Shadowbane

“Arrive?” Myrin looked past them, up toward the rebuilt bridge to Blood Island. “But we’re not even to the bridge yet. How can we have … oh.”

A dozen forms slipped out of the shadows, brandishing sharp blades of steel that Kalen recognized well. The last time he’d faced a sword of similar make, it had been in Downshadow and Waterdeep proper, against a dwarf assassin. Though Rath had wielded a katana of much greater quality, Kalen knew the folded edge of such blades could split hairs lengthwise.

Kalen stole a look at Myrin. She must have told Rhett about Rath-did she think he had slain the dwarf? In truth, he couldn’t blame her. He’d stood over the dwarf, blade raised and ready, and she’d fled. In that moment, he’d made a choice, chosen his quest over her. He’d made his choice and now he had to live with it.

Or die with it, if this went rotten.

The warriors of the Dragonblood crept closer, hissing as they approached-a technique meant to unnerve a foe. It seemed to be working. Rhett clasped Vindicator’s hilt nervously and blue runes spread across Myrin’s skin. Sithe showed no fear, but the easy way she grasped the haft of her axe told Kalen all he needed to know.

“Take us to your master,” Kalen said. “We have a deal to offer him.”

Their leader-a woman nearly of a height with Kalen-stepped forward, a blade in each fist. Her leather armor left her shoulders bare and exposed her tattoo: a roaring red dragon that snaked around her neck and dipped onto her chest.

“Who calls?” Her words bore a thick Shou accent. “And what does he offer?”

“Kalen Shadowbane,” he replied, “and his offer is for the Dragon’s ears alone.”

She inspected him for a moment, then nodded. “Your weapons.”

Kalen handed over his daggers. Rhett flinched when they reached for Vindicator, but Kalen gave him a look and he relented. Sithe presented them with her axe as though she cared little for it. The Shou who took it staggered under its sudden weight.

“I am Kasi,” the leader of the Shou said. “The Dragon will see you. If you see the sun once more, it will be by his will.”

On the whole, Myrin found walking into near certain death rather exciting.

Not that she would show it, of course. If she broke her studied indifference, it would prove to him that she couldn’t handle the pressure. She couldn’t have that.

After what had happened with Rhett the previous night-and try as she might to forget, she remembered it all in vivid detail-frustrating Kalen made her feel much better.

The easterners brought them across the Blood Bridge and into the Dragon’s Lair-a reconstructed barracks that might have lodged the city watch in less dangerous times. The place was a fortress. Even Myrin, who had no eye for such things, recognized the staggered walls and plethora of murder holes, set to trap and cut down invaders no less than three times before they could breach the inner sanctum. Whoever this Dragon was, he must be wary indeed … and covetous of his privacy.

Myrin had never met a real dragon-at least, not that she remembered. She suspected that if she ever did, it would live in a place like this.

The Dragon held court in what had once been an officer’s quarters. Age had reduced the tattered tapestries on the walls to blurry impressions of coastlines and ships. Myrin rather liked the effect. The windows were all boarded over, which was a shame: the view of the coast must have been spectacular.

The guards set them to kneel before a throne of worn black oak. Myrin wanted to look around more, but Kalen gave Rhett a sharp look and he in turn nudged her with his elbow. “Not you, too,” she murmured and lowered her head.

They had only to wait a moment before a door opened and a buzz swept through the guards: “Honor to the Dragon.”

She chanced a look and caught her breath. The man who entered was not Shou-or rather, he was, but he was many other things besides.

The Dragon wore a limp gray robe emblazoned with a gray-black dragon sigil-Myrin recognized this, without knowing exactly how, as a shadow dragon. It was the only thing about him that remained constant. Above the robe’s collar, his face flowed like water, shifting from one visage to another: first a middle-aged man with a moustache, then a blonde woman of thirty or so winters, then a withered elf man with a long scar down the right side of his face. All of them seemed sickly or even dead, the faces waxy or actively bleeding from the eyes or mouth. At her side, Rhett inhaled sharply. “What is he-or it?”

“Doppelganger.” The word came unbidden to Myrin’s lips. She couldn’t say where she’d heard it before, but it seemed right.

“A face-stealer?” Rhett scowled. “Torm’s teeth!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Myrin said. “I think he’s fascinating.”

“My lord.” Kasi bowed low to the doppelganger. “This is Kalen Shadowbane.”

The Dragon, who had been staring blankly around the room, turned when she spoke. As if in response to her words, his face became that of an old Shou man, with a long moustache and beard. With a sound half-grunt and half-wheeze, he staggered to his throne with a pronounced limp and seemed relieved to sit.

“Lord Dragon,” said Kalen. “Respects-”

“You.” The doppelganger’s eyes, which had wandered across each of them, widened when they fell on Myrin.

Myrin blinked. “Me?”

Kasi reached for her blade. “You know this woman, lord?”

The Dragon looked away from Myrin and waved. “Faces, faces,” he said, his voice cold and dead. “I have a thousand.”

As if in demonstration, his face became that of a pocked fisherman, then a little girl with blonde tails, then an unrecognizable and moldering horror-the face of a long dead corpse. Rhett gasped at Myrin’s side and even Kalen drew back. Myrin, however, found the changes beautiful, or at least very compelling.

“Did you bring a game to play?” he asked. “There must be a game.”

“The lord would know what tribute you offer,” Kasi translated.

“Tribute?” Myrin said. “We don’t have-”

Kalen nodded to Sithe. “This woman,” he said. “Sithe, First Blade of the Dead Rats and your sworn enemy. I renounce her into your custody, if you can take her.”

Myrin gasped. “Kalen!” she said. “What are you-?”

“Treachery, Kalen Shadowbane?” Sithe asked.

The Dragonbloods reached for their steel, even as Sithe struck like a snake. She lunged at the first guard, whose eyes widened. She slapped his warding hands away and sent him staggering in the same smooth motion, then grasped a second ’Blood to use as a shield.

Through it all, the doppelganger stared at Myrin. His eyes suggested a certain familiarity that she did not share. Nothing about him ignited her memory.

Unarmed, Sithe stood hardly a chance against a dozen Dragonbloods led by Kasi and her two blades. Ultimately, the genasi eased her prisoner to the floor and raised her hands. Kasi slammed the pommel of one of her blades into the genasi’s face. After what seemed a heartbeat’s hesitation, Sithe dropped into a heap.

“Kalen!” Myrin hissed as they began to carry the genasi away. “She’s our fr-”

“She is the servant of Toytere and no friend of ours.” Kalen kept his eyes on the throne. “Is this tribute sufficient, Lord Dragon?”

The doppelganger considered his fingers. “I played a game with my friends, long ago,” he said. “I won and they never spoke to me again.”

“Er,” Kalen said. “My lord-”

Without pause, the doppelganger turned, surprisingly, to Myrin. “Speak, Lady Witch-Queen, Heir of Seven Stars. Do you wish to game with me?”

Myrin was so startled she almost forgot how to speak. “Me?”

“You are mightiest of us all.” The doppelganger inclined his head.

Kalen cleared his throat. “May we have a moment, Lord Dragon, by your leave?”