You already knew that Kesson Rel's divinity has its origin in Mask and not Shar?
I did.
Brennus was not surprised. Rivalen was as secretive as his goddess.
Is there more? Rivalen asked.
Brennus hesitated, steeled himself, and dived ahead. Only a Chosen of Mask may imbibe from the Black Chalice. Any other will die. The artifact is holy to the Shadowlord.
Silence. So Rivalen had not known that.
Brennus felt Rivalen's anger and understood it. A heretic of Shar threatened their plans for Sembia. To thwart him, it appeared they needed to beg the assistance of an enemy, an enemy who would profit in the bargain.
Erevis Cale, Rivalen said, the words hot with anger.
So it seems. Since Kesson Rel stole a portion of Mask's divinity, it is not of him. Upon his death, presumably, it will revert to the Chosen of Mask who drank from the chalice.
We cannot allow that, Rivalen said.
Agreed, Brennus said.
After a time, Rivalen said, I will arrange for the assistance of Erevis Cale. Meanwhile, I have another task for you, Brennus.
Brennus waited.
When the power is freed upon Kesson Rel's death, I want it.
The homunculi on Brennus's shoulders gave a start, leaned forward, and stared at one another across the intervening landscape of Brennus's face.
Shadows swirled around Brennus. You want it?
Yes. Or I want it obliterated, though I think that likely impossible.
Does the Most High know of this?
Rivalen's silence provided answer enough.
Brennus made the connections between what he had learned from Mephistopheles and what Rivalen had told him of Kesson Rel.
Rivalen, the divinations suggest that the divinity can be recovered only by Mask's Chosen. If you-
I need you to find another way, Brennus.
Rivalen…
We must kill Kesson Rel to stop the Shadowstorm, but we cannot afford to elevate Erevis Cale in his place.
True.
There is a way. There must be. Find it. Whatever methods you used before, use them again.
The homunculi squealed and darted into his cloak. Brennus shook his head, recalling the power and majesty of the archfiend. He did not relish another encounter.
You do not know what you are asking, Brennus sent.
Do you see another option?
Brennus shook his head. No.
You divined that the temple at the edge of nothing would soon be destroyed. We have little time.
Yes.
Then I will expect prompt word of your success. I will not forget your assistance in this, Brennus.
The connection went silent, leaving Brennus alone with his homunculi and his thoughts. Exhausted, he decided to take a meal. He strode the shadows to the dining hall and there found a platter of steamed mushrooms and braised beef awaiting him. A minor magic had kept it hot. His homunculi bounded from their perches and lingered over the mushrooms, inhaling the aroma. They did not need to eat, but enjoyed indulging their senses.
Dim glowballs cast the table in faint green. Thick shadows spun lazily in the air. A dying fire spat its last, defiant crackles from the large, central hearth. A framed portrait of his mother, formally posed, hung over the hearth. He loved the portrait; its laughing eyes and soft smile captured her perfectly.
She stood in a long, yellow gown, one hand on a side chair. Her dark hair, pulled up and tied with diamond studded silver wire, contrasted markedly with her pale skin. A diamond necklace hung from her neck, not the jacinth chain weighing down Brennus's pocket, weighing down his soul. The portrait had been made before Shade Enclave had fled Karsus's folly to the Plane of Shadow, before Brennus had abandoned shaping for divination. His life would have been different had his mother lived.
He owed it to her to discover the identity of her murderer. If he could learn how to kill a god, surely he could learn that. He would learn that. Mephistopheles knew the name of the murderer. Or purported to know.
He lifted a goblet of nightwine, drank, but barely tasted it. He held it before his face, shadows coiling around it, and studied it while he thought. His mind turned to the Black Chalice, and he tried to understand events and their implications. But matters were complicated, dark. He could not see through them to the endgame.
"Brennus."
The voice startled Brennus. His homunculi gasped, and looked up with mushrooms held limply in their hands. Shadows poured from Brennus.
His father, Telemont Tanthul, the Most High, emerged from the darkness at the far end of the table. His platinum eyes glowed in the dark hole of his face. The darkness in the room coalesced around him like iron shavings to a lodestone.
He glided forward, his legs indistinguishable from the cloud of shadows that moved with him.
Brennus sprung from his seat, bumping the table, spilling the wine, and startling his homunculi.
"Most High. This is a rare pleasure."
His father seldom left the palace. Plots and counterplots, and a quiet, ongoing spell war with Mystra's Chosen kept him occupied and in seclusion.
"It has been long since we have shared a meal, Brennus," the Most High said. His deep voice sounded most like Rivalen's among all the Princes of Shade. The two shared many traits.
"Please sit," Brennus said, and gestured at a chair opposite his.
Instead, the Most High stopped before the hearth and stared up at the portrait of his wife. The shadows around him churned, reached out to caress the portrait. The glowballs dimmed still further.
A voice to Brennus's right said, "The Lady Alashar was a rare woman."
Hadrhune, the Most High's chief counselor, stepped from the darkness. He bore his darkstaff in both hands and shadows played along the runes embroidered on his robes.
"Hadrhune," Brennus said, unable to keep the distaste from his voice. His homunculi made an obscene gesture at the counselor. Hadrhune pretended not to notice.
"Prince Brennus," the chief counselor said, inclining his head.
Brennus pointedly did not invite Hadrhune to sit.
The Most High turned from the portrait. His narrow face carried sadness in the eyes. Brennus had seen it only rarely.
"She was more than rare, Hadrhune. She was my life."
"Of course, Most High," said Hadrhune, and inclined his head.
"I think of Mother often," Brennus said.
The Most High and Hadrhune shared a look at his words. Both approached him and Brennus could not rid himself of the feeling of walls closing in.
"You are wondering why we have come," the Most High said, as if reading his mind.
The homunculi nodded in unison.
"Yes," Brennus said. "It appears more than a social visit."
The Most High took station across the table from Brennus, the portrait of his wife visible over his shoulder. Hadrhune stopped at the head of the table, his gaze alternating between Brennus and the Most High.
"You have been discussing with Prince Rivalen the manner in which Kesson Rel can be killed and the divine power within him taken," the Most High said.
Brennus felt only fleeting surprise that his father knew of his discussions with Rivalen. The Most High was, after all, the Most High. Still, shadows and sweat leaked from Brennus in abundance. His homunculi stood still as statues on the table, mushrooms held aloft.
"Yes," Brennus acknowledged and offered all he knew. "It appears that the power, once freed, can be taken only by a Chosen of Mask, but Rivalen wishes to take the power for himself. I am to find a way to make that possible."
Brennus expected the Most High to show anger, or at least concern, that Rivalen thought to arrogate divinity to himself. But the Most High seemed untroubled.
"Is it possible, Most High?" he asked.
"I believe it must be, but we will soon know for certain. You are to return to your summoning chamber and again call forth Mephistopheles."