For an instant, he felt a temptation to hurl the sphere into the woods, to leave it there forever, but he resisted. It had done what it was designed to do.
Two and two are four, he thought.
He slid it back into his pack, shaking his head. He could not figure it all out, but he decided then and there that he would keep the sphere for the purpose for which he had first intended: as a memento of his former master and lost friend, Thamalon Uskevren.
Knowledge you seek, said the caretaker in his head.
Find your answers elsewhere, the dragon answered.
He remembered the book.
He sat up from his bedroll, pulled the backpack onto his lap, and took out the large tome given to him by the caretaker. Its covers of black scale shimmered in the dim firelight, reminding him of the skin of the shadow dragon. Its fittings were of a dull gray metal he did not recognize and it felt warm to his touch, as though it was a living thing. He stared at the tome for a time, thinking. He felt the same hesitation about opening the book as he had felt about drawing Weaveshear. To do so felt like he was surrendering his will to events, and he would not-he could not-do that.
But he had already drawn the sword. And he had to know what lay within the book's covers.
He thought of opening it right there. He could see well enough with his new eyes to read in the dark, but he decided he would read it like the normal man he was, like he used to read Thamalon's books back in the library of Stormweather Towers.
Those times seemed far removed from him. Pangs of regret stabbed his heart. He missed the Old Owl more than ever, and Shamur, and Tazi. .. .
Shaking off the melancholy, he tucked the book under an armpit, rose, and walked over to the dimly burning fire. They had set the tents several paces away from the flames so as not to risk a stray ember igniting the canvas.
Magadon was seated on a log near the blaze and appeared to be meditating. Not wanting to disturb the guide, Cale said nothing, merely sat across from Magadon and stared at the scaled leather cover of the book. Jak and Riven continued to sleep soundly in their bedrolls. Riven's dreams did not seem to trouble him that night.
Just as Cale put his fingers to the corner of the book's cover and prepared to turn it open, Magadon opened his eyes and spoke.
"Unable to sleep?"
"No," Cale replied, and laid his hand flat on the cover, secretly relieved that he had not yet opened it.
He met the guide's knucklebone eyes, which reflected the flickering tongues of flame. Magadon shifted his legs and cleared his throat.
"I'm restless too," said the guide.
It didn't show.
"Why?" Cale asked.
The guide looked as though the question surprised him.
"I was thinking about Nestor," Magadon said.
It took Cale a moment to place the name: Nestor was the big fighter-actually a slaad-who had accompanied Magadon out of Starmantle.
"I wonder how the slaadi killed him," the guide continued. "I wonder when? How long did I walk with that demonic, hellspawned creature at my side, rather than my friend." He blew out a sigh. "Jak almost died because I failed to notice the change. Nestor's death pains me only a little, and I wonder why that is. It seems very far away now."
Cale understood that last statement. At the moment, everything that had happened on Toril seemed far away.
"It wasn't your fault," he said, and realized as he said it that he was not sure what he meant.
Magadon looked up, took in Cale's eyes, his skin, and asked, "No?"
Cale saw the guilt in that look, and understood it.
"No," said Cale. "You could not have known about him, or about.. . anything."
The guide nodded. To Cale, it looked as though a weight had been lifted from Magadon's shoulders. For the first time, Magadon seemed to notice what Cale held in his hand.
"That's the book from the Fane?" the guide asked.
"Yes," Cale said, and ran his fingers over the leather cover.
"You're going to read it?" Magadon asked.
Cale didn't look up when he said, "I don't know."
They sat in silence for a time. Cale had once more worked up the nerve to open it when Magadon spoke again.
"A close thing earlier," the woodsman said. "With the dragon, I mean."
"Yes." Cale didn't have to read minds to sense Magadon's internal struggle. He put the tome on the ground beside him and looked the guide in the face. "Why don't you say what you want to say, Magadon."
Magadon didn't bother to protest, merely gave an embarrassed smile.
"Damned if you're not direct, Erevis," he said. "I suppose I should pay you the same courtesy, shouldn't I?"
Cale made no answer.
The guide took a deep breath, looked Cale in the eyes, and said, "The Fane, the dragon, your skin, and your eyes. ..." He paused a moment, braced himself as though he was about to dive into a cold lake, then said, "You are no longer a human being."
Cale went rigid, and he felt himself flush. Harsh words of denial rushed to his lips, but he kept them behind his teeth. He heard no judgment in Magadon's tone, more like .. . sympathy?
Cale stared and waited for the guide to continue. His yellow-eyed gaze must have discomfited Magadon, who looked off into the darkness.
"I did not say that as an accusation, Erevis."
"I know," Cale said.
"That's good." The woodsman threw a few stray twigs into the flames and replied, "I said it because we have that in common." He looked up into Cale's eyes. "I am not human either."
Cale could not keep the surprise from his voice.
"What?" he said, too loud. He looked over to Jak and Riven. The halfling stirred in his sleep, but neither he nor Riven roused. "What?" he said again, more softly.
Magadon smiled and said, "How do you think I came by these eyes?"
In truth, Cale hadn't thought overmuch about it.