The light stripped away the shadows that coated Cale, his shadow hand, and for the first time in a long time he felt human. He glanced at Regg and Roen, and thanked them for that with his eyes.
Still, the emptiness of his spirit, the hole dug by the Black Chalice, needed filled.
He and Riven stepped up to Kesson Rel. Riven stabbed him through the chest with a saber. Cale cut off his head, and his screams, with Weaveshear.
Power began to gather.
Rivalen watched blood and shadows pour from the stump of Kesson Rel's neck. His thoughts seethed, frustration burned. He clutched his holy symbol so hard in his good hand that it cut his flesh.
He had schemed for centuries only to watch it fall apart before his eyes. He didn't know the spells he needed to steal Kesson's divinity. Instead, he had to stand idle and watch Erevis Cale become a god.
He cursed Brennus, cursed fate.
Above, thunder rumbled. A lightning storm lit the sky. The Lathanderians rose, their light diminished, and backed away from Kesson's corpse. One of the shadowwalkers started forward, but the Lathanderian Cale had named Regg held him back.
The wind whipped. Darkness formed around Kesson's body, a cloud of impenetrable blackness. Cale and Riven eased back a step. The wind became a gale, tearing at their robes, turning the drizzle into a sizzling spray. Thunder and lightning lit the sky and shook the ground. Power gathered in the shroud around Kesson's body, the stolen divinity separating from its mortal vessel. It leaked into the air over his corpse to form a cloud that looked less like darkness and more like a hole. Rivalen saw in it the echo of the emptiness devouring Ephyras.
And in the emptiness Rivalen found revelation.
Brennus had told him that only a Chosen of Mask could safely partake of the Black Chalice, but Brennus had not known of the relationship between Shar and Mask. They were related, and so too were their servants. A Chosen of Shar, too, should be able to safely drink.
Cale and Riven fell to their knees as the power gathered. A hum filled the air, growing in volume. The clot of shadows continued to coagulate over Kesson, expanding.
Rivalen spoke an arcane word and summoned the Black Chalice from the extra-dimensional space in which he had stored it. It materialized in his hand, heavy with promise.
"I am your Chosen, or I am your failure," Rivalen said to Shar.
He drank, and screamed.
The hole in Cale's being yawned, and pulled at the dark power seething over Kesson. Cale heard a humming in his ears, the roll of thunder, a scream, and he could not be sure that it was not his. Shadows churned around him. The power gathering over Kesson expanded. The wind blew so hard it threatened to flatten him to the ground. A continuous boom of thunder shook the ground. Lightning shot from the sky, struck the inky cloud above Kesson, once, twice, again, again. The cloud roiled, seethed, the power within it gathering.
Cale braced himself. The hum increased in volume, the wind, the thunder.
A beam of darkness and power shot from the cloud at Cale, but not just at Cale. Another beam struck Riven in the chest. Another struck Rivalen.
All three screamed as a fraction of the stolen divinity filled their beings, overwhelmed their souls, transformed them from men to gods. Cale's senses felt afire. His nose burned. His eyes watered. His bones ached. He fell to all fours as his mortal soul recoiled, as divine power filled the hollow spaces in him.
Then it was over.
The wind died. The thunder and lightning relented.
"Are you well?" Regg called from behind, his voice uncertain. "Erevis?"
"Stay back," Cale said, and the shadows around him roiled. "Far back. Now, Regg. Hurry. You also, Nayan."
Cale heard armor and weapons chink as the Lathanderians and shadowwalkers backed away ten, twenty paces. He heard their every whisper.
"What just happened?"
"Kesson is dead."
"What are they?"
Cale looked up, over to Riven, and nodded. Riven nodded in return. Neither would have to die, at least not for lack of divinity.
He looked to Rivalen, saw the Shadovar rise, terrible and dark. Cale and Riven did the same.
Two gods stood to face one.
They stared at one another over Kesson's corpse. The rain fell.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
7 Nightal, the Year of Lightning Storms
"We stand with you," Regg called from behind. "You need only give us the word, Cale."
"As do we," Nayan said in his accented Common.
Before Cale could respond, a stream of wraiths-mere hundreds had survived the battle with the shadows-swooped down from the dark sky in a long ribbon and flew between the three gods, swirled in a cyclone over Kesson's form.
"Leave them," Cale said to Riven, to Rivalen, to Regg and the Lathanderians.
A towering wraith, one of the Lords of Silver, separated from the swirl and hovered before Cale. His red eyes flared. He leaned in close, as if catching a whiff of divine spoor.
"He is yours," Cale said, and the power in his voice caused the wraith to recoil.
The wraith studied Cale a moment, bowed, and said in his whispery voice, "His corpse will rot in Elgrin Fau."
The Lord of Silver returned to the rest and the cyclone of undead whirled, their moans not despairing but triumphant. They lifted Kesson Rel's body and severed head from the ground and streaked across the battlefield, toward the rift Cale had opened.
After they'd gone, Cale, Riven, and Rivalen continued to stare at one another, their minds struggling to comprehend their new capabilities.
Cale knew a battle between them would turn Sembia into a wasteland, would destroy Sakkors, would kill everyone on the field. Rivalen had to know it too.
"A battle between us leaves nothing to the victor," Cale said.
Rivalen smiled, and energy gathered. "I disagree."
"Rivalen," Cale began, but a shriek from Magadon filled Cale's mind, filled the minds of everyone on the battlefield, the sound thick with power, incoherent with rage.
The Lathanderians and shadowwalkers fell to the ground, groaning with pain. Cale, Riven, and Rivalen winced. Pressure mounted in Cale's skull. He felt a warm trickle of blood leaking from one nostril. He tried to reach through the rage to Magadon.
Mags, he's dead. Kesson is dead. I can save you now.
But there was not enough of Magadon left to understand.
I do not need to be saved! he screamed.
Behind Cale, the Lathanderians began to scream, to die.
Power stormed in Cale's mind. His eyes felt as if they would jump out of his head. His thoughts grew confused. He tried to focus.
This is how you pay for your betrayal of me, Magadon said.
Cale staggered, felt blood drip from his ears.
"Your city is dying," he said to Rivalen through gritted teeth.
"So is your friend," Rivalen answered, and wiped the blood falling from his nose. His golden eyes, pained, looked as wide as coins.
Cale knew Magadon had little time. If he could still be saved, Cale had to do something soon. He had already made a deal with one devil. He could make a deal with another.
"A bargain," Cale said.
Rivalen nodded, hissed with pain. "Speak what you will."
"The Saerbians settle where they wish and are left alone," Cale said, his voice punctuated by grunts of pain. "Magadon goes free and unharmed."
"Magadon is already dead."
"No," Cale said with heat. "Not yet."
Rivalen looked to Cale, to Riven. "Sembia belongs to the Shadovar."
Cale nodded, wiped the blood from his face. "Done. Now we need time. Do as I do."
Cale called upon his newfound power, trusting that Rivalen and Riven would recognize his intent as he began to cast.