The others pressed on while the mage whirled Tenebrous around. He raised his hands over his head, shouting a harsh word. Blazing purple magic crackled between his hands. With all his strength, Morhion hurled the sizzling orb of magic toward their pursuer. The orb struck its target and exploded in a sizzling spray of violet sparks. The stranger was thrown violently backward, tumbling to the ground.
The others reined their horses to a halt and returned to Morhion. The mage smiled sharply in victory. “I think our pursuer will follow us no longer.”
Cormik spoke then, his voice filled with awe and fear. “I think you should have knocked on wood when you said that, Morhion.” He pointed with a chubby finger. “Look!”
Slowly, the stranger rose to his feet.
“That’s impossible …” Mari started to say.
As the moon broke from behind a cloud, they could see that the stranger’s robe had been ripped to shreds by the force of Morhion’s magic. Now for the first time, in the pale light, they could see their pursuer clearly. It was not human.
Jewel swore. “By Shar in all her darkness, what is it?”
Morhion answered her grimly. “It is a shadevar.”
The creature took a halting step toward them. Kellen stared with terror and fascination. He had never seen anything like the shadevar. Its hide was gray and rough like stone. Onyx barbs protruded from the backs of its arms and from its sternum, while more dark spikes rose along its backbone in a razor-sharp crest. Its face was featureless, with two small pits for a nose and two small depressions where its eyes should have been. Its slit of a mouth opened to reveal countless needle teeth, and it let out a snuffling sound as it began moving deliberately forward.
“But this can’t be,” Mari protested. “We killed the shadevar. I saw it die …”
“We killed one shadevar,” Morhion countered. “But in ancient times there were thirteen of them.”
“Might I suggest we continue this argument later?” Cormik said with a note of hysteria. “Perhaps sometime when we’re not about to be gruesomely dismembered?” The shadevar was gaining speed.
“Make for the bridge,” Morhion said quickly. “The shadevari cannot cross large bodies of water. Their nature prevents it.”
The horses required little urging. They galloped wildly toward the bridge. Kellen gripped Flash’s mane tightly; he had given up even attempting to control the little pony. The sound of the river grew louder. The stone arch of the bridge loomed before them in the gloom. Without warning, Mari reined Farenth to a halt. The other horses skidded to a stop.
“Have you gone mad, Al’maren?” Cormik demanded. “Don’t stop now. The thing is gaining on us!”
“No, she is not mad,” Morhion said hoarsely.
The others followed his gaze. In the faint light, they could just make out two figures standing in front of the bridge, blocking the way. Both wore thick black robes.
“By Azuth on High,” Mari swore in a mixture of horror and amazement. “More of them!”
Once, the Fellowship had managed to defeat a single shadevar. Just barely. Now they faced three of the ancient, evil creatures. Morhion looked over his shoulder. The first shadevar loped toward them swiftly. It would be upon them in moments. The other two stood firm before the bridge, and a river too deep to ford. The companions were trapped.
“This way!” Morhion shouted, turning to the left and spurring his mount away from the road. “The edge of the Reaching Woods is less than a mile away. It’s our only chance!”
The others did not stop to argue. They spurred their mounts, leaving the road behind and thundering toward the dark wall of the forest. A cry of inhuman rage rose on the cold night air. Yet, when Kellen dared to glance back a few moments later, the creatures had vanished. Perhaps they had given up. The shadevari were swift, but even they could not outrun a galloping horse.
Jewel spoke up, her smoky voice tinged with fear. “I really hate to be negative, loves, but you might want to look up.”
The shadevari had not abandoned their pursuit after all. Three dark shapes whirled in the air above the riders, soaring on broad wings. The outlines of the creatures were hazy and indistinct, almost as if they were formed of smoke. They looked like some malformed mixture of lizard and bat, only far larger. Riding on the back of each of the flying creatures was one of the shadevari. The shadowsteeds folded their wings and began to dive, stretching out curved talons.
“Don’t look up!” Morhion shouted. “Keep riding!”
Kellen tore his eyes away from the horrible scene in the sky. Fixing his gaze on the approaching line of trees, he braced himself as his horse sped up, fearing that at any moment he would feel sharp claws rake deep into his back, peeling flesh from bone.
Then Flash crashed through a low wall of undergrowth into the forest. Through the lattice of branches, Kellen looked up to see the three shadowsteeds pull up sharply, barely avoiding a collision with the treetops. Screams of pure fury pierced the night, but the terrible cries faded as the horses pushed onward. The winged shadowsteeds could not pursue them into the forest. They had escaped the shadevari. At least for now.
Kellen let out a sigh of relief as they wound their way deeper into the safety of the trees. Then Mari uttered something that made their hearts sink.
“We’ve lost Caledan’s trail,” she said quietly.
After that, they rode for a long time in silence.
Eleven
The wanderer came to the gates of Triel on a gloomy day late in the month of Uktar.
Even from a distance, Beris thought there was something strange about the fellow, a man clad all in black riding a mist-gray horse. Beris shivered inside his beaten-steel breastplate, chalking it up to the clammy air as he gripped his spear tightly. An unsettling thought drifted through his mind. Didn’t one of Lord Elvar’s priests say that sometimes the King of the Dead appeared in the guise of a dark man riding a pale horse? Like all soldiers, Beris was a superstitious man. Under his breath, he muttered a charm against evil spirits.
“What are you mumbling about now, Beris?” asked the grizzled soldier who stood with him before the open gate.
“I was just wondering who that rider is, Sarig,” Beris answered hastily. Beris was the youngest of the twenty mercenaries Lord Elvar paid to guard Triel, and he took enough abuse from the older men as it was. He didn’t want Sarig to think he was afraid of a lone horseman. Which he wasn’t, of course. “Who do you suppose it is?”
“Looks like some beggar to me,” Sarig grunted in disgust.
Beris nodded. “I suppose he’ll be seeking hospitality, then.”
Sarig gave a harsh snort of laughter. “Lord Elvar isn’t very hospitable!”
While the lord was not an evil man, his distrust of strangers was nearly as legendary as his propensity for switching religions. Elvar ruled a small district, of which Triel was the center. Triel itself was more of a fort than a proper town. Here the Dusk Road met up with the larger Trade Way, which continued on all the way to the great city of Waterdeep to the west. Triel served mostly as a way station for traveling merchants. Its small cluster of cottages and storehouses was surrounded by a sturdy stockade of stone and wood.
When the rider finally came to a halt before the gates, Beris breathed a relieved sigh. The man’s skin was mushroom pale, and dark half-moons hung beneath his faded green eyes, but he looked far more like a sick beggar than an incarnation of Death. His midnight blue cloak was spattered with mud. Despite the wanderer’s ragged appearance, the gray mare he rode was an exceptional animal.
“State your business!” Sarig barked, brandishing his spear.
The wanderer blinked, as if he had just waked from a deep slumber and was surprised to find himself in some new time and place. “Can you help me?” he asked hoarsely. “I’m so tired. And hungry.”