"I'm sorry to bother you, Caledan, but you may want to come downstairs. Morhion just came back from his tower. There's something he wants all of us to hear."
A grimace crossed Caledan's face. He had hoped his dealings with Morhion were over now that they had returned from the Fields of the Dead.
Caledan stepped into the inn's private dining chamber and found the others already there. While he couldn't say that he had ever seen Morhion excited-he had watched the mage engulf whole bands of attacking goblins in magical fire without so much as blinking an eye-there did seem to be a hard, bright light shining in the mage's usually indifferent gaze.
"I have learned the purpose of the magical crystal I took from the shadevar," Morhion said when Caledan sat down. The mage pulled the opaque gem from his pocket.
"I believe it is a communication device of some sort. By means of the crystal, one might speak across great distances to the one who holds the gem's twin."
"That must be how the shadevar kept in contact with whoever its master was," Caledan mused.
"You want to use the stone, don't you, to speak with whoever will answer?" Mari asked the mage.
Estah scowled. "That sounds rather dangerous."
"Perhaps," the mage said, "but it would not be the first danger I have ever risked. The same would be true for all of you."
All eyes turned to Caledan. Much as he did not care for it, everyone had fallen into the old habit of looking to him as a leader. Even the Harper seemed to be waiting for him to say something.
"Do it," he said to Morhion finally, an edge of steel in his voice.
Morhion lifted the cowl of his robe, concealing his face. He was wearing black, just like the shadevar. The companions watched as Morhion spoke several sibilant words of magic. The crystal began to glow with a pale luminescence.
Suddenly an image appeared in the heart of the crystal. It was the gaunt, severe-looking face of a man with eyes as hard and dark as stones. It took several heartbeats for Caledan to recognize the man. An image of a procession riding into the High Tower of the city lord flashed before his eyes, It was the day when he had first seen Ravendas in the city, And on a black horse before her had ridden… the lord steward Snake. The man who was rumored to be Ravendas's lackey. He was the shadevar's master.
Caledan looked up at the Harper involuntarily. She nodded. Apparently she had recognized the lord steward as well.
"Why has it taken you so long to make contact?" Snake demanded in a voice as dry as bleached bones. "I have been attempting to communicate with you for the last two days."
Morhion drew in a breath to reply.
"Never mind," Snake interrupted impatiently. "It does not matter now. All that concerns me is Caldorien. Is he dead?"
Without hesitation Morhion nodded.
"Excellent," Snake said, his voice pure venom. "Now no one with the shadow magic can stand against us. Things are moving toward an end. Perhaps I will let you deal with the fool Ravendas yourself." A cadaverous smile touched Snake's mouth. "You have done well. Our lord who is to come will not forget that."
Again Morhion nodded.
"I must go," Snake hissed. "I shall make contact again when all has been-"
Snake's words were cut off by a sudden high-pitched commotion. Caledan swore under his breath and sprang toward the stairs, but he was too late.
Pog and Nog had burst into the room.
"Mother! Nog hit me!" Pog wailed before Caledan could quiet her. Nog's piping voice rose in denial.
The damage was done.
In the image inside the crystal Snake's hard eyes glittered with suspicion. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Morhion laughed. "A foe!" he cried. He passed a hand over the crystal. "Bahtral" he spoke as the gem went dark. The image of Snake vanished.
They all stared at the darkened crystal for a long moment. Pog and Nog clung to Estah for comfort, sensing they had done something wrong. Finally Tyveris cleared his throat.
"Well, Caledan," he said, his deep voice rumbling, "at least now we know who wants you dead."
"Comforting thought," Caledan growled in reply.
Eighteen
"I don't like this, not one bit," Caledan said, pacing agitatedly before the hearth. Night had fallen outside. The room was bathed in the warm glow of the candles Jolle and Estah were lighting. Pog and Nog had been sent to play upstairs, and the other companions sat around the oaken table.
"Snake said that soon he's going to be rid of Ravendas," Caledan went on. "If he's powerful enough to summon a shadevar, he can probably make good on his little boast."
"Perhaps this Snake fellow is just a fool who's a bit too full of himself," Tyveris offered. "I don't think so," Caledan said, shaking his head. "He is only pretending to serve her," Morhion agreed. The magical jewel sat on the table before him, dark now. "He is only waiting for the right moment for betrayal."
Caledan gazed intently at the mage. "I suppose you would know about things like that, wouldn't you?"
No one spoke for a tense minute until Ferret broke the silence. "There's still one thing I don't understand. Why is Snake going to so much trouble to kill everyone in the Realms with the shadow magic? Talek Talembar told us that only someone who possesses the shadow magic can utilize the Nightstone."
Caledan scratched the disreputable-looking growth of beard on his chin. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"The Harpers know for a fact that Ravendas has been searching for someone with the shadow magic for years," Mari ventured. 'That may be why she has been trying to capture you alive, Caledan. She needs someone with the shadow magic for when she gets her hands on the Night-stone."
"Well," Tyveris said finally, "if Snake doesn't serve Ravendas, then who does he serve?"
No one had an answer for the loremaster's question.
Caledan and Ferret waited just inside the mouth of the cramped, musty-smelling storm sewer. Caledan had not enjoyed crawling through the narrow, debris-cluttered tunnel. Ferret had wriggled his way through the pipe like a snake, but Caledan's broad shoulders had proven a liability, and more than once he had nearly gotten stuck.
Now the walled courtyard surrounding the High Tower of the city lord lay just on the other side of the rusted iron grating that covered the pipe. The others had protested earlier that morning when Caledan had told them he intended to sneak into the tower, but he had waved their caution aside.
"I'm not going in to confront Ravendas," he had growled.
"At least not yet. All I want to do is try to find out how close she is to locating the Nightstone." Caledan had planned to try to bluff his way through the tower's gate disguised as a Zhentarim warrior, but Ferret had suggested the ancient, forgotten storm drain as a less conspicuous method.
Caledan watched as black-booted feet marched by on the other side of the iron grate. After a minute Ferret motioned that the coast was clear. Quickly the thief shifted the grate to one side, slipping out. Caledan swiftly followed, replacing the grate behind him. They brushed the dirt from their black leather garb. They had stolen the uniforms from a pair of guards whose corpses were still cooling in a dim alleyway not far from the tower.
"I look like a buffoon!" Ferret swore softly as he futilely tried to adjust his swordbelt. Even though one of the guards had been nearly his size, the little thief looked ill at ease in the stiff leather uniform.
Caledan himself had fared quite a bit better than the thief in terms of fit. Unlike Ferret's, his uniform included an embossed, black enameled breastplate and an ornate helm with a visor that concealed his face.