Carefully, Morhion turned a brittle page. "For eons, the shadevari prowled the face of Toril, wreaking havoc and seeking ways to shatter the creation of the gods. Their only desire was to find a way to break the world and meld light and dark into shadowy chaos once more. Finally, the god Azuth, the High One, found a way to banish the shadevari. Beyond the edges of the world, he created the illusion of a realm of shadows, and the shade vari were drawn to the image. Once within, the shade vari realized that the illusion in truth masked a prison. Too late they discovered the trick, and Azuth locked the prison with a key forged of shadows by the god Gond, Wonderbringer. Then, with all his might, Azuth hurled the key into the cosmos, sending it spinning among stars so that it would be lost forever."
"Something tells me that this cheerful little bedtime story isn't over yet," Ferret said, scratching his chin.
"Something tells you rightly," Morhion replied. "For a long age, the shadevari remained sealed in their prison. In time they were forgotten. However, as fate would have it, one day the key that Azuth threw into the void entered the world once more."
"The Shadowstar," Mari breathed in amazement.
Morhion nodded. "Indeed. What seemed a shooting star to the wandering minstrel Verraketh was in truth the key Azuth had used to imprison the shadevari. The Shadowstar gave the shadevari a small window on the world. Though still imprisoned, through it they were able to exert some influence. As the medallion transformed Verraketh into the Shadowking, the shadevari spoke to him, making him their slave, until at last he vowed that, when he was powerful enough, he would use the Shadowstar to free the shadevari from their prison. Then the thirteen would seek to destroy Toril once and for all. Fortunately, Talek Talembar defeated his father, Verraketh, before this could come to pass, so the shadevari remained sealed in their prison beyond the edges of the world."
"Wait a minute," Ferret protested. "We killed one shade-var in the Fields of the Dead two years ago. Now three more are after us. That means at least four of the shade-var have been freed from their prison. And while they're nasty creatures—and I'll grant you, I'm no expert on theol-gy they really don't strike me as godlike beings."
"You are correct, Ferret," Morhion agreed. Dusk had fallen. Firelight played mysteriously across the mage's angular visage. "However, from what I have learned, I would conjecture that the creatures that have pursued us now and in the past are merely avatars of the shade-var-limited, corporeal effigies conjured by the Shadow-star to work the will of the shadevari on Toril. They are shadows of shadows, if you will. The real shadevari are not corporeal at all, but are beings of pure chaos. And they are vastly more powerful than the creatures we have faced."
"Oh, lovely," Ferret said without enthusiasm. Mari shook her head, her forehead wrinkled in puzzle-ment. "That doesn't make sense, Morhion. If all you've said is true, then when Caledan's metamorphosis is complete and he becomes a shadowking, he'll be able to use the Shadowstar to free the shadevari from their prison."
"That is so."
"Then why are the three shadevari out to destroy him?"
"Maybe they aren't," Morhion offered. Two years ago the Shadowking and a shadevar conjured by Lord Snake sought to destroy all in the Heartlands who possessed the shadow magic. The Shadowking knew that only someone with shadow magic could destroy him, and the shadevar wished to protect him from such individuals. This time, Caledan is the Shadowking—or will be soon.
"There can be only one answer," Morhion concluded. "The shadevari aren't after Caledan. They're after us. They want to make certain Caledan completes his trans formation into a shadowking, so that he can free them from their prison." Morhion took a deep breath. "In fact there is only one person who could possibly have summoned the avatars of the shadevari…"
"Caledan," Ferret whispered hoarsely. "Caledan himself self summoned them, deliberately or not."
There was a long silence as the three huddled around the pitiful little fire. A small sound broke the tension. They turned in surprise to see Kellen sitting up in his blankets. The boy's face was pale but no longer deathly so. His fever had broken. He lifted a hand to rub his eyes then yawned heartily.
"I'm hungry," he said blearily. "What's for dinner?"
Kellen frowned when the only answer he received a chorus of joyous laughter.
*****
K'shar loped across the desolate landscape. The broken plateau of the High Moor stretched endlessly in all directions, brooding under an iron-gray sky. The half-elven Hunter tilted his head back as he ran, breathing in the sharp air, searching for the scents of man: smoke from a campfire, the odor of cooked meat. At first he detected only the metallic traces of stone and snow. Then, faintly, he discerned a third scent. It was acrid, like the odor that lingers after a lightning strike. K'shar recognized the stench of magic.
His gaze was caught by a jagged silhouette standing against the leaden sky. The Hunter squinted at the crum-bling stump of a ruined tower atop a low hill. For leagues all around, it was the only place that might offer some protection from the elements. Instinct urged him toward the tor. Above all else, Kshar trusted his instincts. As he climbed easily up the steep slope, he noticed footprints in the damp turf. A smile sliced across his thin face. He recognized the impression of a woman's boot with a triangular nick in the instep. Al'maren. Outside the mostly collapsed stone wall he found tracks like those he had seen in the ruined city in the Reaching Woods. The gigantic hounds that had attacked Al'maren and her companions in the ancient city had found them again, here on this hilltop. K'shar noticed numerous gouges in the rocky soil along with dozens of scorch marks. Some sort of magical battle had been waged here—one or two days ago by the look of things.
With animal grace, K'shar leapt over the stone wall. How long had his quarry camped here? And had they survived their battle with the magical hounds? K'shar knelt beside the remains of a cookfire, holding his hand over the ashes. They were still warm. Al'maren and her friends had been here only that morning. They had indeed survived the battle. And they were no more than two hours ahead of him.
Swiftly, K'shar stood. "You have been a worthy opponent,
Al'maren," he whispered to the chill air. "But I have almost caught up with you now. And once you are gone, nothing will stand between me and Caldorien."
Like a stag taking flight, he sprang over the wall and stretched his long legs to run lightly down the hill. His nostrils flared in anticipation. Instinct told him the chase was almost over.
And above all else, K'shar trusted his instincts.
Eighteen
It was midday when they brought their horses to a halt before the onyx bridge.
" 'Beyond lies the Domain of Ebenfar,' " Morhion read, translating the dim runes carved into a timeworn standing stone.
Mari nudged Farenth toward the edge of the yawning defile. She peered down, blinking dizzily. The vast depths tugged at her, as if trying to suck her down to the jagged rocks far below. Hastily, she backed Farenth away from the precipice. The slender bridge that arched over the chasm was made of black stone. Mari did not need Morhion to tell her that it had been forged with magic. On the far side of the bridge stood two colossi—gigantic statues hewn of basalt—forming a sinister gateway with outstretched arms. The towering statues were cracked and pitted, but Mari recognized their eyeless faces and spiny crests. They were shadevari. She shivered, gathering her forest green cloak tightly around her shoulders. There could be no doubt now that the ancient beings were inextricably linked with the Shadowking.
"Do you think Caledan has been here?" she asked, her voice breaking the brooding silence.