Crypt of the Shadowking

The black-robed stranger left the cottage then, slipping into the night. His mission had been accomplished. The woman with the shadow magic was dead. Now there were but two more left in all the Realms. Soon there would be none at all. The stranger turned to the wind, testing the cool air. The trail led southward.

The wind hissed through the dry grass, and suddenly the night was empty.

Caledan rose early the next morning. He retrieved Mista from the stable of the Wandering Wyvern and rode off through the cheerless streets. Even with the coming of dawn Iriaebor seemed wrapped in gloom. Many of the city's once-proud towers slumped precariously above the narrow avenues, the bridges that spanned the distance between them crumbling and treacherous where passable at all. The light of the sun was dull and tired by the time it managed to filter its way down past the ancient spires, and even as the sullen light filled the streets so did the people, pouring out of countless peeling, weathered doors to pursue the day's affairs, their faces grim and wearied. Caledan could only shake his head. Perhaps that drunken dockhand had been right Maybe he should never have come back at all.

Why had he returned? Did he really think he could find some sort of peace here after all this time? If so, he was a bigger fool than he thought. There were too many memories here, he now realized. Every street, every tower, every stone reminded him of a time when he had been happy, when he hadn't been alone.

Absently he twirled the braided copper bracelet he wore on his left wrist That happiness had died seven years ago. He had laid it cold and dead in the earth alongside a woman with summer-gold hair. All he had now were ghosts. Maybe no amount of wandering would be enough to leave such memories behind.

He supposed an old friend or two might still live in Iriaebor, but he feared his one-time companions would be as changed as the city was. Besides, he had grown used to loneliness these last years, and he could live without friends.

'Anyway, I have you, Mista,' he said, slapping the pale mare's neck with a friendly hand. She tossed her head and pranced haughtily, her hooves ringing against the cobbles. 'Vain beast,' he said with a laugh.

It was time to leave this forsaken place, Caledan decided. He had heard there was good pay to be had guarding caravans on the roads north of Waterdeep. He was as handy with a sword as any man, and he could use the gold. He guided Mista onto a wide avenue that led down the Tor and out of the city.

The avenue widened as it made its way past the tower of the city lord. The tower stood atop the very highest part of the Tor, soaring above all the city's thousand spires. Its walls were wrought of dark stone quarried from the very hill upon which Iriaebor rested.

Much blood had been shed in the tower's construction, and those who had laid its foundations were long dead by the time the last stone of the turret was set in place. One could still see the faint line a third of the way up the tower's height where the color of the stone changed slightly. Every child in Iriaebor knew the tale of how the wall of the first quarry had collapsed, killing a score of workmen as well as the first city lord, Eradabus, who often labored beside them as a symbol of good will. After that a new quarry was begun by the second city lord, Melsar, but it was the third city lord, the Lady Saresia, who saw the tower completed and first held Argument in its vast great hall.

Guards patrolled the battlements atop the wall that surrounded the tower, and a full dozen stood before the great iron-banded gates. At least a dozen among them had the battle-hardened look of Zhentarim warriors. Caledan kept his distance from them. He was a Harper no longer and doubted anyone would recognize him, but the Zhentarim's hatred for the Harpers was no secret. There was no sense in taking chances.

He veered Mista onto a less-traveled side street, then brought her up short. A band of mounted city guards rode toward him down the street, waving their swords and barking at the cityfolk to make way. Hurriedly, their eyes wide with fear, the citizens of Iriaebor complied, pressing against the buildings that lined the street.

'That way doesn't look so good after all, Mista,' Caledan noted drily. He spun the mare around and headed back for the broad avenue. A similar scene greeted him there, only this time with about three times the number of guards. Quickly the throng of people crowded along the gutters, keeping the center of the avenue clear. Caledan tried to nudge Mista out of their way, but in moments he found himself trapped in the middle of a tight knot of people, livestock, ramshackle carts, and horse-drawn wagons. There was no way to escape without causing a scene.

'What's going on here, friend?' Caledan quietly asked a rotund merchant next to him. The merchant was. perched on the bench of a wagon that looked as if it might fall to pieces at any moment.

'City lord's coming this way,' the man answered, his harsh voice more than a little bitter. 'You've always got to make way for the city lord these days. Too good to mingle with the rest of us, I suppose.'

'I suppose so,' Caledan replied wryly. Suddenly he didn't mind the crowd. He found he was curious to get a look at this notorious Lord Cutter before he left the city.

A brassy trumpet blare shattered the morning air. Eight black chargers trotting in formation rounded the corner of the side street and turned onto the main avenue. Astride them were men clad in the black livery of the city guard, swords raised and glittering in the sun. The guards did not need to warn the onlookers to keep out of their way. Behind them came a standard-bearer, holding aloft the banner of Iriaebor: the tower, river, and-now- crimson moon.

A small, wiry man clad in robes of a sickly, poisonous green came into view, riding a soot-colored gelding. The man's dark hair was cropped close to his head, adding to the severity of his sharp features. His eyes glittered in the ruddy sunlight like small black stones. Folk bowed their heads as he reverently passed them by.

'That's Lord Cutter?' Caledan asked the merchant in a low voice, but the fellow shook his head.

'Naw, that's the lord steward. They call him Snake. Name suits him, I suppose. There's venom in that one's heart, no doubt. But he's more Cutter's lapdog than he is a viper.'

Caledan nodded, but before he could ask another question there was a second fanfare of trumpets. A tall figure clad in dark leather and a cloak of deep crimson rounded the corner and rode down the avenue astride a glossy, jet-black palfrey. Shoulder length hair of pale spun gold shone brightly in the sun.

'Now that,' said the merchant, 'is City Lord Cutter.'

Caledan felt his heart lurch in his chest. A loud rushing sound filled his ears, and he gripped Mista's reins tightly with white-knuckled hands. He couldn't believe his eyes.

The woman called Cutter was beautiful. Her eyes were a dusky blue like the evening sky, and her face was smooth and moon-pale, her strong, fine features better hewn of marble than flesh. But it was not this revelation that made Caledan's heart stop in his chest.

'Ravendas,' he hissed through clenched teeth.

'Hey, friend, you'd better bow your head if you don't want the guards to notice you,' the merchant whispered hoarsely. 'They'll haul you off to the dungeons, they will.'

Caledan didn't move. He could only watch as the woman who now called herself Cutter rode with her lord steward through the waiting gates of the tower. The gates swung shut with a sound as vast as thunder. She was gone. As though suddenly released from a spell, Caledan shook his head, trying to swallow the hot bile in his throat. Somehow he had always known he would meet her again. His old enemy. The Zhentarim, Lord Ravendas.

'It looks like we'll be staying a while after all, old friend,' Caledan said softly, stroking the gray mare's silky mane. Dusk was drifting down like fine, purple dust among the towers as he rode toward a shadowed section of the Old City. Seeing Ravendas had changed everything. Caledan couldn't leave, not now. He had to find out what his old enemy was up to, and there was an old acquaintance of his on the Street of Jewels who just might be able to help him find out-for the right price, of course.

He had nearly reached his destination when he realized he was being followed.

Caledan had to admit, his dark-cloaked pursuer was skilled, walking down the street after him with a perfect imitation of aimlessness. However, Caledan had played the game enough times himself to know all the tricks.

He rode onward casually, keeping watch on his pursuer out of the corner of his eye. If he remembered this part of the city correctly, he knew of a place where he might be able to arrange a little surprise for his mysterious shadow. He guided the mare down a narrow side street, for the moment cutting off his pursuer's line of sight. He nudged Mista's flanks, and she leaped into a canter, her hooves clattering metallically on the crumbling paving stones.

'Run for a short distance, then wait for me,' Caledan whispered into Mista's ear. The horse snorted softly, her ears twitching. Whether it was his words or tone she understood, Caledan could not say, but he knew that she would do his bidding.