But the face of the Shadowking was the face of a man Unlike the rest of the figure's body, the visage was smooth and perfect, even beautiful. This was how the sorcerer Ver-raketh had looked before dark magic had twisted him into the being of maleficence called the Shadowking. His features were crowned by a pair of dark antlers springing from the unfurrowed brow of the death mask, a bestial symbol of violence.
Caledan could not help but shiver. Within that sarcophagus lay a being of terrible malevolence. But the Shadow-king is a thousand years dead, he reminded himself.
"Cheerful-looking fellow, isn't he?" Ferret whispered. Caledan winced. How could the thief joke at a time like this? "By the way, did you notice those words on the columns are written in Talfir?" Ferret said softly. "I thought you might be interested to know…"
Caledan stared at the thief in surprise, then he jerked his head up to look at the runes carved high on the basalt columns. He squinted through the dimness and saw that Ferret was right. By now the ancient language was familiar enough to recognize, though he cursed himself for being unable to read it.
He thought back to that day when the phantom of Talek Talembar had appeared on the windswept cliff top. What had the phantom told him? What were the words he had used? The exact words?
For a long time his mind was empty. He almost swore aloud in frustration. Then abruptly, like a dam bursting, the memory came to him. It was as if Talembar was speaking once again, only this time inside his mind.
.. .thou might look for its echo in the place where last it
was played…
"Ferret," Caledan whispered hurriedly, his voice barely audible. "I understand the secret of the shadow song. Don't ask how. There isn't time for that. But I need those pipes the boy has."
Ferret did not nod, but by the glimmer of excitement in his beady eyes Caledan knew he understood. Caledan returned his inspection to the seven words of Talfir inscribed upon the columns. His knowledge of the ancient language was sorely limited. He wished Tyveris was here.
His concentration shattered as Ravendas spoke. "Come, my son." She held out a hand to Kellen. "It is time." Slowly the boy reached out a small hand. Ravendas led him up the steps of the dais. Caledan could see the terror in his eyes, but the child did not falter. He is brave, my son, Caledan thought. His hands strained reflexively against his bonds.
For the first time Caledan noticed that there was something standing at the foot of the massive sarcophagus. It was a small wooden box of simple, almost crude construction The box seemed oddly out of place amidst the magnificence and grandeur of the rest of the crypt.
"Open the box, my son," Ravendas said when they stood atop the dais. Her voice was gentle, but her lovely face was twisted with desire. Kellen hesitated. "Open it," Ravendas repeated, her voice more harsh. The boy winced and knelt before the box. Slowly, he reached out a small hand and opened the lid.
Shadows leaped forth.
Kellen screamed as he fell backward. Around the box whirled a small maelstrom of rippling shadows. Caledan almost thought he could glimpse faces amidst the swirling tatters of darkness. They were forlorn faces, hopeless and hateful, faces of death.
"To touch the shadows which surround the Stone is to die." Snake proclaimed.
Ravendas did not appear alarmed. "Play, my son," she instructed. 'This is the time for which you have prepared all your life. Play your song. Make the shadows disappear They will do your bidding, if only you play." Kellen stood frozen, clutching the reed pipes tightly as he stared at the whirling shapes of darkness.
"Remember what I told you, Kellen," Caledan called out, his voice cutting across the wail of the shadows. "You don't have to do this, not if you don't want to!"
"Silence!" Ravendas yelled.
Kellen cast a desperate look at Caledan. Then he turned his round face toward his mother. The pipes slipped from his fingers to fall against the hard stone.
"I won't do it!" he said. His voice trembled. "I won't pipe the shadows away!"
Ravendas cast a venomous look at Caledan. She knelt before Kellen, gripping his shoulders cruelly. "Listen to me, my son," she said in a cloying tone. "I am your mother. You must obey me. If you do not, there will be a price to pay And do you know what that price will be?" Kellen's eyes widened in horror. 'That is right, my son. I will kill Caledan-your father-even as you watch." She stood and folded her arms. "Are you prepared to pay that price, Kellen? Or will you obey me?"
Kellen hung his head. Caledan's companions, even Morhion, stared at him at this revelation. Finally Kellen looked up at Caledan. There was a deep sorrow in his eyes. Kellen knelt to pick up the pipes and lifted them to his lips.
You don't have to do what she says, Caledan wanted to shout out again, but he knew it would be no use. He had become the weapon Ravendas now wielded against the boy.
The sweet notes of Kellen's song seemed muffled at first as if the ancient air was trying to subdue them. But as Kellen played on the music grew in clarity and strength. Caledan felt his skin tingle. He recognized the power of the shadow magic. It ran in the blood of his son even as it did in his own veins.
The whirling maelstrom of shadows slowed, then began to fade In moments the darkness surrounding the box was gone. All could now clearly see the object that lay within. It was a rough, uneven Stone, unusual only because it looked so completely ordinary. But Caledan had no doubt of what it was. Even from this distance he could feel the pulsing of dark energy emanating from the thing, washing over him in sickening waves. It was the Nightstone.
"They want to go on, Tyveris," Kyana said softly. She and the monk stood slightly apart from the mass of prisoners who huddled in the dim dungeon corridor. Not two hundred paces down the passageway was the dungeon's central chamber-and the Zhentarim.
"By all the gods, they'll be killed, every one of them," Tyveris rumbled as quietly as he could. Tyveris cast a glance back at the cityfolk. They stood in the corridor, their faces pale, their hands gripping their weapons tightly. "If we head back to the thieves' entrance now, at least some of these cityfolk will be able to escape," he growled.
Kyana shook her head. "They're not going to retreat," she said fiercely. "Look at them, monk. These folk are ready to fight. All you have to do is give the word."
"I can't," Tyveris said, shaking his head. His dark eyes were mournful behind his spectacles. "Maybe Mari could have, but I cannot."
Then we have no hope of driving the Zhentarim from the city," Kyana said flatly.
The two returned to the crowd of prisoners. However, when Tyveris told them of his intention to turn back, a burly man with the calloused hands of a blacksmith stepped forward.
"Begging your pardon, sire," he said hesitantly, "but I don't think there's any here who want to turn back." The crowd murmured in agreement. "You see, it wouldn't be right for us to escape while all the others are still caged up like so many animals. Besides, we've had enough of Cutter and her guards." He shook the stout cudgel he gripped in his hand. "We've acted like frightened pups long enough. Now's the time to fight"
Tyveris opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of quickly padding footsteps stopped him. Talim pushed his way through the crowd of prisoners, breathing hard.
"There are a dozen guards patrolling the corridors not far from here, and they're headed this way," the young thief said hoarsely.
Tyveris groaned in dismay. They couldn't get back to the thieves' entrance without fighting the patrol. And if they did that the other Zhentarim were bound to hear the noise and rush to join the fray.