Cale asked, "You can live forever but worship annihilation?"
"I do not worship it. I told you. I simply acknowledge its inevitability."
"You seek rule over a realm whose fate is dust and death," Cale said. "Why?"
"I forge meaning for myself in the face of ultimate meaninglessness."
"But nothing you do will matter."
The darkness around Rivalen whirled and he tilted his head to acknowledge the point. "In time."
And all at once Cale understood Rivalen. "In time" was the crux of Rivalen's life, the fulcrum that balanced meaning and meaninglessness. The prince wanted to control the pace of approaching annihilation. He wanted it to happen tomorrow, never today.
"You don't want to stop the Shadowstorm on Toril," Cale said. "You want to delay it, have it happen when you want it, on your terms."
Rivalen regarded Cale for a long while. "You also must struggle with meaning, Maskarran."
"Can the Shadowstorm be stopped?"
The prince stared into his face.
"Can it?"
Rivalen's eyes flared. "No."
Cale could find no words. Riven did, all of them curses.
"But it can be delayed," Rivalen said. "Delayed for a time that is long even to Shadovar high priests. For the moment, that aligns our interests."
"For the moment," Riven said, and glared at Rivalen.
Rivalen kept his gaze on Cale. "Perhaps we should seek the temple lest Toril experience Ephyra's fate sooner than any of us would like."
Cale considered that and nodded. There was nothing for it.
Brennus felt the magical ring on his finger open a connection between him and his brother.
We are on Ephyras. It is a dying world. The Lady's will is manifest here. The time is drawing close, Brennus. You must determine how to capture Kesson Rel's divinity once it is freed.
Brennus listened to the words, heard the hint of exaltation in his brother's tone, and seethed. He wished he could reach through the connection and choke Riven to death, hear his stilted, dying gasps, leave his corpse to end in nothingness with the rest of Ephyras.
Brennus? Rivalen asked.
I am still seeking after the answer, Rivalen. You will know when I know.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
5 Nightal, the Year of Lightning Storms
The storm moved inexorably toward the refugee encampment. Wide eyes watched the growing darkness, exclaimed at the thunder, and recoiled at the lightning.
Abelar, Regg, and Roen stood at the far edge of the encampment, drenched in rain, in darkness, watching time drain away.
"They are terrified," Roen said, nodding back at the refugees.
"The storm is nearly upon us," Regg said. "We can wait no longer."
"Agreed," Roen said.
A void opened in Abelar's stomach. "Regg, hold until the last possible moment. If Cale and Riven have not returned…"
But Regg was already shaking his head. "You know we cannot wait, my friend. We march on the hour. And by our lives we will purchase as much time as we can for the refugees. We do not have wards enough for men and horses so we will leave the mounts behind. If Cale and Riven do not return, rush the Stonebridge. Dare the river."
Abelar mined for words in the earth of his mind but found none. He nodded, a fist in his throat.
"Gather the company," Regg said to Roen, and the tall priest nodded. "Tell them mounts stay. And volunteers only. Any who wish may remain behind with Abelar and the refugees."
Abelar knew that all would volunteer. Only he among the company would remain behind.
Only he.
Roen embraced Abelar before he left to pass the word. The priest's long arms engulfed him.
"I am honored to have followed you into battle, Abelar Corrinthal. The light is in you still."
Abelar's tears mixed with the rain. "And you, Roen."
The priest jogged off toward the camp, his mail chinking, shouting as he went. Regg and Abelar stood alone in the rain. They didn't face each other, but stood side by side and faced the Shadowstorm, their enemy, as they had so often in previous battles.
"We have known each other a long while," Regg said, his voice choked.
"I am the better for it," Abelar said.
"As am I."
They clasped hands, and held onto each other for a moment.
"I always thought that if we fell in battle, we would fall together."
The tightness in Abelar's throat made his words stilted. "As did I."
"We stand in the light," Regg said softly.
"You do, my friend," Abelar said.
A shout from the gathering company below turned their heads. Jiiris ran toward them, her face stricken, as red as her hair.
"I will leave you," Regg said, and headed toward the company.
Jiiris ran past Regg to Abelar, stopped before him, her breath coming fast.
"You will not lead us?" Her green eyes swam in tears she refused to let fall.
"It is Regg's company to lead."
The space between them seemed much larger than it was. Abelar bridged it. He stepped forward, and took her arms in his hands.
"You could stay with me," he said.
She looked up at him and he saw her consider the offer, but then she shook her head. "You know I cannot. Come with us."
"You know I cannot."
Both clung to the other as if they could delay the inevitable if they hung on hard enough. At last he released her.
"I love you," he said. But he loved his son more.
"And I you."
He kissed her, passionately, fully, and both of them knew it was the last kiss they would share. He let himself fall into the moment, into her, the taste of her, the smell of her skin and hair. When they parted, neither looked the other in the eye and both were crying, tears born in the regret of what might have been.
"Go do what you were called to do," he said to her.
"And you do what you were called to do," she said, and left him.
Abelar stood alone in the rain, thinking of his son, his life of service, wondering what it was that he was called to do. He was unmoored.
Ephyras's wind gusted, blew up a blizzard of black sand. The shadows around Cale and Rivalen deflected the particles. Riven, without any such protection, kept his hood up and his cloak drawn tight.
Cale tried to pry open the mental door Magadon had left ajar in his mind.
Mags?
He received no response and his worry manifested in a swirl of shadows.
"Which way to the temple?" Riven asked, as lightning bisected the sky.
Cale and Rivalen held their respective holy symbols, and both intoned the words to a minor divination.
"That way," Rivalen said, pointing.
"Agreed," Cale said, when the magic of his divination pulled at his body.
The prolonged rumble of falling stone sounded in the distance, the thunder of collapse. The ground vibrated under their feet and for a moment it felt as if the entire world were about to crumble.
"Over there," Cale said, and pointed.
In the direction they were to travel, a cloud of dust rose into the dark sky, the only landmark of any significance for as far as he could see.
"Magical transport will be dangerous," Rivalen said.
"We do not have time to walk," Cale said, thinking of the Saerbians, thinking of Magadon, thinking of Ephyras's death throes.
"You serve no one if your body materializes underground or in a stone. The currents of magic are wild here. You do not feel them?"
Cale did not, and had to rely on Rivalen's word. "Let's move, then."
The three men melted into the darkness and started out on foot, moving fast. The earth felt brittle, hollow under Cale's feet. The tremors that shook it from time to time nearly knocked him down. He imagined the entire world to be as hole-ridden as a sea sponge, ready to crumble into pieces were too much pressure applied to it.