Riven nodded at Cale's blade hand and asked, "You nervous, Cale?"
Cale ignored the barb but took his hand off his sword hilt.
"I said I'd find you," said Cale. "You tailing me?"
It concerned him that Riven had tracked him down. If the assassin could do it, so could the wizard and the half-drow.
"You look like the Ninth Hell," Riven said, and grinned through his goatee.
"I asked if you were following me."
"Not exactly," Riven said, and he pulled the chain that held his holy symbol out from behind his blue tunic. The onyx disc looked like a hole in the assassin's callused palm. "A mutual friend told me where to find you."
Cale stared at the symbol, nodded. Mask had probably spoken to Riven in a dream, or a vision. The Lord of Shadows had often so spoken to Cale.
Looking at the holy symbol, Cale wondered again, with a pang of jealousy that surprised him, if Riven could cast spells. After a moment's thought, he decided not. Riven was smart, but his intelligence was more of a practical street wisdom. Cale thought spellcasting required a kind of insight that Riven lacked, a sort of philosophical introspection.
Or at least he would choose to think so.
He wondered too why Riven and he served the same god but used different holy symbols. For that, he had no ready answer, but it somehow comforted him. Mask distinguished between them. Cale liked that.
"What else did he tell you?" Cale asked.
"Nothing."
Riven's sneer softened, and he replaced his holy symbol behind his tunic. Cale nodded knowingly.
"Get used to it," Cale said. "That's his method. He reveals only what he thinks you need to know to serve his purposes. You know why?"
"Don't care."
"Because to him, you're only a tool," Cale answered anyway, though he could tell from Riven's face that the assassin wasn't listening. "You think you're more than that, don't you?"
Riven's one eye narrowed and he said, "You be a tool, Cale. I'll be a weapon."
That made Cale wonder what promises Mask had made to secure Riven's loyalty.
"We'll see," Cale replied. "But I'll do you a favor and tell you something: he's as much your tool as you are his."
He realized how arrogant it sounded the moment the words left his mouth—A god his tool? But, yes. Foolish or not, he regarded Mask as serving him as much as he served Mask. Jak had once described it as a confluence of mortal and divine interests. Cale thought that put too nice a dress on it. It was mutual utility, nothing less and nothing more. Because Cale realized that, he could resist Mask's imperatives and stay his own man. He wondered if Riven could do the same.
"You going to tell me what's going on?" Riven asked.
Cale looked him in the eye and said, "You want in on this? All the way? It's ugly."
Riven's mouth was a tight line, but he said, "I've been in this since those sons of whores blew me out of the Stag. I'm in it all the way."
"Well enough. Let's keep moving."
They fell into stride together, heading for the Lizard. As they walked, Cale filled Riven in on what had occurred at Stormweather.
"So there are at least five of them," Riven said afterward. "That'd be manageable. Where's this sphere then?"
"Half-sphere," Cale corrected. "It's safe. And we're not handling this alone. I'm bringing in Fleet."
Riven stopped cold and pulled Cale around by the shoulder to face him. Cale stared at his hand. Riven removed it.
"That little prig halfling bastard?" Riven sneered. "He's a liability, Cale. You and I can handle this alone. We've taken down Cyricists before."
Cale remembered. They had worked together well. Too well.
"True," Cale acknowledged.
"So why bring in Fleet?"
Because he's my friend, Cale thought but didn't say.
Instead, he stared evenly at Riven and said, "Because I can trust him." He paused before adding, "And I don't trust you."
Riven looked angry for a moment, then recaptured his sneer.
"Pleased to hear it," said the assassin. "I thought you were getting soft."
Cale decided to resolve a few things right then and there. He knew that Riven despised Jak. Several months before, the halfling had nearly killed Riven with a stab through the back. That had been business though, and Cale thought Riven could put it aside as such. After all, he and Riven had scarred each other previously too. But Cale knew that it must have galled the assassin that he had been split by a halfling. Cale had to set some rules. He put a finger on Riven's chest and looked him in the face.
"Fleet's my first choice on this, Riven. It's us, and it's you. You're along for the ride, nothing more, holy symbol or no. We can use your blades, but we can get by without them." He waited for a reply but Riven made none. Cale went on, "If you can't handle being around the little man, then walk away now. You move on him and I'll put you down without a second thought. Clear?"
Riven stared at him, his good eye unreadable, his other an empty hole. A long moment passed. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.
"You know, Cale, you've threatened to kill me before, yet here I stand. You're losing credibility. And one day your threats are going to make me angry."
Cale tensed, let his hand glide near his blade hilt. If he had to, he would take Riven down right then.
Through his goatee, Riven smiled a mouthful of stained teeth and said, "But not today. I hear you. Fleet keeps breathing. But I want in on this, all the way through."
Cale heard the sincerity in Riven's voice. The assassin owed the shadow mage a blood-debt for whatever that spell had done to him in the street.
"You're in then," said Cale. "All the way."
They started walking, the tension still thick. For a time, they said nothing and the silence stretched.
At last, Cale said, "What's it like to have no one to trust, Riven?"
Riven surprised him with laughter—a genuine laugh. Cale didn't think he'd ever before heard the assassin really give vent to true mirth.
"For being so smart, Cale, you sure are a stupid bastard." His laugh gave way to a dark, knowing chuckle. "You don't have anyone you can trust either. You're just blind enough to think you do."
Cale could think of no reply to that. But as he walked, the words "mutual utility" again floated to the front of his consciousness.
Fortunately, the innkeeper at the Lizard, a slim, efficient man named Preht, was up early that morning. His wife and daughters had already begun breakfast preparations. Cale could smell the aroma of cooking sausage coming from the kitchen.
Cale and Riven purported to be travelers from Cormyr. Preht looked doubtful—he obviously wanted no trouble. But when Cale prepaid for a full tenday's lodging, the innkeeper's smile returned tenfold. They declined breakfast. Cale needed rest more than food. After asking Preht to keep an eye open for a halfling who was to meet them there, they headed upstairs to their room.
The room had two cots with clean linens, a night table with a few candles, a chair, a washbasin, a chamber pot, and one small window. Riven closed and latched the shutters. A few beams from the rising sun leaked through the slats.
"You take a few hours," Riven said. "Gods know you look like you need it. I'll watch. Afterward, I'll take a couple myself."
Too tired to argue, Cale only nodded.
Riven took a seat in the chair, his magical sabers drawn and laid across his knees. His eye burned a hole through the door.