Cale pulled open the doors to the Fane. A long, wide hallway beckoned. Shadows played in the green light along its entire length. Paintings and mosaics covered the walls, each shifting and melding when Cale tried to focus on them. He thought them a representation of chaos, or reified deception.
Alcoves lined the hall at intervals. In each stood a small table or pedestal, and upon each of those sat an item, displayed as though the Fane were a merchant's shop: here a staff of power, there a sword; here a cloak, there a ring. Cale could feel the magic in the room— shadow magic. The hall terminated in a pair of black double doors.
"Don't touch anything," Cale said, and he stepped into the Fane.
The moment he broached the archway, a husky female voice spoke aloud, in perfect Chondathan, "Take one thing of what you would, servant of the secret, leave what you can, and extend the darkness thereby."
Cale turned to his comrades with raised eyebrows.
"Strange that she would speak in the tongue of Luiren," Jak said.
"Amnian, you mean," said Riven.
Cale realized then that the voice was nothing more than a phantasm. The magic must have let each listener hear it in a familiar tongue.
Ignore it, Cale sent. Keep moving.
When they had all stepped into the foyer, the doors of the Fane slowly closed behind them. They shared a look, readied their weapons, and advanced down the hallway. Cale steadfastly kept his eyes from the tempting items in the alcoves.
Before they'd taken ten strides, the shadows before them swirled threateningly. Cale leaped backward, dragging Jak with him. White fire took shape in Magadon's hands. Riven circled out wide.
The shadows amalgamated, whirled, and formed into a humanoid shape.
Hold, Cale ordered distantly, feeling strangely unthreatened.
He let his blade drop.
The shadows tightened, took on more definition, and finally assumed the shape of an elderly man in a gray cloak. His eyes were solid black, and in them Cale could see the twinkling of stars. Those eyes reminded him of a dream he had once had....
"More visitors?" the black-eyed man said.
He looked at Cale, and took a step closer.
Watch him, Jak said.
Riven slid around and behind the old man, sabers bare.
"You," the old man said. He smiled and his body momentarily dissipated into shadows, instantly reforming with his back to Cale and his eyes on Riven. "Oh, and you."
Cale started to speak. Before he had completed the first syllable, the old man was again face to face with him.
"Do you know me?" Cale asked.
The old man chuckled.
"As well as you know yourself. And you," he said to Riven.
"Who are you?" Riven asked, echoing Cale's thoughts.
"I am the caretaker."
"What are you?" Cale asked.
To that, the caretaker smiled softly, and answered, "A servant, like you. But perhaps a more willing one."
He held up a hand as though to touch Cale, but Cale backed off. Fast.
"You do not yet understand what you are," the caretaker said, then turned to Riven. "Nor you. But you will. Both of you. The darkness called you, and each of you answered. As have I, in my way. Your duty, like mine, will become clear in time."
Jak stepped protectively in front of Cale and Cale couldn't help but smile.
"What is this place?" the halfling demanded.
The caretaker stared down at Jak, thoughtful, and replied, "The darkness has called you too, not so? Recently. Ah, but you have not answered."
Jak said nothing but Cale saw him shiver. He thought of the halfling's face the day after the slaad had tortured him. It pleased him to hear the caretaker say that Jak had not answered the darkness.
Jak is a seventeen, Cale thought, recalling Sephris's words.
"Answer my question," Jak insisted.
The caretaker shrugged and looked up and down the hall.
"This place has many names, in many tongues. The Temple of Night. The Fane of Shadows. The Umbral Shrine. For my part, I consider it a toolbox. It, and I, travel the worlds, offering assistance to the servants of the night."
Silence settled over the hall until Cale asked, "A toolbox?"
The caretaker replied, "Indeed. You," he said to Cale, then turned to Riven, "and you, may take from this place one gift. One tool."
Riven started to spit but stopped himself.
"I'll take nothing from this place," he said.
The caretaker nodded, unoffended, and replied, "As you will."
"A mage entered here before us," Cale said.
The caretaker nodded, indicating the double doors behind him.
"He is within the sanctum, even now claiming the gift that he came seeking."
Cale looked down the hall to the double doors but resisted the urge to charge down there.
"We know what he seeks," said Cale.
Smiling cryptically, the caretaker said, "What he desires is slight compared to what those who are with him seek."