“Well.” Rhett looked to the weapon. “Well, I can at least give this back.” He strode to where Vindicator lay gleaming. “I brought the scabbard, too. Thought you might-”
“Wait-” Kalen started, but too late. The boy had already reached for the sword.
Rhett picked up the blade and held it out to Kalen. “What?”
Kalen, who had been staring with wide eyes, drew back. “It doesn’t burn you.”
“Burn me?” Rhett set the light dancing along the surface of the silvery blade-pure and beautiful but for the single flaw that ran down its length. “No. Why would it?”
Abruptly, silver fire bloomed in Vindicator’s depths, rising to shroud the sharpened steel in a plume. Rhett’s eyes grew huge and his mouth fell open. He caught up the sword in both hands, holding it steady. “By Torm!”
“No,” Kalen said, his voice soft. “Not Torm alone.”
Rhett looked up in wonder. “What does this mean?”
“It’s chosen you,” Kalen said. “It-”
He couldn’t see Rhett standing there with the sword. Instead, he saw …
Not again, Eye of Justice, he prayed silently. Not again.
It was then he realized they were not alone.
There, silhouetted in the flames of Vindicator, stood a black figure. The firelight flickered around her-and it was a woman, of that Kalen was certain-as though skirting the edge of a hole in reality. He knew her from Ebbius’s description. She was no drow, no human, but a demon of another world-a creature of the void.
Sithe.
“Boy,” Kalen whispered.
Rhett still gazed with frank astonishment at the burning sword in his hands.
In one hand, Sithe held a long-hafted axe, if axe it could be called. The pitted shard of black metal at the end barely resembled a blade. It was not so much an axe as the purpose of an axe-gruesome, rending doom. She raised her other hand-revealing a gleaming silver vambrace on her arm-and pointed one long finger toward Kalen. He felt the cold weight of infinite hatred descend upon his shoulders. For an instant, nothing in the world existed aside from him, her axe, and his coming death at its edge.
“Boy,” Kalen said, raising his daggers slowly. “Get behind me.”
Rhett looked up at him, confused, then turned his gaze. He hadn’t noticed Sithe until now, just in time to see her lunge toward them, her axe raised high. “Gods!”
Kalen slammed into Rhett and sent them both toppling. The axe chopped down, rending the air itself asunder, and missed his leg by a hair. It tore through his cloak, sending scraps of gray fabric drifting to the ground. Seemingly without effort, Sithe reversed the path of her axe, and Kalen fell back as it tore across an inch over his face. She then whipped the axe upward with both hands and towered over them.
Kalen let himself fall and lashed out with his feet, catching Sithe in the midsection. As she staggered back, he leaped to his feet. He brandished his daggers as she whirled the axe over her head. Her eyes might have been polished obsidian for all they revealed.
“Stay back, boy,” Kalen said. “This one is far beyond you.”
The black eyes shot over Kalen’s shoulder then, drawn to a silver brand of flame.
Rhett stepped to Kalen’s side, his shield ready, Vindicator burning in one hand. “Perhaps she’s beyond me,” he said. “But she’s none too pleased to see the sword.”
Kalen looked again at Sithe, whose eyes indeed seemed to be locked on Vindicator. “That isn’t fear,” he said. “It’s hunger.”
“You’re sure?” Rhett took half a step back. “I was hoping for hesitation, at least.”
Sithe spun the axe behind her head and held it with both hands over her shoulders. In Vindicator’s light, she was slim-petite, even. She couldn’t possibly be strong enough to sweep that axe around so quickly. Indeed, her fighting style was less about strength and skill and more about intuitive flow-she simply knew how and when to move. And there was not the slightest shred of doubt in her empty eyes. Indeed, there was nothing in them.
“What are you waiting for?” Rhett stepped forward, his sword held high.
“Wait-” Kalen said.
Rhett slashed down at Sithe, who vanished as though she had ceased to exist. The air sucked inward where she had been standing, making Rhett stagger. He glanced around quickly, but she was gone.
“Is that all?” Rhett looked down at Vindicator. “That’s some kind of sword.”
“Steel ready.” Kalen looked all around but could not see her in the twilight. He cast his blades about, waiting until-
— Sithe reappeared, right behind him, her axe sweeping down.
Kalen dodged, but the axe slammed into one of his daggers, knocking it skittering down the alley. The woman stepped after him, whipping her axe across in a blow that would have taken his head from his shoulders had he not ducked.
“Have at you!” Rhett lunged, but she stepped past him as though his attack had never happened. Vindicator passed within an inch of her head. Unhindered-Sithe came toward Kalen.
He had no chance to block her axe, so he danced back, but not far enough to dodge entirely. The axe swept across his leather hauberk, trailing a wake of blood. He could feel the pain, which meant that the chest cut was a wicked blow that should have put him down. Sithe’s eyes fixed on Kalen as if to assure him that the next strike would.
“Unlikely.” Kalen lunged into Sithe’s reach and caught hold of the axe. She twisted the haft of the axe out of his hands and wove a circle between them.
He aimed a thrust at her face, but his remaining dagger clanged loudly off Sithe’s axe and bounced off down the alley. The blade had been a feint, anyway. With his free hand, Kalen tossed a vial of alchemist’s fire from his belt toward her. It shattered against the spinning axe, sending a wave of flame through her defense.
Sithe staggered back, the flames illumining her wiry body wrapped in loose black silks. It might have been a human body, but for the black skin and pulsing lines of darkness that traced her flesh like runes. The fire set these lines sparkling and glinted off a medallion that hung around her neck-a round onyx medallion encircled in a purple ring.
Gods. The emblem of Shar, goddess of darkness and of loss.
Kalen lunged forward and grasped the smoking axe haft. He meant to wrench it away, but she held it firmly. “What are you?” he asked.
Sithe gazed into his eyes but did not react. They stood there, both trying to wrest the axe from the other. They were matched in strength.
“Fight me, damn it!” Rhett said.
Vindicator swept through the air, but the silver blade skipped off a wave of darkness that manifested around Sithe like a shield. The woman swayed aside as though her dodge was how she had meant to move in the first place. If anything, Rhett’s strike put her in a better position and the distraction cost Kalen his inside advantage.
“Boy, I said get back!”
Rhett stepped between them, interposing his shield and the silver flame of Vindicator. “Torm burn you, Daughter of Darkness,” he said. “You will fight me or-”
Flame flared from the sword toward Sithe and encircled her-a halo of divine radiance. The dark woman took a step back, inspecting the holy magic. She looked as though she understood it better than Rhett did.
Rhett pointed the sword at Sithe. “Torm shall smite you, Scion of Demons!”
She glanced at Kalen with a gaze that echoed his earlier word: unlikely.
She closed her eyes and darkness swept around her like a mantle-Shar’s power, cloaking her servant. Against that darkness, Vindicator’s light faded.
She strode forward, her axe high over her right shoulder. Rhett swung as she approached, but Vindicator passed through her as though she were but a wraith. She swept through Rhett, her form like mist, and raised the axe over Kalen. He tried to dodge, but he picked the wrong direction. The blade lit fire down his left leg. He’d felt every ounce of that, which meant she’d cut deeply indeed. He fell to the ground as she brought the blade
around for a finishing blow.
Suddenly silver radiance flared around the dark warrior’s body, bursting through her shielding darkness and setting her silk garb aflame. She faltered and her axe cleaved the cobbles next to Kalen’s face, skipping out of her hands. Sithe staggered back, batting at the flames that caught at her clothing. For the first time, she looked startled.
The silver halo pulsed, as did the sword in Rhett’s hand.
Finally, Sithe spoke: “Very well.” Her voice chilled Kalen as the coldest winter never could. He felt the weight of her wrath lift from him, shifting to Rhett.
“Run, boy!” Kalen said. “Run!”
She loped toward Rhett, claiming her axe as she bounded past.
For all his strength and Vindicator’s power, the boy lasted only heartbeats against Sithe. With his shield, he smashed aside her initial strike, but that had been a feint. In a fluid motion, she raised the butt of her axe over his shield and slammed it into his face, then leaped forward and kicked him in the chest as he reeled back against the butcher’s shop.
Sithe let one hand fall from her axe, the better to grasp Rhett’s sword wrist and hammer Vindicator free against the withered bricks. The blade bounced end over end across the alley. The radiance instantly fled from around Sithe, freeing her of its grip.
Sithe wasn’t done with the boy. She flowed from disarming him to elbowing him in the face. Rhett’s nose trailed blood as his head jerked to the side.
Kalen had one chance and he took it.
As Rhett slumped, Sithe danced away, moving with immortal grace. She took a two-handed hold on her axe and brought the ugly thing around, scything for his neck.
Kalen lunged between them, Vindicator raised.
Steel shrieked against steel as black axe exploded into fiery sword. Any mortal weapon would have shattered, but Vindicator held firm. Kalen strained to keep Sithe at bay. The woman looked into his eyes-darkness staring into him-then leaped back, bringing her axe around.
For his part, Kalen strode forward, praying that his injured leg held. He funneled his anger against the deep hurt. “You’re the one who took Myrin, are you not?”
She studied him wordlessly, her axe whistling softly as it tore the air.
“What are you?” he asked. “What do you want?”
Again, she stared at him silently with those empty black eyes.
“It matters little,” he continued. “You are a creature of shadow and I am called Shadowbane. I suppose you can guess how this will end.”
Sithe inclined her head slightly to the side. “I am not a shadow,” she said. “I am the nothing that the darkness hides-the void that the darkness cannot fill.”
Kalen shrugged. “Well, I’m adaptable.”
She seemed to consider this, turning her axe idly over her head. She caught the haft out wide, letting it hang like a scythe extending from her arm.
“You are the righteous arm of your god,” she said. “A divine killer, as am I.”
The words stirred an old, simmering rage inside him. “I am not like you.”
Sithe’s face gave his words the lie. “Your faith is weak-that is why you fail.”
“Test me,” Kalen said. “Show me that my faith is weaker than yours.”
“No need.” She nodded to the shadows behind him. “He is yours, Master.”
“Master?” Kalen realized, too late, he’d been tricked.
Pain erupted anew in his slashed leg and he fell to the cobblestones. Above him stood a halfling, shrouded in the shadows, blood dripping from the rapier he’d just rammed through Kalen’s thigh. He had auburn hair, eyes like green beads, and familiar sharp features. Kalen knew who he was.
“Toytere,” he said.
The halfling smiled brightly, revealing a mouth full of sharpened teeth-the better for tearing meat. “Cheers and well met, Little Dren,” he said, showing Kalen one of his own daggers-claimed from the cobblestones. “I’m so glad you be back.”
He hit Kalen in the face with the pommel of the dagger, plunging him into darkness.
We watch from the shadows.
We wait as the men come and take the two away.
“That, methinks, was ridiculously easy,” says the short one with the hat. “Emphasis on the ridiculous, no?”
The dark sister makes no reply. She looks. For us?
We wait.
“Something be amiss, Lady Void?”
She shakes her head. She does not see us. Her axe balances on her shoulder.
She is one of us, though she does not know it.
We delight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
22 KYTHORN (NIGHT)
Blinded, Kalen awoke to a chafing sensation in his lower half. Well accustomed to his benumbed body, he recognized the signs of being dragged. He heard whispers like soft squeaking. The smell-a mixture of sweat and vomit-indicated a sackcloth hood over his head.
“I see you haven’t washed the hood since the last time I was in town,” he murmured.
Thunder clapped as someone boxed his right ear.
He couldn’t see where they were going, but growing up in this foul place gave him a good grasp of the streets, with all their rank odors and other minutiae. The numbness helped: his disconnect from his body sharpened his other senses.
He recognized a gravely crunch underfoot and heard dozens of bickering voices that blended together-a fishmonger’s market, down by the docks: Rat Alley. Despite the foul hood, he smelled seawater and a combination of rot and sour ale that indicated they were in the vicinity of one of the gang taverns. Likely, that meant the Drowned Rat tavern, home of the Dead Rats.
Kalen found it darkly amusing that Ebbius the tiefling hadn’t mentioned that his old friend Toytere was running the Rats these days. That could have been pertinent information, when someone wanted him dead as badly as Toytere did.
His captors dropped him onto cold, hard stone. That alone told him they were at least twenty feet underground. That he wasn’t dead he took as a blessing, though just at the moment, he’d not have minded oblivion. He ached, and considering his curse took the edge off pain, that meant he was badly hurt.
Someone yanked Kalen’s hood off, and he saw a root cellar turned prison cell. A ragged man with jaundiced eyes spat at his feet, then left the room through a stout wood door.
Kalen’s eyes adjusted and he saw the dim outline of Rhett sitting nearby. The boy was just waking. “Saer Shadowbane?”
“Call me Kalen.” He worked the ropes that bound his wrists behind him.
“These are tight,” Rhett said. “Whoever tied these knew what they were doing.”
Kalen regarded him dizzily. “Were you conscious when they bound you?”
“A little. Why?”
“If you flex your muscles when the ropes go on, then relax, the ropes loosen.”
“Oh.” Rhett laughed mirthlessly. “That would have been great to know at the time.”
“Indeed.” Kalen worked at his bonds.
“As long as we’re not going anywhere,” Rhett said after a moment. “Do you mind if I ask what’s going on? I mean, with our captors and their impending murder of us and all.”
“The gang that has us is called the Dead Rats. Why we’re alive, I don’t know, but no doubt it’s for a reason. Keep silent and don’t give them a different reason.”
“Got it,” Rhett said, then continued right on talking. “And that woman? The black-skinned demon?”
“Sithe. She’s-” Kalen paused. He wasn’t sure what Sithe was. He’d fought demons and their scions before, but none like her. “She’s the Rats’ chief enforcer.”
“Well, as long as she’s the best they have, we’ve naught to fear!” Rhett said cheerily. “Except for the bit where she mopped the cobblestones with our faces.”
“True enough.” Kalen saw his fingers turning purple. The ropes gave a little-he could now pull himself free at need, but to what end? He couldn’t get out the door.
“And that other voice I was hearing earl
ier? Pitched high-a bit like a child’s?”
“Halfling called Toytere,” he said. “Old friend of mine from many years ago-fortune-teller, con artist, thief, and the like. His play was always telling the future. Not that his prophecies ever came true, except when it was the worst for everyone involved.” Kalen shifted toward Rhett. “He was a Dead Rat when I knew him. If he’s running the gang-and it looks like he is-then he must have moved up in the world.”
“You’re from Luskan?”
Kalen smiled despite himself. “Usually it’s the grim manner that gives it away.”
“You don’t seem that grim to me,” Rhett said. “Determined, aye?”
“You don’t know me at all, boy.”
“Fairly said. But this Toytere seems to-and he doesn’t like what he knows.”
“I shouldn’t have come to your rescue in that alley. No doubt it was a trick.” Kalen scooted toward Rhett, then fought another wave of dizziness. “Why did you come after me?”
“As I said, to be your apprentice,” Rhett said. “My Valabrar, Rayse-that is, Araezra Hondyl, dismissed me. She said I could either go back to Waterdeep to face the magistrate for dereliction of duty or I could desert. She gave me the night to decide.”
“That sounds like Araezra.”
“You know her?” Rhett asked. “Oh right, you were in the Guard. How could you not know the most beautiful woman there?”
“Indeed.” Kalen suspected Rayse would hate that description, but then, Rhett was a boy and could be forgiven for not understanding.
Kalen still felt woozy. That meant he was bleeding, even if he couldn’t see or feel it. At least he’d made it closer to Rhett-two paces separated them.
“Listen,” Kalen said. “I’m not going to last.”
“But you’re a paladin, are you not? Call on your god and heal yourself.”
“It isn’t so easy,” Kalen said under his voice. What he was going to ask of the boy, he had promised himself he would never do again. But there was no choice-not if he wanted to find Myrin. “You give it a try.”
“Me?” Rhett said. “I’m just a guardsman. I don’t have any healing gifts.”
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