Shadowbred_ The Twilight War Part 9

Elyril went through the motions of thoroughly examining the body. Touching the cold, dry flesh of the corpse aroused her, but she kept her face expressionless. Attuned as she was to the Shadow Weave and Shar, she felt the squirming, dark thing hidden within the corpse.

"I can find nothing," she said to her aunt. "But that means nothing."

"Who else knows of this, Minnen?" Mirabeta asked.

Minnen answered. "The messengers I dispatched, but they are all trusted men. The priests of Tyr, by now. No others."

"Keep it so for now," Mirabeta ordered. "Do not let the household staff leave the grounds. All are to be questioned under spell by the priests. Including both of you."

Both reddened, but both nodded.

"Perhaps he did die in his sleep," Mirabeta said, and Elyril could see in her aunt's expression that she hoped it was otherwise. "We will know soon enough. A resurrection should be attempted. I will pay for it, of course."

Elyril could tell from the marked lack of enthusiasm in her aunt's tone that she begrudged the idea; she made it only to maintain appearances. No doubt she hoped the resurrection would fail, as they sometimes did. Elyril, of course, knew knew a resurrection would fail. Rivalen had a.s.sured her of as much. a resurrection would fail. Rivalen had a.s.sured her of as much.

Minnen said, "That is most gracious, Countess. But ..."

"Speak, Minnen," Mirabeta ordered.

Minnen nodded. "I am aware of the contents of Lord Selkirk's testament, Countess. He specifically forbids any attempt to resurrect him after his death. As you know, he was a faithful follower of Tyr. He regarded his end as his end."

For a moment, Mirabeta said nothing. She looked at Elyril and Elyril felt certain that her aunt would not be able to contain a smile. But she did, somehow, and returned her gaze to Minnen.

"I understand, Minnen. Thank you. Then I shall pay all costs of the investigation into his death. That is the least I can do for my cousin."

"Countess, I am certain the High Council would appropriate-"

"He was my cousin and I will pay," Mirabeta said, cutting off discussion.

More positioning, Elyril knew.

"Of course, Countess," Minnen said.

Mirabeta turned to Elyril and Elyril saw the pleasure in her aunt's expression. The wrinkles around the countess's eyes looked less p.r.o.nounced than usual.

"I will await the arrival of the priests with Minnen and Saken," Mirabeta said to Elyril. "Return to our estate. Send out messengers under seal. The High Council is to meet in emergency session as soon as possible. A successor must be chosen."

Elyril started to go, but turned and said, "May I offer a suggestion, Aunt?"

Mirabeta nodded and Elyril spoke the Nightseer's wishes. "A ruler is dead. The stability of the state during the transition is paramount. All suspicions must be laid to rest. My cousin cannot be resurrected, true, but would it not be prudent to put questions to his body about the circ.u.mstances surrounding his death, and to do so before the High Council?"

"Necromancy," Minnen murmured.

Saken raised his eyebrows thoughtfully and nodded. "There is precedent. Four hundred years ago, Overmaster Gelarbis was murdered by a mob. The questioning of his body by priests, in the presence of the members of the High Council, helped locate the murderer."

Elyril could have hugged the fat house mage, though his words were probably unnecessary. Mirabeta would have seen the political benefit of a magical inquiry before the council. It would publicly exonerate her of any involvement and solidify her guise as a concerned cousin. Her aunt wore false faces almost as well as a Sharran.

"Your idea has merit," Mirabeta said. "I will think about this. My cousin's wishes must be considered. Does his testament speak of such matters, Minnen?"

Minnen did not look her in the eye. "It does not, Countess."

Again, Mirabeta managed not to smile. "Off now, Elyril," she said.

As she walked to the door, Elyril noticed Saken's ragged shadow on the floor. She could tell from looking at it that the mage would be dead within a year.

"I have a secret," she whispered to him, grinning, and exited the chamber.

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Sometime later-perhaps days, Magadon could not tell-he opened his eyes to darkness. He did not feel a blindfold against his face. Ordinarily, the fiend's blood in his veins allowed him to see through darkness, but not this time. A magical shroud, then. The moist air slicked his skin.

He was seated, and bindings as cold as ice held him at his wrists, ankles, and waist. He could hardly move. He remembered little. His mind felt sluggish. He tried to summon a small amount of mental energy and transform it into light, but the attempt fizzled. Something was suppressing his abilities as a mind mage.

"He is awake," said a voice. "The suppression cloud is working."

"Then we go," said another.

Before Magadon could ponder what the words meant, he felt the sudden rush of motion and the dizziness that often accompanied magical travel. It reminded him of the times Erevis had moved them between worlds by drawing shadows about them.

When all stopped, he was still in darkness. A smell reached through the ink: salt-sea salt. He heard the telltale creak of a s.h.i.+p at sea, felt the slow roll of the waves.

A twinge of nervousness ran through him. The smell of the sea reminded him of things he would have rather forgotten.

"Show yourself," he demanded, and tried not to betray his nervousness. His dry throat made his voice croak.

The second voice answered, calm and cold. "Soon, mind mage. The magical shroud is a necessary precaution to prevent the use of your mental powers. Be a.s.sured, however, that we can see you."

Magadon struggled against the bindings at his wrists and ankles, to no avail.

"We? Who are you?" Magadon asked. "Where are we?"

"My name is Rivalen Tanthul," the voice said from Magadon's right.

The name meant nothing to Magadon. Rivalen went on, and this time his voice was behind Magadon. He must have been circling him.

"Your name is Magadon Kest and you hail from Starmantle. You are fiendsp.a.w.n and a mind mage. A year ago, you had contact with something that belongs to my people."

Magadon did not understand. "Your people? I do not know what you mean-"

Then he understood. A knot formed in his throat. Rivalen drew the knot tighter.

"We are Netherese, Magadon Fiendsp.a.w.n," he said.

Fear took root in Magadon's stomach. The Source was Netherese.

"Where are we?" Magadon said, but he had already begun to suspect.

"We are on a s.h.i.+p on the Inner Sea," Rivalen said. "Above Sakkors. Above the Source."

Magadon was sweating. "Why have you brought me here? I will not do anything for you."

"You will," Rivalen answered calmly. "Because I will make you. I am sorry, but I must." He paused, then said, "The Source ... it hurt you?"

Magadon shook his head. The Source had not hurt him. It had given him everything he could have wanted, or at least made him think that he had everything he wanted. And that was the problem. Once that feeling was gone, he had nearly killed himself trying to find a subst.i.tute for it.

Another voice asked, "How did you come to speak our language, mind mage?"

The question surprised Magadon. He did not realize that he had been speaking Loross. He had learned it from- "Did the Source teach you our tongue?" the voice asked. "How intriguing. What else did you learn from it?"

Magadon reminded himself of Ssessimyth, the kraken, and how it had been snared in the Source, made content to spend its life in useless indolence, reliving a history that was not its own. Magadon wanted no part of it. He struggled against the bonds, grunting, but they did not budge.

"The bonds are composed of shadowstuff, Magadon," Rivalen said. "You cannot break them. You will only exhaust yourself."

Magadon ignored Rivalen and struggled nevertheless. He had worked so long to regain himself. He would not lose himself again. He would not.

As Rivalen had promised, he soon exhausted himself. The magic in the bonds sapped his energy. Gasping, he slouched in his chair. He prayed that the kraken would surface from Sakkors and destroy the s.h.i.+p, kill them all.

"I cannot help you," he said. "I will not."

Rivalen said, "The Source is torporous, Magadon. How did that happen?"

"Did you do something to it?" asked the second voice.

Magadon almost laughed, as if he could do something to the Source.

The second voice said, "It was attacked. You were here when it happened. I have determined that much. Answer my question. If you lie to me, I will know."

Magadon closed his eyes, tried to convince himself he was dreaming, lost in a drug haze in some smoky bas.e.m.e.nt den in Starmantle.

"Speak," commanded Rivalen.

He was not dreaming.

"Not attacked," he said. "Tapped. An artifact tapped it, drew on its power to serve the wizard who created the Rain of Fire."

"A wizard created created the Rain of Fire?" the second voice said, astonishment in his tone. the Rain of Fire?" the second voice said, astonishment in his tone.

Magadon nodded. "Yes. He was from ... somewhere else. He used the power in the Source to empower his spell."

"Remarkable," the second voice said.

Magadon realized that he had said too much. He did not want his captors to know of the tower on the Wayrock. Riven might still be there.

"The wizard is dead," he added. "I saw his body, broken and burned to ash by the sun. The artifact he used to tap the Source is also destroyed."

"He is speaking truth," the second voice said, presumably to Rivalen.

Silence followed for a time, as if his two captors were silently conferring. Finally, Rivalen said, "We need you to awaken the Source, Magadon. Only a mind mage can do it. Only you can do it."

Magadon closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I am sorry, then," Rivalen said, and incanted the words to a spell.

Magadon gripped the arms of the chair, braced himself to resist whatever spell Rivalen would cast.

"Help us, Magadon," Rivalen said.

There was magic in Rivalen's voice, power. Magadon could feel it pulling at his will. He fought it.

"No."

"You must. Awaken it for us, Magadon."

Magadon gritted his teeth while Rivalen's bidding wormed its way into his mind. He strained against his bonds, felt them give slightly. His heart pounded hard in his chest.

"It ... will ... kill ... me!" he shouted.

"Careful, brother," cautioned the second voice.

"You must do it, nevertheless," commanded Rivalen. "Awaken it for us, Magadon."

Magadon flailed like a mad thing against his bonds. Rivalen's spell reverberated through his mind, the words like hammer blows. Rivalen's voice soaked his will.

Magadon was weakening.

The words rang in his ears, sank under his skin. He felt himself losing, thinking of how much easier it would be if he simply submitted.

"No! No!"

"Almost," said the second voice.

"You wish to do it," said Rivalen. "I can see it in your eyes. Surrender to it, Magadon. End the pain."

Rivalen's words sounded so much like those spoken by Magadon's archdevil father in his dreams that they shook Magadon to his core. He gritted his teeth so hard he bit his tongue. The sharp flash of pain and the taste of blood brought him an instant of clarity, of freedom. A sliver of mental energy slipped through the power-dampening shroud and made itself available to him. Magadon grabbed onto it like a lifeline and did the only thing he could think of to save himself.

Vermilion light haloed his head, penetrating even the ink of the shroud. His captors shouted. He felt hands upon him.

Magadon grinned even as the pain came. He felt as if he were breaking apart. He screamed as he splintered.

CHAPTER FOUR

10 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms.