less to do with his transformation into a shade and more to do with his position as the First of Mask.
'I can,' he said. 'I'll take you two to Selgaunt. Then I need to return to Skullport.'
Jak and Magadon shared a look.
'We'll accompany you to Skullport,' Magadon said. He stood and shouldered on the straps of his pack.
Cale shook his head. 'No, Mags. Transporting into the Underdark is dangerous. The journey can go wrong. Besides, Skullport may be in ruins. We could materialize in a rock.'
'We know the risks,' Magadon answered.
'The Skulls may be looking for us …' Cale said.
'We know the risks,' Jak repeated. 'And we're still coming.'
Cale looked each of them in the eyes, saw the resolve there, and admitted there was no point in arguing further.
'Well enough. We go, then.'
His friends readied themselves.
In his mind Cale pictured the dim streets of Skullport, the catwalks and rope bridges of the Hemp Highway, the palpable despair. He let himself feel the connection between the shadows of the Plane of Shadow and the darkness of the Port of Shadow. The connection came easy. The two locations were linked by more than their lack of illumination.
The darkness around them intensified, snuffed Magadon's sunrod.
With an effort of will, Cale moved them between planes. They materialized in the darkness of a narrow alley, off a quiet street.
The smells hit Cale first. He had forgotten how foul was the air in Skullport-dank water, dead fish, urine, unwashed bodies, uncollected rot. He gave the smell a name: hopelessness.
'Still standing,' Jak said in a soft tone, peeking out of the alley and onto the street.
He did not have to add the 'unfortunately.' Cale heard it in his voice.
'But barely,' Magadon added, for the destruction was evident even from the alley.
They stepped out onto the street.
Dust filled the air like fog, so thick Cale had to pull his cloak up over his mouth to act as a filter. Jak and Magadon did the same. Buildings from higher in the cavern had fallen to the floor, crushing people and structures below and leaving huge, shapeless piles of stone and wood sprayed across the cavern's bottom. Limbs jutted from some of the piles. Many of the buildings still standing at ground level leaned so far to one side that collapse was imminent. Jagged orange lines of arcane energy flashed at random through the air near the cavern's ceiling, like tiny bolts of lightning.
Some side effect of the mantle being tapped, Cale assumed. But at least the magic had remained intact enough to hold up the cavern.
Heaps of debris littered the street: piles of broken wood, shattered pottery, chunks of finished stone, and pieces of stalactites. Tangled piles of the Hemp Highway lay twisted among the wreckage, the whole a mess of rope and ruin.
'Stay sharp,' Cale said softly, as they started to walk. 'And stay close to me. We leave instantly if any Skulls show.'
His comrades nodded, looking around wide-eyed.
The destruction was barely an hour old but already skulkers worked to brace the remaining structures with stray timbers. Others picked among the heaps, probably looters looking for valuables or food. Orcs, humans, half- breeds, illithids, and drow moved quietly among the wreckage in the streets, their eyes more furtive than usual, their weapons and wands more in evidence. Stray animals wandered throughout, dogs among them. Cale thought of Riven.
'Gods,' Magadon oathed as they navigated the destruction.
Cale could only nod. While the slaadi had been responsible for the destruction, Cale still felt soiled by his participation in the events that had led up to it. Skullport was a pit, true, but nothing and no one deserved what he was seeing.
They continued on, the tension as thick as the dust. Thankfully, they saw no sign of the Skulls.
They did see slaves. Plenty of them. Coffles of humans, elves, dwarves, and less common races walked the streets, chained together and clinking. Bugbear overseers with morningstars growled commands. Not even the partial collapse of the city could halt the slave trade.
Cale tried to find something familiar that would give him his bearings. At last he did-the Rusty Anchor. It still stood, seemingly untouched by the destruction. He thought of checking for Varra there, but decided against it. She would not be at the inn. She would be home or… not. He knew they were not far from her row house. He remembered walking her home from the inn. He ignored the hole in his stomach that formed around his fear that she might be harmed … or worse.
Cale picked up the pace. The comrades took care to not draw attention to themselves, and Cale kept the shadows knit tightly about them.
'Someday,' Jak whispered, as they passed a half-orc leading three male human slaves in neck chains.
'Someday,' Cale echoed, and meant it.
As they walked, he saw that the destruction was worse in some places, not as bad in others. He estimated that perhaps three-quarters of the buildings at ground level had survived. No doubt the upper levels had suffered more. Still, he could see that many of those had actually survived too.
And everywhere the life of the city continued, albeit in a more subdued manner. The inns they passed were less raucous, the hawking of the flesh vendors less vigorous, the expressions of the slaves more despondent.
The city had survived and would rebuild, Cale figured. He was not sure whether that was a good or bad thing.
'I hate this place,' Jak said softly.
Cale nodded. He did, too.
He changed the subject, saying, 'No sign of the Skulls, at least.'
He wondered if Skullport's rulers had survived the tapping of the mantle. He knew several had been destroyed in the battle the slaadi had engineered between the slavers' factions. But that left several unaccounted for.
Sidestepping piles of debris, they picked their way through the city until they reached its northern edge. Cale's throat tightened as they neared Varra's row house.
When he saw that it was still standing, he blew out a relieved breath. For a moment, he debated with himself about whether he should approach her home. It seemed somehow. . presumptuous.
But he made up his mind quickly. He had to confirm that she was all right. And he wanted her to know that he cared whether she was all right.
'Stay here,' he said to Jak and Magadon.
'Here?' Jak asked.
'I won't be long,' Cale answered. 'Keep your eyes open.'
As he approached Varra's home his feet felt suddenly heavy. From behind, he caught the whiff of Jak's tobacco. The little man had lit up.
He saw no movement behind the papered windows of the row house. The roof sagged and one wall bowed, but he thought the structure might have looked like that even before the cavern had partially collapsed.
He walked to the door, a weather-beaten cabin door probably taken from a wrecked ship long ago. It occurred to him only then that he had no idea what he would say to her. Too late.
He stood before the door for a moment, undecided. Finally he rapped on it, gingerly at first, then harder.
Muffled voices from within, at least two women.
'Who is there?' asked a female voice from behind the closed door. 'There's no food here. And I am armed.'
For a moment, he could not find his voice. Finally he managed, 'I'm looking for Varra. Is she here?'
The door flew open so fast that Cale barely avoided it.
Varra stood in the doorway, dressed in the same homespun dress in which Cale had last seen her. When she saw him, she put her hand to her mouth and her eyes welled. The rusty dagger she held in her other hand fell to the ground.
'You,' she said at last.
