Mari gaped at him. Love? What was Ferret talking about? Yet even as she was about to dismiss this as an impossibility, she realized the truth of it. She had been so caught up in the search for Caledan that she had been blind to what was happening in front of her eyes. Now, as she looked at the two crime lords, it seemed comically obvious. They bent their heads near as they spoke, touching hands, and even as they hurled caustic insults at each other, their eyes glowed with affectionate mischief.
“I’m not certain,” Mari murmured. “But I’m glad they found each other.”
It was time to go. They bid a warm farewell to Jewel and Cormik, then turned to ride into the gathering gloom. Suddenly Mari raised a hand. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. “Get back into the tent,” she hissed. Such was her tone that the others did not argue.
Mari watched through a thin gap in the canvas as a lone figure appeared on a distant rise, moving toward the sprawling tent city. Even before she saw his face, she guessed who he was. When he drew near enough for her to catch a glint of two glowing amber eyes, there could be no doubt. Her heart contracted in terror when the tall, lean man paused. He seemed to sniff the air. Then, swiftly, he loped toward the heart of town, disappearing from view. Mari breathed a sigh of relief.
“I was afraid this would happen,” she whispered.
“You were afraid what would happen?” Morhion asked.
She swallowed hard. “The Harpers have sent one of their Hunters after us. Or perhaps after Caledan. It doesn’t really make a difference.”
“A hunter?” Ferret asked. “Maybe he can catch a few pheasants for our stew pot.”
“He’s not that kind of hunter, Ferret,” Mari replied darkly. “People are his usual prey, not animals. I’ve heard of this particular Hunter. His name is K’shar, and he’s a half-elf. I’ve also heard that no quarry has ever escaped him.”
“And just what does he do when he catches his quarry?” Ferret asked nervously.
“Use your imagination.”
“Oh. I was afraid you would say that.”
“It looks as though this K’shar is just arriving in Soubar,” Cormik said. He turned to Jewel. “What do you say we arrange a few interesting diversions for him, to make certain that he doesn’t leave town quickly?”
“A wonderful idea, love,” Jewel purred. “I have a few ideas you might find interesting …”
Despite her new worries, Mari managed to smile. It was clear that the rotund crime lord and the older, sultry masterthief were going to make an effective—and deadly—duo.
“Let’s go find Caledan,” she said.
Morhion, Ferret, and Kellen followed her out of the tent, into the deepening night.
Hooves clattering against loose scree, Mista scrambled the last few feet out of the rocky defile and onto a windswept ridge. Caledan pulled gently on the reins, bringing her to a halt.
“There it is, Mista,” he said quietly. “The High Moor.”
The mare snorted softly. A vast wasteland stretched before them, marching toward the distant horizon in endless gray waves. Pale mist pooled in low hollows, and here and there jagged spurs of rock thrust upward toward the leaden sky like beckoning fingers. A few wind-twisted plants clung precariously to the barren landscape, but there was no sign of anything moving. The High Moor was a dying land. How appropriate that somewhere in its heart should be a dead kingdom. Ebenfar.
Caledan nudged Mista into a canter across the damp moor. Almost unconsciously, he lifted a hand to grip the star-shaped medallion resting against his heart. Despite the chill air, the dull silvery metal was curiously warm. It had been strangely easy to take the medallion from the treasure chamber in Soubar. No—it had not been strange after all, for the Shadowstar had wanted to be found. The door to the treasure chamber had responded willingly to Caledan’s shadow magic, and the medallion had nearly leapt into his hand.
In the instant he hung the medallion around his neck, he had understood his destiny. He was to journey to Ebenfar, to the ancient kingdom of the Shadowking. He sensed that the medallion had the power to whisk him instantly there but did not wish to do this. The journey itself was important. The other still needed time to grow. And grow it would. Soon, all that would be left of him would be the shadowking within, and he would leave behind the man Caledan forever.
“I have to hold on, Mista,” he whispered hoarsely, gripping her mane tightly in clenched fingers. “I cannot forget who I am. I must not.”
For a moment, thoughts of those he loved drifted into his mind. Were the companions following him? Would they understand the signs he had been leaving for them? Quickly, he forced his friends from his mind. It was a mistake to think about them. Now that he had the Shadowstar, the other slept less and less, and he had to keep his one fragile hope concealed.
“If there is any hope at all,” he murmured.
Suddenly the Shadowstar twitched against his chest, sending a hot, dizzying wave coursing through his body. Caledan brought Mista to a halt. Gripping the medallion, he squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, he could feel the dark ones. They were close now. The shadevari.
Ever since his journey had begun, Caledan had sensed the dark presence following him. As soon as he gained the Shadowstar, his senses had grown remarkably keen, and he had discerned the true nature of the creatures pursuing him. They were shadevari, three of the ancient, malevolent beings banished beyond the Circle of the World by the god Azuth—beings who, he now realized, were somehow inextricably linked with the shadow magic.
An idea occurred to him. “We don’t want the shadevari to find me too easily, do we, Mista?” he said with a harsh laugh. “That wouldn’t be any fun for them. Maybe there’s a way to make my trail a little harder to follow.”
Mista gave a snort.
“Just watch,” Caledan replied.
He gripped the Shadowstar more tightly and hummed a dissonant tune under his breath. Mista pranced skittishly as a patch of shadow near her hooves swirled and expanded. Like dark serpents, a dozen sinuous forms sprang from the patch of shadow. The forms wriggled swiftly away, each in a different direction, snaking across the High Moor until they were lost in the distance.
“There,” Caledan said in grim satisfaction, releasing the Shadowstar. “The shadevari won’t be able to distinguish my trail from any of those shadowserpents. That should keep them guessing which way I’ve gone, at least for a little while.”
Mista gave an impressed whinny.
“Why, thank you.” Caledan patted her neck fondly. Slowly his eyes rose toward the far-off horizon.
“All right, my friend,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”
Concealed inside a heavy cloak, K’shar watched the crimson tent from a distance. At last the half-elf’s patience was rewarded. The tent’s entrance flap parted a few scant inches, and he caught a glimpse of a face peering out. After a moment, the face vanished. However, the glimpse had been more than enough for his sharp golden eyes. He knew the watcher in the tent from the description given by a soldier he had interrogated in Triel. It was one of Al’maren’s companions, the thief Jewel. His quarry must still be in Soubar. Anticipation boiled in K’shar’s veins. The chase was nearly over.
For a time, in the tangled depths of the Reaching Woods, he had feared that the unthinkable had happened, that he had lost his prey. The trail had led to a ruined city where he had seen evidence of a battle with some sort of doglike ereatures. The signs indicated that the companions had crossed the River Reaching, but by what means K’shar could not discern. For two days he searched for a way across the roiling river and found none. At last he was forced to give up and return to the Dusk Road. Just as he was growing concerned that his quarry had escaped him, he picked up the trail once again in Triel. Running night and day, he had journeyed swiftly to Soubar. Now it appeared that he had caught up with them at last.