But the cold wind snatched the words from her lips.
*****
Hooves clattering against loose stone, Mista scrambled up the last few feet to the summit of the knife-edged ridge.
"Good girl," Caledan said, leaning forward in the saddle to stroke her neck. Despite the chill, her pale coat was flecked with foam. "I knew you could do it."
Mista nickered uncertainly in reply. She did not like this place. Nor did Caledan. He gazed down into a dark hollow in the blasted landscape. The vale of the Shadowstar.
"Well," he said. "We're here."
Though he had never seen this place before, Caledan had an eerie sense that he was coming home. Perhaps, in a way, he was. A thousand years of shadow magic ran in his veins. This was where it had all begun.
The vale itself was not so much a valley as it was a crater—a circular pit gouged into the surface of the world by a terrible, otherwordly force. The walls of the vale were formed of jagged black stone. Hot steam rose from countless fissures in the crater's floor, creeping around jagged spire of rock that stood like a sentinel in the vale's center. He shut his eyes, and he could almost see it: the fiery streak plunging down through the sky to strike ground with a flash as bright as the sun and a sound deafening as two worlds colliding, leaving in its wake a gaping wound on the face of Toril.
Caledan opened his eyes and studied the steep slope leading down into the vale. Slowly, he dismounted. His joints ached fiercely, and he was horribly dizzy. Somehow he managed to stand upright.
"I'm afraid this is where we part ways, old friend," he said haggardly.
Mista gave a firm snort, stamping her hoof in protest.
Caledan shook his head. "You can't make it down that slope, Mista, and you know it. Frankly, I'm not certain I can, either." He sighed. "But I have to try."
The ghostly gray mare let out a worried nicker.
He encircled her strong neck with his arms. "I swear, I will come back for you, Mista, if it is at all in my power, I think that you're the only one I really remember now. I know that there are others… others who were important to me once. But I don't know their names anymore, or their faces." He gave a bitter laugh. "Damn, but I hardly even remember my own name anymore."
Mista nuzzled his cheek. She bared her big yellow teeth and bit his ear, but the gesture was only half-hearted. Caledan slapped her affectionately. "Good-bye, old friend," he said softly. With that, he turned and began picking his way down the treacherous wall of the crater. The going was agonizingly slow. Rocks skidded beneath his boots. Sharp edges sliced his hands when he reached out to steady himself. He was perhaps halfway down when his feet set a whole section of loose scree into motion. The small rocks were as slick as marbles, and there was nothing for Caledan to grab on to. With a cry he fell, tumbling down the slope in a small avalanche of loose rock. When he came to a stop at the bottom, he was surprised to find he was still alive. Groaning, he pulled himself from beneath a pile of rubble and staggered to his feet. He was bruised and bloodied, his clothes rent in a score of places.
"Well, that was the quick way down," he said with a manic laugh, but there was no one to hear his words.
Taking a deep breath, he stumbled onward, skirting a dozen crevices. Hissing steam rose from the fissures along with a dull red glow, filling the air with a sulfurous reek that seared his lungs. Only after several minutes did he consciously hear the throbbing sound that thrummed in his chest in time to his rapidly pounding heart.
It was music.
So this was the Valesong. Exactly how he knew about the Valesong, Caledan was not certain. The knowledge had simply come to him, like knowledge of the Shadowstar and Ebenfar. He cocked his head to listen. The music echoed all around. It was chaotic and dissonant, and he could make out no melody. That was because the music was flawed. He knew that, just as he knew everything else. Long ago the music had been marred.
"And now I must restore it," he whispered, the words hurting his parched throat. If the Valesong were complete, he would be free of the Shadowstar, free of the turmoil that raged within him.
Gripping the Shadowstar, Caledan lurched on. As he went, he racked his spinning brain, trying to figure out what he had to do to make the ancient Valesong whole once more. The knowledge was there, somewhere. It had to be. Then, like one groping blindly in the dark for a flint with which to light a candle, he found the answer.
The acrid smoke swirled. Caledan stumbled to a halt. Before him rose a massive pillar of solid basalt. Carved into its tapering surface were irregular stone steps. His gaze was drawn up the beckoning stairway that spiraled around the towering pinnacle all the way to the to the top. There, carved into the very summit of the pillar, was gigantic chair. The throne of the Shadowking.
Even as Caledan gazed upon the onyx throne, he knew that he must sit upon it.
Desperately, he tried to cling to his plan of restoring the Valesong, of freeing himself from the dark power that raged within him, but those thoughts were brutally ripped away by a surging wave of desire. All he could think of was how good it would be to stop resisting, to finally let himself be swept away on that dark, turbulent sea. The other woke within him, and for the first time he was not frightened by its presence. At last, here was an end to his battle. He stepped forward, placing his boot upon the stairway.
As he did, one last fragment of the man who had been called Caledan Caldorien bubbled to the surface. He no longer remembered why he had created the myriad signals as he journeyed, or what they had meant. Yet an image drifted in his mind, of one last sign he intended to create.
For a moment, the forces inside him struggled. Then, with a shudder, he reached out and pressed his hand against the pinnacle. Beneath his fingers, dark stone melted, flowed, resolidified. He pulled his hand back, not even bothering to look at the object he had forged. It did not matter now. All that mattered was the throne. It drew him upward. No longer feeling pain or weariness, he climbed the spiral staircase. At last he reached the top and gazed at the tortured landscape that stretched in all directions. Soon, he thought, all this will be mine. A smile twisted his face. He ascended the final step and sat upon the throne.
Out of thin air, shadows appeared, coiling around him like a royal robe of black satin. He shut his eyes and curled up in the chair, knees to chest, like a child in its mother's womb. It felt so sweet to rest, and finally to forget. More dusky tendrils swirled about him, cocooning him in the soft stuff of shadows. In moments, his body was completely covered by a dark, sticky sheath bound securely to the onyx throne. Swiftly, the jet-black sheath dried, becoming hard and glossy, sealing its contents safely within. It was a chrysalis.
Nineteen
"There it is," Morhion said solemnly. "The heart of Ebenfar."
They dismounted and gazed into the smoking crater. A bitter wind whistled over the saw-toothed ridge, but clouds of warm mist rose up from the desolate vale.
The acrid steam burned in their lungs.
Ferret scratched his stubbled chin nervously. "Let me guess-the Shadowking did his own decorating, am I right? The gloomy neo-gothic overtones highlighted by the retro-apocalyptic blasted rock are a dead giveaway." He clapped his hands together. "It simply screams 'Shadowking'"
Kellen gave the weasely thief a curious look. "You're a silly man, Uncle Ferret."
Ferret shot Kellen a crooked-toothed grin. "I know. But don't underestimate silliness, Kellen. It's a surprisingly good self-defense mechanism, and a whole lot more fun than panicking."
Kellen reached out and gently patted the thief's hand. "If you say so, Uncle Ferret."
A high-pitched whinny rang out on the frigid air. The companions turned in surprise to see a riderless horse trot toward them across the windswept ridgetop. It was Mista, Caledan's gray mare. When Mari grabbed Mista's bridle, the horse snorted nervously, rolling her eyes. Mari stroked the smooth arch of the horse's neck, trying to calm her.
"Caledan," she said hoarsely. "He's already here. We're too late."
"Perhaps," Morhion replied. "But perhaps not. We must believe that there is yet time to save him."
Mari's shoulders trembled. She clutched at Mista's mane. "I don't know if I can do it, Morhion," she whispered, shaking her head.
"Do what, Mari?"
"Look at him," she answered in anguish. "I don't know if I can face him if he's… changed. To see him, turned into a… a thing of evil. I'm not sure I have the strength to bear it."
Morhion took a deep breath. He was not certain he could bear it either. Yet maybe he did not need to be so strong. Maybe none of them did. He reached out and gripped Mari's shoulder. "We can all do it together, Mari he said softly. "Together, we will be strong enough."
A fragile smile touched her lips. "Promise?"
He nodded solemnly. "I promise." Abruptly, a low laugh escaped him. "Did I not warn you that one day, when you least expected it, I would be on your side?"
"Well," she said with mock indignation, "it's about time."
Morhion smiled at her. Then his gaze was drawn downward, into the mist-shrouded vale. "Well leave the horses here," he said.
Traversing the steep slope down into the crater was an ordeal. At first, Morhion worried about Kellen's ability to climb the jagged cliffs. Then he realized his fears were unfounded. Kellen moved as nimbly down the treacherous slope as did Ferret. Boy and thief picked their way lightly over sharp rock outcrops and across expanses of rock scree. Mari and Morhion followed more carefully. At one point the mage's boot slipped on a patch of loose rubble, and he lost his balance altogether. He would have gone sailing over the edge if Serafi had not materialized before him. The spectral knight raised his ethereal gauntlets, and a blast of frigid air blew Morhion backward. Serafi said nothing. He did not have to. Morhion knew the knight had saved his life for one reason only: to protect the body that the dark spirit would soon possess for his own. With a flash of his burning eyes, Serafi vanished. Mari and Morhion exchanged grim looks. At last they reached the bottom of the crater, Ferret let out a low whistle. "so this is what the Abyss looks like. Not that I can say I was really all that curious to know."
The vale of the Shadowstar did indeed look like some dismal limbo for the damned. Perhaps it was, at that, Morhion thought with a bitter, silent laugh. Serafi, Caledan, Morhion himself—who were they but lost souls one and all?
Cautiously, the four made their way toward the center of the blasted vale. The sulfurous reek was almost over-powering. Tatters of steam scudded across the rocky ground, and a dull red glow hung on the air like a bloody miasma. Acrid steam rose from countless fissures in the dark rock, and it was from some of these crevices that the ruddy light emanated.