“Have him now?” one of the homunculi asked.
“Yes,” Brennus said. “We have him. But the nightseer is coming.” The homunculi cowered in Brennus’s cloak, shivering.
The three comrades materialized in the woods on the eastern side of the valley. Mountains loomed before them, forming a dark wall. The rush of the cascades sounded loud in Vasen’s ears. Wind whispered through the pines. The relative quiet felt expectant.
“The tarn,” Orsin said, nodding.
“You said it was holy,” Vasen said.
The line of shadow extending from Weaveshear led off into the woods, toward the tarn.
“What tarn?” asked Gerak. “What just happened?”
In the distance they could see the orange glow of the burning woods.
The dark, winged forms of the veserabs flitted over the inferno. One of the Shadovar had peeled away from the burning woods and flew in their direction, each beat of his mount’s huge wings devouring the distance.
“The Shadovar are coming,” Orsin said.
Vasen started toward the tarn. “Come on.”
They followed the line of darkness that connected Weaveshear to the water.
Standing at the tarn’s edge, they looked down into water so dark and still it looked like a hole. The shadows from the sword plunged into the depths. “So?” asked Gerak, looking over his shoulder.
Orsin looked to Vasen.
Vasen stared at the water, licked his lips. “We follow it.”
Gerak looked at him as if he were mad. “Into the water?”
A series of shrieks from behind turned them around-a veserab. The canopy blocked their view of the approaching Shadovar, but Vasen knew he was close.
“Yes, into the water.”
“There are better places to hide,” Gerak said. “I could lead us-”
“It’s not to hide. It’s to go.”
“Go? Go where?” Gerak asked.
Vasen shrugged. “Go where. . I’m supposed to go. I know how this sounds. But I also know I’m right.”
Gerak shook his head, cursed softly. He looked at Orsin. “This makes sense to you?”
Orsin nodded slowly. “It does.”
“Well, past lives make sense to you, too, so I don’t credit your opinion much.”
Orsin chuckled at that.
Gerak eyed the water warily. “I don’t swim,” he admitted at last.
Vasen smiled, then lied. “Me, neither. But I don’t think we’ll need to.”
Closer shrieks from the veserabs, the susurrus of beating wings.
“I’m asking you to trust me,” Vasen said.
Gerak looked from Vasen, to Orsin, back to Vasen. “If you’re wrong, I’ll find you in our next life.”
Again Orsin chuckled. Vasen joined him. “Well enough.”
The shadows ten paces from them swirled, deepened, and two pinpoints of steel gray light formed in their midst. The darkness coagulated into the form of the Shadovar leader. His lower body vanished into the darkness, so that he appeared to disincorporate below the knees. His thin, angular face showed no expression. His hands glittered with rings. Two tiny creatures, their skin like clay, perched on his shoulders-homunculi.
“Wait,” the Shadovar said, and extended his hand. Energy gathered on his fingertips, writhing tentacles of shadows.
Vasen didn’t wait. He raised his shield, brandishing Saint Abelar’s rose, and channeled his faith into it. Rose-colored light exploded out from it in a blaze of beams, casting the entire meadow in bright light. The Shadovar and his homunculi cried out, shielding their eyes from the sudden glare.
“Go!” Vasen said, and tried to push Orsin and Gerak into the water.
But before any of them could jump in, the sky above them ripped open with a thunderclap, the sound so loud that it made Vasen’s bones ache and flattened him to the ground. Ears ringing, he raised himself to all fours.
“I’ve sought you for decades, son of Cale,” said a deep, resonant voice from above, a voice so full of power that it seemed to use up all the air. Vasen could hardly breathe. “And here you’ve been all the while, hiding under my nose.”
Vasen staggered to his feet, his shield still blazing, and looked up.
Another Shadovar descended from a glowing green rift in the dark clouds. He had no mount. He rode only the column of his power. Darkness spun around him, mingled with the swirl of his dark robes. Power went before him, palpable in its strength. He seemed more. . present than anything else in the world, more solid, more there. Golden eyes blazed in the dark hole of his face.
“Rivalen,” said the steel-eyed Shadovar, his tone dark with hate.
Vasen knew the name. Prince Rivalen Tanthul, the Nightseer of Shar, rumored to be divine.
“Rivalen,” Orsin whispered. “One of the three.”
“We must go,” Vasen said softly, helping Gerak and Orsin to their feet. He edged them toward the water.
Rivalen reached the ground, a cloud of darkness swirling at this feet. His entire lower body was lost to the shadows. He looked as if he were riding a thunderhead as he walked toward them.
“You aren’t leaving,” Rivalen said. “None of you are.”
“Rivalen,” the other Shadovar said.
“Be silent, Brennus,” Rivalen said, and made a cutting gesture with his hand that lifted Brennus from his feet and drove him backward into one of the pine trees. Either wood or bone or both cracked from the impact.
“You think your infantile plotting is unknown to me?” Rivalen said to Brennus. “You think your intent is unknown to me?”
To Vasen’s shock, Brennus climbed to his feet. “No,” he said, his steel eyes flashing. He held something up in his hand, a jeweled necklace. “I’ve made my intent plain. And nothing has changed.”
Rivalen’s eyes never left Vasen. “You’re mistaken, Brennus. We’ve found the son of Cale. Everything has changed.” He waved his hand and the light went out of Vasen’s shield. “Enough with that shield.”
Brennus’s gaze went from Rivalen to Vasen and back to Rivalen.
Vasen backed toward the shadowed tarn, Gerak and Orsin beside him. He held his shield and Weaveshear at the ready, although he expected neither to be of any use.
“I don’t fear you, Shadovar,” Vasen said, and meant it. “And my name is Vasen.”
Rivalen smiled, revealing small fangs. “You should fear me. You have your father’s spirit, Vasen. But it won’t save you. Or the world.”
Rivalen glided toward them, the ground seeming to vibrate under the weight of his power.
“Run, you fools!” Brennus shouted to Vasen, and started to incant the words to a spell.
Rivalen’s expression hardened, his eyes flashed.
Vasen whirled, grabbed Orsin and Gerak by the bicep, and before they could protest shoved them into the tarn. They sank out of sight instantly. He looked over his shoulder as he jumped in himself.
A column of flame extended from Brennus’s hand and engulfed Rivalen. Rivalen stood unharmed in the midst of the fire, the dark eye of a blazing storm, and loosed a jagged bolt of green energy not at Brennus but at Vasen.
Vasen interposed sword and shield as his feet hit the water. He expected death or worse, but the energy of the spell was drawn to Weaveshear like metal shavings to a lodestone. The weapon seemed to absorb much of the power of the magic, although the force of the spell still sent Vasen skittering over the surface of the tarn like a skipped stone.
He sank into the water with the energy of the spell still sizzling around his blade, the green glow lighting the otherwise inky confines of the tarn. The water seemed to seize him in its grasp, pull him downward, as green lines of energy from Rivalen’s magic snaked around the blade, around the hilt. Vasen thought to release the blade too late and the energy touched his flesh.
He screamed, expelling a stream of bubbles, as a jolt of agony coursed through his body and his heart seized. He felt as if his ribs had been shattered. His vision blurred and he struggled to remain conscious. His body spasmed, and even with his darkness-enhanced vision he could see nothing. He expected a splash to sound from above-Rivalen pursuing to retrieve his corpse-but he heard nothing, just the quiet of his own agony.