Isela moved to a rusted iron chest and threw back the lid. She drew out two objects and handed them to Morhion. One was a book, its crackling yellow pages still protected by a cover of oiled leather. The second was a silver ring set with a violet gem.
Morhion raised an eyebrow. “What are these things, Isela?”
She placed her gnarled hands on her hips. “That is for you to discover, wizard. But I will tell you this—you will have need of them on your quest.”
His eyes narrowed. “How is it you know what we seek to do?”
She waved this away as if it were an unimportant detail. “How I know matters not. But heed me, wizard. You seek to destroy a great shadow. Yet shadows can exist only when there is light to cast them. To destroy the shadow, you must destroy the light as well. Do not forget that.”
“I won’t,” he promised solemnly, though he was not sure what she meant.
She nodded and, without a word, turned to leave. By the time they made it back to the sleeping chamber, the others were waking. They ate a breakfast of hardtack and leftover soup—ignoring more of Cormik’s grumbling—and discussed their plans. They had to cross the River Reaching and return to the Dusk Road to search for Caledan’s trail. Isela claimed to know a way across the river, though she remained deliberately mysterious.
“You shall see,” was all she said.
They gathered on the damp green bank of the river in the misty light of dawn.
“You have got to be joking,” Cormik said in blatant disbelief. “How, by all the gold of Ghaethluntar, are we going to get a horse across the river in that?”
Jewel gave Cormik’s paunch an appraising look. “I’m not certain it’s the horses that will be the problem.”
Cormik treated her to a withering glare. “You actually enjoy being unpleasant, don’t you?”
“Just to you, love,” she said, parting her ruby lips in a winning smile.
Morhion studied the contraption Isela had rigged for crossing the frothing torrent of the river. He had the distinct impression that the entire thing had not been built, but had rather been grown. A thick vine hung across the river, attached to a stout oak tree on each bank. Suspended from the braided vine was a large basket woven from green saplings. Attached to the basket was another, thinner cord that could be used to pull the craft along the main vine.
“Can it truly hold one of the horses, Isela?” Mari asked.
The witch nodded. “Once each fall I kill a stag for winter food. Often I hunt on the far side of the river, and bring the stag across in the basket. It will hold a horse.”
Despite Cormik’s skepticism, Isela was right. Mari and Jewel crossed first, easily pulling the basket along the vine to the far bank. The others pulled the basket back and began sending the horses across the river to the two women. It wasn’t easy getting the horses into the curious conveyance, but with a cloth sack covering their eyes, the animals stayed reasonably calm. It took a great deal of grunting and heaving on the part of Mari and Jewel, but soon all the horses stood on the far bank.
Cormik and Kellen climbed into the basket next, the crime lord somewhat reassured after the favorable performance with the horses. Before joining them, Morhion turned to bid Isela farewell.
That was when the baying started.
It echoed through the forest, distant at first, yet rapidly drawing nearer. This was not the baying of mundane hounds. It was an eerie noise; the snarls and barking sounded strangely like voices speaking in an unknown evil language.
Bloodthirsty cries pierced the foggy air. These came from above, and the companions recognized the source instantly: the bellowing of the winged shadowsteeds conjured by the shadevari. In moments the baying and bellowing grew frighteningly near. Morhion thought he saw shadowy shapes moving swiftly toward them through the ruins of the city.
“Yes, these hounds are creatures of shadow,” Isela hissed, as if reading his thoughts. She shoved him into the basket with Cormik and Kellen. “You must go. Now.”
“What of yourself?” Morhion demanded.
“I am staying.”
Morhion stared at her. “But the beasts—they’ll be here in moments.”
“I know, you fool,” she snapped. Then her dark eyes softened a fraction. “You must guard the child wizard. Now go.” She tugged the smaller vine twice. In response to the signal, Mari and Jewel began hauling on the cord. The basket swung out over the river.
The baying of the shadowhounds shattered the air. “Isela!” Morhion shouted, but the witch was already lost in the mist of the far bank. He thought he saw a dozen dark forms slinking through the swirling fog, but he could not be certain. Abruptly the basket came to rest on the western bank of the river. Jewel and Mari helped Cormik and Kellen out, but Morhion gripped the vine. “I’m going back,” he said hoarsely.
Before the others could protest, the cord suddenly went slack. The main vine crashed down into the turbulent surface of the river and was swept away. Isela had severed the cords. There was no going back. The snarling of the shadowhounds rose to a frenzied pitch. Across the river, brilliant green light flickered in the mist, and howls of pain mingled with the snarls. Somewhere in the fog overhead the shadowsteeds shrieked again.
“Come on,” Mari said, tugging at Morhion’s hand.
“But Isela …,” he protested.
“I know,” she replied angrily. “She is sacrificing herself so that we can escape. Will you have that sacrifice be for nothing?”
It was like a cold slap. Morhion, of all people, understood sacrifice. “You are right,” he said coolly. They mounted their horses and soon left behind the eerie baying and flashes of light.
Late the next day, they stumbled out of the northern edge of the Reaching Woods and once again found themselves traveling west on the Dusk Road. This time it was Jewel who spotted the sign of Caledan’s passing. Near the road, a dead tree had been twisted into an agonized shape that looked uncannily like a dying man raising his arms toward the sky. The crimson light of sunset dripped down the tree’s bark like blood.
“He has been this way,” Mari said, visibly shaken.
“But how long ago?” Cormik wondered. No one could answer his question.
They rode on, glancing frequently at the sky above, searching for signs of the shadevari. While they did not know who had summoned the ancient creatures of evil, or why, by now it was clear that the shadevari were tracking Caledan, just as the companions were. To their relief, the winged shadowsteeds did not appear.
Two days later, they halted at a fork in the road. Here the Dusk Road continued on west, while a lesser-used track branched off to the north, winding its way into the rocky Trielta Hills. There seemed no way of knowing for certain which direction Caledan had gone.
“Nothing,” Cormik said darkly, scrambling out of the hedgerow he had been searching. “I can’t see any signs that Caledan came this way at all.”
Jewel appraised the rotund crime lord critically. “Let me guess—it’s all the rage in the royal court of Cormyr to wear a bird’s nest on one’s head, and as usual you’re just a pawn of fashion?”
Cormik hastily snatched at the abandoned nest that had gotten tangled in his dark hair. He glowered at her. “You’re evil, aren’t you?”
Her only answer was a disturbingly sweet smile.
Mari sighed in frustration. “I suppose well just have to make our best guess as to which way Caledan went.”
“I have an idea.”
The others turned to Kellen in surprise. He had not spoken much since the ruined city. Whether or not Kellen was in truth the one foretold in Isela’s prophecy, something strange had happened to him in Talis. What had been going on in his mind since, Morhion could only guess.