Riven had often fought in total darkness but he did not want the slaad to know that. He put his back to a wall to narrow the field of approach and focused on his hearing.
Trying to make Azriim incautious, he feigned a stumble, an unassertive wave of his charged blades. Azriim did not take the bait. Riven could not even hear the slaad's breath. He knew the creature was picking his spot. Riven kept his blades up, ready. He was sweating.
He heard a sizzling sound a fraction of a heartbeat before a bolt of lightning slammed into his chest, melted flesh, and drove him so hard against the wall that several ribs snapped. His breath went out of him and he sank to the floor.
The hallway fell silent. Riven figured the lightning had affected his hearing.
And we could have been such boon companions, Azriim sarcastically projected into his mind.
Riven could not pinpoint the slaad's location-Azriim's mental voice originated in Riven's mind, not from an external direction-so he did the only thing he could. He shouted the Black Speech, filling it with his anger.
To his astonishment, no sound emerged.
The language trick again? Azriim mocked. How very unoriginal.
The slaad must have created a sphere of silence around Riven.
Using his blades to assist himself, he clambered to his feet.
All at once the slaad was on him, grabbing each of Riven's wrists in a clawed hand and sinking a kick with a clawed foot into Riven's already shattered chest. Riven's ribs scraped against each other and his breath went out from him in a silent scream. His sabers fell to the floor soundlessly. His body followed.
Did that hurt? the slaad projected, glee clear in his mental voice. He ground his foot into Riven's chest, causing the ribs to pierce organs. Agony tore through Riven and he screamed and squirmed in futile silence.
No cursing, Azriim projected, genuine annoyance in his tone. As punishment, I will eat your brain, though I suspect it to be rather bland fare.
Riven struggled to free a hand but Azriim's grip was stronger. The slaad's weight on his chest prevented him from moving, nearly prevented him from breathing. Riven knew he was dead. He imagined the slaad's huge, fang- filled mouth coming for his head.
He cursed a string of expletives-knowing Azriim could read lips-and awaited the bite of fangs.
Magadon saw his danger. Cale's eyes did not show recognition.
'Erevis!' he said, and held up his hands. 'Erevis, it's me. You brought me here when you brought the slaad. Erevis, it's me, Magadon.'
Cale showed no sign of hearing his friend.
Fueled by fear, Magadon dug deep in his mind for strength, found some, and projected into Cale's brain: Erevis! It is me, Magadon! Erevis!
Cale stopped. He shook his head. Weaveshear fell to his side.
'Magadon?' he said, his voice distant. 'Mags?'
Magadon exhaled. He started to speak but the words came out slurred. His vision blurred, doubled.
Cale pulled off his mask, saw Magadon's condition, and rushed to his side. Magadon's last sight before losing consciousness was a double image of Cale's concerned face. For some reason, one of the images looked darker than the other.
He came back to consciousness with Cale kneeling over him. Cale held his mask in one hand. The energy from Cale's healing spell still warmed Magadon's flesh. The broken bone in his leg had reknit. Most of the other wounds in his flesh were also healed. He had his strength back.
Cale pulled him to his feet. His grip smeared slaad blood onto Magadon's hands.
'Are you … all right?' Magadon asked.
Cale nodded.
'We need to go back,' Magadon said.
'Riven,' Cale said.
Magadon nodded.
Cale picked up Dolgan's head, left on the ground near his feet, as shadows gathered around them. Magadon felt cold in that darkness, exposed. The darkness intensified, deepened, and Magadon felt the telltale tingle in his skin that accompanied movement between planes.
They materialized in the corridor of the Sojourner's tower to find Azriim standing with one foot on Riven's chest and both hands closed over the assassin's wrists. The air smelled acrid. Smoke leaked from Riven's clothes the same way shadows leaked from Cale's flesh. Riven's sabers lay on the ground beside him. He was struggling to breathe. The slaad opened his mouth wide and bent to snap off Riven's head.
'Riven!' Magadon shouted, but neither the assassin nor the slaad showed any sign of hearing him.
Something whizzed past Magadon's ear and struck Azriim squarely in the side of the head-Dolgan's eyeless head. Azriim turned to Cale and Magadon and visibly hissed, though no sound emerged.
Riven sagged back, eyes closed. He was dying, or already dead.
Azriim's mismatched eyes widened when they went to Dolgan's eyeless head, to Cale's bloody hands, but he recovered his aplomb quickly.
Back so soon? the slaad asked. And just in time for supper.
Mouth agape, fangs dripping, Azriim took hold of Riven's cloak and pulled his head toward his mouth.
Cale dropped Weaveshear and stepped from Magadon's side over to the slaad in a fraction of a breath. Still enlarged and empowered from his spells, he intercepted Azriim's attack on Riven by sticking his hands into the slaad's jaws-impaling his palms on the fangs-and pulling the creature's head around toward him. Cale's blood filled the slaad's mouth. Azriim tried to bite down on Cale's hands but Cale not only held the slaad's jaws apart, he started to stretch them open further.
Azriim's neck corded with muscles and veins; Cale's arms, too, strained with the exertion. Both combatants were screaming, but the spell of silence devoured the sound.
Increasingly desperate, Azriim clawed at Cale's hands and forearms as his jaws stretched wider and wider. The attacks tore Cale's flesh but the man seemed beyond pain. He continued to pry Azriim's jaws apart, attempting to tear the slaad's face in twain.
Eyes fearful, Azriim left off savaging Cale's arms, groped in his pouch, and found his teleportation rod. Cale tried to knock it from his hands with a series of awkward kicks but the slaad managed to work the dials.
Magadon drew his blade and charged down the hall, intent on not allowing the slaad to escape. He was five strides away, four. …
Azriim gave the dial a final twist and disappeared, leaving Cale and Magadon staring at each other over Riven's body.
Cale's breath was heavy and audible. The slaad's silencing spell must have been centered on Azriim's own person.
'Your hands,' Magadon said.
Cale looked at his palms. Each had ragged punctures that went all the way through. Even as they watched, Cale's flesh started to regenerate the wounds. He ignored what must have been excruciating pain and kneeled at Riven's side.
'He is still alive,' Cale said. He withdrew his mask, held it in his hand, and uttered a series of healing prayers.
Riven's breathing grew deeper. He would live.
Cale stood, still large, still dark, still. . something more than a man.
Riven's eye opened. He started to rise. Cale moved to help him to his feet and to Magadon's surprise, Riven accepted the aid.
'I cannot see,' the assassin said, unsteady on his feet. 'The slaad used a spell to blind me.'
Cale incanted another prayer. When he finished the spell, he waved his hand before Riven's eyes.
Riven blinked and his eye widened when he saw Cale. He offered a nod of thanks.
Cale said nothing. He walked down the hall, into the sanctum, to Jak's body. He studied it as if committing it to memory. He turned to them and said, 'I'll return when it's done.'
'What?' Magadon asked.
