The Sword wondered why he hadn’t already slain the young man. Why was he holding back? Because he, the deva … knew Jaul? And … valued him? His father, at least. Hard to believe-an assassin should never form attachments. Better to keep others distant and unimportant. And besides, the little bastard had lied about returning the painting to House Norjah. No, he’d come to betray the deva and his own father and hijack the Whispering Child for Master Raneger. On top of everything else, Jaul had stupidly put on the mask, and when given the chance to take it off, refused. Really, it’d be doing Faerun a favor to eradicate Jaul.
Except …
Except he’d received no divine contract to slay the possessed youth. Certainly he’d killed those who’d tried to prevent him from fulfilling past contracts. But something about his current situation was different, making him hold back even though he’d already decided it wasn’t in his interest to do so.
“Burning dominions, you vex me!” the Sword said. He addressed himself-that annoying part that’d gained a little too much of its own agency lately, the part that thought of itself as Demascus, even though that was the Sword’s name, too. Like Madri, the Demascus part of him didn’t seem to know its role.
He took a single step through a writhing shadow to the top of the stairs. Jaul was already after him. The deva grabbed a fleck of shadow and hurled it at the mask. Jaul flinched back, much farther than the Sword had expected, so much so that the swing he’d planned to intersect the distracted mask wearer at the neckline just whiffed through empty air.
Right. He already knew Fossil could see the echo plane of Shadow, with its twisted, dark swirls of gray and black murk that beat like rain from a leaden sky. Which meant Jaul could, too …
Argent light flashed from the mask’s eyeholes, sweeping the chamber and stairwell. It incinerated the deva’s protective shadows to dust, burned him, and dazzled his sight. He clamped his eyes shut.
“Guide me, Veil,” he muttered, and charged blind down the stairs. His scarf settled across his eyes. The chamber’s dimensions returned to him in smudges of gray and white.
Jaul was visible, but in the fate-strained vision of the Veil he appeared only as a vague outline superimposed on an eight-foot-tall humanoid with metallic black wings. The creature swept across the entire chamber, wearing armor like crusted ice dipped in tar and a face like a blank tombstone.
No wonder I’m getting my ass handed to me, thought the Sword. Jaul’s channeling the revenant of an angel of vengeance, or something worse.
He rolled under another discharge of radiant energy from the mask’s slit eyeholes, holding
Then he gathered up the swirling umbra of the Shadowfell in his free hand. He’d used shadow as a weapon many times, forming it into implements of death able to cut or sever. But he couldn’t recall ever using it as a distraction.
He loosed the gathered shadow as if shaking out a rug. A wave of gloom rippled toward Fossil, a wave invisible in the world.
But Jaul saw it. He flinched away, uncertain what the discontinuity represented.
The deva was ready. Behind the cover of the collapsing wave front, he stepped between shadow mouths. He heaved
Jaul collapsed. The deva remained poised for a long moment in the quiet cellar, his Veil-enhanced senses alert to every possible threat. But none remained, save maybe for the painting …
He flipped the cover over the fractured visage. The shards of Fossil were devoid of any lingering power. Jaul was halfdead with the strain imposed by the angel’s supernatural strength being ripped away, though the deva judged he’d probably live. The heap of earth glimmered with a threat returning to full strength. And Madri …
Well, she was gone. Back to the dust she’d been for a century or more. The guise of the Sword whispered away.
Demascus cried out and shuddered. He removed the scarf from his eyes and glanced around the room lit by failing lamplight.
“Oh,” he whispered. “Madri.” She’d saved him. She’d sacrificed herself and saved him. “I didn’t deserve you,” he told the blank spot of earth where she’d last stood. Misery reached for him. He pushed it away as best he could. There’d be time for that. First …
Demascus retrieved the
He turned his attention to the pile of dirt. With bare hands he began uncovering a corpse. A corpse that was becoming a bit less dead each day.
EPILOGUE
So I quit,” said Chant, finishing his story. He held out his mug to Riltana for a refill.
The thief poured ale from a clay jug. She and Chant had appeared at Demascus’s door at dusk. She’d wanted to celebrate. Chant wanted to air some grievances. Both were concerned about how he was doing.
Demascus sipped his own ale. It was lighter than he preferred. But drinking beer-flavored water with friends was a damn sight better than what he’d originally planned for the evening-morbidly watching the pile of dirt he’d transferred from Kalkan’s manor anddumped in a hastily constructed vault beneath his home.
“I’m going to reopen the pawnshop,” said Chant. “That, and disentangle my secrets network from Master Raneger’s. And make certain that crazy fire mage Chevesh has forgotten all about-”
“And what about Jaul?” prompted Riltana.
Chant paused, then shook his head. “I don’t know. The reason I took up at Raneger’s in the first place was so I could pry that bastard’s hooks out of my son. But I did exactly the opposite. I need to try a different tack.”
“Jaul lied to you-to all of us-and tried to steal the Necromancer for that fat watersoul,” said Riltana.
The human pinched the arch of his nose.
Demascus hadn’t wanted to tell Chant about finding Jaul with the Whispering Child. But he owed his friend the truth. He
Demascus wondered if he should tell the whole story. But when the kid regained consciousness, he claimed ignorance of the previous twenty-four hours. Perhaps Fossil’s presence proved so traumatic Jaul’s memory failed. It must be true, because Demascus’s lie-sensing charm hadn’t indicated otherwise. On the other hand, the angel had been a servant of the Prince of Lies, and Jaul had borrowed that power. If anyone could lie well enough to befuddle Oghma’s charm, it was someone touched by Cyric’s power.
Chant shook his head, bewildered. “Jaul’s wild. The more I try to build bridges, the farther I push him away. I think the best I can do is to leave him alone and let him find his own way.”
“He’ll come around,” said Demascus. Or he might not, he didn’t say. He knew families sometimes came apart at the seams for less. Whatever happened …
Demascus realized he’d never trust Jaul again. He decided not to tell Chant that, either. Instead, he reached out and scratched Fable under the ears. The cat responded by redoubling its contented purr. He wondered if Chant would ask for his pet back once his shop opened. Probably. The thought of losing his house companion wasn’t a happy one.
