Wraiths swirled everywhere and the darkweaver's tentacles thrashed about. Riven stood in the middle of it hacking wildly and shouting. Cale could see that the assassin was weakening. Riven's blows were wild; his speed a heartbeat slower. To Cale's left, Magadon lay on his back in the grass, barely visible through the crowd of wraiths that surrounded him and fed on his life-force.
Cale took the wraiths near Riven by surprise. Lunging forward and swinging Weaveshear in a wide arc, he sliced through three with a single swing. The stench from their dissipating bodies made him gag.
"Riven!" he shouted.
The assassin whirled on him, unleashing a vicious cross cut at Cale's throat with one of his sabers. Cale barely interposed Weaveshear in time to parry.
"Riven!"
Riven's good eye registered recognition. He grinned a mouthful of stained teeth.
"It isn't over yet!" the assassin shouted.
"We are leaving!" Cale countered.
Riven nodded, ducked under a swooping wraith, and split it open it as it passed. Cale impaled one, then another. Brandishing Weaveshear, he turned and channeled Mask's power at the wraiths surrounding Magadon.
"Away, darkspawn!" he commanded.
Four wraiths withered before the onslaught of divine might, leaving behind only moans and wisps of dark smoke. A tentacle wrapped around Cale's ankle and pulled him from his feet. Riven hacked it off with two swings of his sabers. It squirmed near them in a paroxysm of pain, spitting black blood and wisps of shadow. Cale jumped to his feet and bounded forward. He grabbed the groaning Magadon, clasped Riven by the forearm, uttered a prayer to Mask, and tried to shadowstep.
It worked, even with his two comrades. They found themselves standing in the rain on a quiet side street, surrounded by ruins. The only sound was that of their labored breathing. Before Riven or Magadon could speak, Cale shadowstepped again, and the three comrades appeared near Jak on the ridge overlooking the city.
For a time, they all sat there in the grass, in the rain, and said nothing. Even Riven, who moments before had seemed lost in the adrenaline rush of combat, seemed to have deflated.
In the distance, the golden light of the gate again flashed, a tantalizing reminder of a way out. Cale stared at it, thought, and made up his mind.
"Regroup," he said. "After we've recovered, we go again."
Incredulous expressions looked out from pale faces.
He explained with half the truth. "We know where the gate is now. We know what's guarding it. We can prepare and get through."
The rest of the truth was that he had to get through.
Magadon said, "You said that you don't know where it leads, Erevis. A divination to determine-"
Cale cut him off with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head.
"Divinations do not work here, Mags. Besides, wherever it leads, anywhere is better than here."
"Cale..." Jak began.
"We go again!" Cale snapped, and instantly regretted it.
Jak recoiled. He struggled to keep the hurt from his eyes.
"All right," the halfling said, voice thick with emotion. "We go again."
He climbed unsteadily to his feet, and Cale had to control the urge to go over and help him stand.
Riven's voice sounded from behind Cale, "No."
Cale's grip on Weaveshear tightened as he turned to the assassin.
Riven's good eye took in the blade, took in Cale's expression, and narrowed dangerously. Even Riven's ordinarily sallow face looked pale from the wraiths' attacks. He still held a saber in each hand. He raised one and pointed it at Jak and Magadon.
"Look at them, Cale. They can't go through that again. Fleet can barely stand. There are too many. You got us out of there-" he nodded back at the city-"and you're going to get us out of here."
His gaze took in all of the plains.
"We can do it," Jak said, but Cale heard the lie in the halfling's voice.
He chose to ignore it. He had to escape.
Cale said to Riven, "We're going back."
Riven shook his head and took two steps nearer to Cale, until they stood nose to nose.
"No, we're not," the assassin said. "Listen to what you're saying, Cale. You're desperate to get out of here, even more than Fleet. Why is that?"
Because I'm afraid of what's happening to me, Cale thought but did not say. He felt himself transforming into a man like Sephris Dwendon-seeing things that others did not, hearing a god in his brain, going mad.
Instead, he said, "Take one step back, Zhent. Now."
Riven's good eye narrowed to a slit, as though he was considering the seriousness of the threat. He took a step back but continued to face Cale.
"You're ready to sacrifice me, yourself, fine," said the assassin. "But Fleet? That transformation darkened more than your skin, Cale. I'm not sure you're even a man anymore."
That hit too close to the mark. Cale remembered his thought, born in the heat of battle, that he would kill Jak rather than let the wraiths take him. Hot with rage, he grabbed Riven by the cloak and pulled him close.
"No," Cale hissed. "I'm not just a man. Not anymore. I am the First of the Shadowlord." He stared Riven in the face. "And that's what bothers you, isn't it, Second?"
Riven's good eye flashed and his nostrils flared. Cale could feel the tension in the assassin's body.
"Among other things," Riven said, his voice low and predatory.
Cale released the assassin's cloak, took one step back, and drummed his fingers on Weaveshear's hilt. Wisps of shadow trailed around his face.
"And?" he asked, daring Riven with his eyes to further escalate the exchange.
Riven tightened his grip on his sabers, but before the assassin's snarl could form into a coherent reply, Magadon jumped to his feet and interposed himself between them.
"That's enough!" the guide said. He looked into Cale's eyes, then into Riven's. "Back off, Drasek. Erevis. Just . . . back off."
The assassin continued to stare daggers into Cale, but he did as Magadon requested. Cale's own ire vanished as quickly as it had risen. He just felt tired: He slumped, leaned on his blade.