Shadowstorm by Kemp Paul S Page A

of light had died in darkness.
    Cale’s gaze focused on the black clot in the center of the city. He could not see through the murk but he knew an enormous cemetery stood there. It had once been a park or commons, but the residents of Elgrin Fau had converted it to a graveyard in order to bury their dead within the soil of their city. A magical portal stood in the center of the cemetery, a monument placed there by Kesson Rel to mock the citizens after they had died and been transformed by hate and Kesson Rel’s magic into undead.
    Riven controlled his coughing fit, wiped his mouth, and said, “Explain yourself, Mags. Now.”
    The threat in Riven’s voice turned Cale around.
    Magadon did not even look up at the assassin. “What do you mean?”
    Riven stepped into Magadon’s space, his hands on his saber hilts. Magadon looked up.
    “Play stupid and see if I play along,” Riven said. “Riven …” Cale began.
    Riven held his stare on Magadon. “I saw you when the dragon attacked, Mags. You didn’t move a step. You stood there like a sacrifice. Why?”
    Cale, too, had witnessed Magadon’s inexplicable passiveness. “I saw it, too, Mags. What were you thinking?”
    Magadon climbed to his feet. “It happened too fast,” he said, but there was a lie in his tone.
    Riven’s eye narrowed. “A lie. Explain yourself.”
    Magadon looked into Riven’s face. “And if I don’t? What will happen that is worse than where I’ve been? Than where I am?”
    Cale understood then. He stepped forward, put his arm between his two comrades, and opened up some space. Riven glared at Magadon before walking away.
    Magadon spoke to Riven’s back, his tone vaguely taunting. “Tell me, Riven. What will happen? I’m already half dead. What do you think you can do?”
    “That’s enough,” Cale said.
    Magadon glared at Cale. “Don’t you dare pity me. Ever.”
    Riven turned around and his voice dripped contempt. “You giving up then, Mags? That devil stole half your soul and now you want to surrender the other half? You want to die? Is that it?”
    Magadon could hold Riven’s gaze for only a moment before looking away.
    To Cale, Riven said, “I’ve seen that look in the eyes of other men, men who despise themselves, men who make mistakes intentionally because they don’t have the balls to handle their own affairs.” He turned back to Magadon and said, “You want to die, die. I gave you my dagger. It kills just fine. But don’t put us at risk because you won’t sheathe steel in your gut. You hear me?”
    Magadon looked up, but looked away just as fast.
    Cale put a hand on his shoulder. “Mags?”
    Magadon shook his head, made no eye contact with Cale. When he spoke, his voice quavered.
    “I don’t know what I want. Godsdammit. Pieces of me have been falling off since we parted a year ago. The Source, my father. I’m falling down, here.” He looked up at Riven. “I’m falling down, Riven.”
    Riven stalked over, his eye burning. He took Magadon by the other shoulder.
    “Stand up, then,” the assassin said, and shook him gently. “Stand up.”
    Magadon looked into Riven’s face, into Cale’s.
    “We need you with us, Mags,” Cale said. “Are you with us?”
    “Are you?” Riven asked.
    Magadon looked away, looked back at them. Finally he firmed tip arid nodded.
    “What’s left of me is with you.”
    Cale decided it would have to be enough. He turned to Riven.
    “Well enough?”
    Riven looked only at Magadon. “We are all neck deep in this, Mags. All of us. There’s no giving up. Not now. Not ever.”
    Magadon nodded and the patter of rain filled the silence.
    “Now,” Riven said to Cale. “You said you’d tell us everything. Start talking.”
    Cale said, “Let’s get out of this damned rain first.”
    “Follow me,” Magadon said, and led them away from the city until they found a small copse of twisted trees as large as mature oaks. They sheltered under the broad leaves, which kept most of the rain