toward Daerlun. Maybe even all the way to Cormyr. There, we can reorganize, perhaps gain aid from Alusair or the western nobility."
Endren eyed the distant storm. Thunder rumbled. "That will be a long, hard journey for these people. They are not soldiers used to marching so far. And I expect we'll be adding refugees to our numbers as we go. No one outside of a protected city will willingly sit in the path of whatever magic summoned that storm."
"What do we know of the whereabouts of the overmistress's army?" Abelar said. "If we must leave a force to delay their pursuit..." Abelar almost volunteered to lead a rearguard but trapped his words behind his teeth. He would not leave his son again. "Regg will lead it."
Endren nodded. Perhaps he understood Abelar's stutter. "Scouts are in the field. I have not yet had word this morning. I will start to get the camp prepared. It may take a day or two to get all in order."
A scream from within Abelar's tent put a blade in his hand and speed in his feet.
"Elden!"
Abelar and Endren raced into the tent and found Elden sitting upright in his bed, brown eyes wide with fear, tears cutting a path through the layer of grime on his face. He saw Abelar and held out his arms.
"Papa!"
Abelar scanned the tent and the shadows, but saw nothing. His father did the same. Abelar sheathed his blade, hurried to his son's bedside, and took him in his arms.
"What is it, Elden? What's wrong?"
"My dreamed of bad men, Papa. Bad."
Abelar surrounded Elden with his arms. His son buried his face in Abelar's cloak. Tears shook Elden's small body and
Abelar's relief at finding no real danger to his son moved aside for a sudden stab of rage that caused him to wish he had prolonged Forrin's suffering. His son would have nightmares for years because of what Forrin had ordered done.
"It's all right," Abelar said, stroking his son's hair, speaking to both himself and his son. "It will be all right."
Endren put a hand on Elden and his stump on Abelar. After a time, Elden stopped crying. He looked up and Abelar wiped the tears and snot from his face with the sleeve of his cloak.
"You good man, Papa?"
The question took Abelar unawares, set his heart to running and stole his voice. He stared into his son's brown eyes, unable to find words.
"Papa? You good?"
Endren rescued him. "He is a good man, Elden. He's always been a good man."
Elden smiled at his grandfather and embraced his father again.
Abelar nodded gratitude at Endren, held onto his son, and wondered.
----
Brennus ate, rested for a time, then walked the shadow shrouded halls of his manse on Shade Enclave. He did not relish the coming conversation but nevertheless reached out to Rivalen through his ring.
What have you learned? Rivalen asked.
Brennus recounted what Mephistopheles had told him. There is a world called Ephyras, a dead world, on which stands a temple at the edge of nothing, a temple that will soon be destroyed itself. Within is the Black Chalice, a holy artifact from which Kesson Rel drank to obtain his divinity.
Brennus paused, hesitant to continue. He felt Rivalen's
impatience through the connection. And?
And a drink from the Black Chalice will transform the imbiber into a weapon who can take back what Kesson Rel stole, which appears to be a portion of Mask's divine power.
Satisfaction, not surprise, poured through the magical conduit. Well done, Brother.
You already knew that Kesson Rel's divinity has its origin in Mask and not Shar?
I did.
Brennus was not surprised. Rivalen was as secretive as his goddess.
Is there more? Rivalen asked.
Brennus hesitated, steeled himself, and dived ahead. Only a Chosen of Mask may imbibefrom the Black Chalice. Any other will die. The artifact is holy to the Shadowlord.
Silence. So Rivalen had not known that.
Brennus felt Rivalen's anger and understood it. A heretic of Shar threatened their plans for Sembia. To thwart him, it appealed they needed to beg the assistance of an enemy, an
Endren eyed the distant storm. Thunder rumbled. "That will be a long, hard journey for these people. They are not soldiers used to marching so far. And I expect we'll be adding refugees to our numbers as we go. No one outside of a protected city will willingly sit in the path of whatever magic summoned that storm."
"What do we know of the whereabouts of the overmistress's army?" Abelar said. "If we must leave a force to delay their pursuit..." Abelar almost volunteered to lead a rearguard but trapped his words behind his teeth. He would not leave his son again. "Regg will lead it."
Endren nodded. Perhaps he understood Abelar's stutter. "Scouts are in the field. I have not yet had word this morning. I will start to get the camp prepared. It may take a day or two to get all in order."
A scream from within Abelar's tent put a blade in his hand and speed in his feet.
"Elden!"
Abelar and Endren raced into the tent and found Elden sitting upright in his bed, brown eyes wide with fear, tears cutting a path through the layer of grime on his face. He saw Abelar and held out his arms.
"Papa!"
Abelar scanned the tent and the shadows, but saw nothing. His father did the same. Abelar sheathed his blade, hurried to his son's bedside, and took him in his arms.
"What is it, Elden? What's wrong?"
"My dreamed of bad men, Papa. Bad."
Abelar surrounded Elden with his arms. His son buried his face in Abelar's cloak. Tears shook Elden's small body and
Abelar's relief at finding no real danger to his son moved aside for a sudden stab of rage that caused him to wish he had prolonged Forrin's suffering. His son would have nightmares for years because of what Forrin had ordered done.
"It's all right," Abelar said, stroking his son's hair, speaking to both himself and his son. "It will be all right."
Endren put a hand on Elden and his stump on Abelar. After a time, Elden stopped crying. He looked up and Abelar wiped the tears and snot from his face with the sleeve of his cloak.
"You good man, Papa?"
The question took Abelar unawares, set his heart to running and stole his voice. He stared into his son's brown eyes, unable to find words.
"Papa? You good?"
Endren rescued him. "He is a good man, Elden. He's always been a good man."
Elden smiled at his grandfather and embraced his father again.
Abelar nodded gratitude at Endren, held onto his son, and wondered.
----
Brennus ate, rested for a time, then walked the shadow shrouded halls of his manse on Shade Enclave. He did not relish the coming conversation but nevertheless reached out to Rivalen through his ring.
What have you learned? Rivalen asked.
Brennus recounted what Mephistopheles had told him. There is a world called Ephyras, a dead world, on which stands a temple at the edge of nothing, a temple that will soon be destroyed itself. Within is the Black Chalice, a holy artifact from which Kesson Rel drank to obtain his divinity.
Brennus paused, hesitant to continue. He felt Rivalen's
impatience through the connection. And?
And a drink from the Black Chalice will transform the imbiber into a weapon who can take back what Kesson Rel stole, which appears to be a portion of Mask's divine power.
Satisfaction, not surprise, poured through the magical conduit. Well done, Brother.
You already knew that Kesson Rel's divinity has its origin in Mask and not Shar?
I did.
Brennus was not surprised. Rivalen was as secretive as his goddess.
Is there more? Rivalen asked.
Brennus hesitated, steeled himself, and dived ahead. Only a Chosen of Mask may imbibefrom the Black Chalice. Any other will die. The artifact is holy to the Shadowlord.
Silence. So Rivalen had not known that.
Brennus felt Rivalen's anger and understood it. A heretic of Shar threatened their plans for Sembia. To thwart him, it appealed they needed to beg the assistance of an enemy, an
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