan could not bring himself to meet the mage's disturbing eyes.

  "This is my home," Morhion said simply. "My life is here, such as it is." Caledan looked daggers at Morhion, but he did not contest the mage's words.