Shadowbane

body tightened and loosened by turns. Gods!

“Damn and burn!” Rhett stood two paces off, Vindicator blazing in his hands. Somehow, he’d got it back from the Shou guards. “What is wrong with her?”

“Focus on the fighting!” Kalen shouted. “I’ll handle her.”

Myrin realized what he had said-saw Kalen fighting back toward her-and it filled her with fear, replacing the pleasure. “No,” she cried. “No, you can’t!”

Umbra lay at the foot of his throne, dazed-either from the memory she’d drained from him or the punch Kalen had delivered. “Leira, n’maerlyn myl mar’kov,” he murmured in a tongue she did not know. “Maerlyn-”

She had to know what he was saying. She had to have more.

“More,” she said.

She grasped Umbra by his booted heel. The doppelganger sensed her approach and his form swelled and lengthened madly. He seemed older and impossibly weak, as though what she had taken from him had left him depleted. Cracks spread across his white face. He stared up at her with two jet black eyes-like Sithe’s eyes, without pupils-that pleaded with her to leave him be. She saw her face reflected in his eyes, runes blazing on her skin.

Breath whispered between his cracked lips and he smiled peaceably.

“Love,” he said. “See.”

She clasped the sides of his face and Saw.

She knew herself this time-knew that she was Umbra, staring at his memories of her. He had so many, all of them images so vivid they filled her mind to bursting.

Myrin laughed at him and his heart swelled.

Myrin stared quizzically, unable to understand some jest he’d made.

Myrin swayed, entwined with a dark-skinned half-elf woman, magic burning around them. They saw him watching, and Myrin cast him a smoldering, inviting look.

Myrin smiled, her hair brilliant green, not blue.

Gods, the creature was in love with her-this other Myrin that she barely recognized. She had to fight down the swell of sentiment attached to these memories: love, desire, and not a little fear. What had he to fear?

Myrin strode through a world of shadow, runes covering every inch of her skin.

Myrin fell to her knees, fighting a hurricane of awful necromantic power that tore at her. A wall of fire surrounded her, its flames dancing on the winds.

Myrin, a shock wave of black power rushing from her in every direction.

Myrin, kneeling over him as he lay trembling.

Myrin, reaching tenderly for his face.

Myrin.

But that wasn’t her name. Her name …

When she woke again, Kalen had a hold on her. Umbra staggered back and fell to his knees. Myrin reached for him, but he flailed away from her.

A few paces distant, Rhett slashed a silvery circle that kept the Dragonbloods at bay. Sithe was there too, her axe singing its awful song as it ripped through the air.

“What took you so long?” Rhett was shouting to the genasi.

“He said not to kill,” Sithe replied. “Killing is faster.”

The Shou woman, Kasi, was standing near the throne, blood gushing from a wound on her upper arm. She had fallen to one knee and was trying to rouse Umbra, who lay unmoving.

Desire rose up in Myrin again. It was not the same as before, when she had floated on the storm-tossed sea of pleasure. Then, she had merely wanted the memories. Now she needed them. She longed for more like water for a parched throat. She needed it as she had needed nothing in her life, as she would never need anything ever again.

“Please!” Myrin struggled against Kalen’s arms. “I need more. Let me have more!”

“We’re leaving,” Kalen said, dragging her back.

“Anything you want!” Myrin said. “I’ll do anything-give you anything!”

Kalen froze, startled. “I-”

That let her get her wand between them. Kalen looked down with a wince just before a blast of thunder sent him tumbling back. Myrin wobbled on her feet and turned, reaching for Umbra. Kasi tried to bar her path, but Myrin sent her flying with a slash of her wand and another blast of thunder. She grasped at the doppelganger. He looked upon her as upon death, yet there was peace on his face.

“The priest,” Umbra said. “The turncloak priest …”

She laid her fingers on his face, expecting more memories. She felt only skin as brittle as dull paper. She pressed harder, desperate for memories. At her touch, he crumbled away to dust.

She stared, horrified. “No,” she said. “No, I-”

She was not sure which upset her more, that she had somehow killed a man, or that she could get no more memories from him. That thought cut her to the bone.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she didn’t bother to fight it off. Kalen slung her over his shoulder and carried her away at a run. She stared back at the human-shaped pile of dust that had been Umbra.

“The turncloak priest,” she murmured.

They ran.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

26 KYTHORN (EARLY MORNING)

Kalen crouched on the edge of a ruined building, his cloak rustling in the cold morning breeze. He wiped his brow, exhausted. In the day and night since they’d returned from Blood Island-indeed for a day and night before that-he had not slept.

His spellscar ached, as much from lack of rest as separation from Myrin.

Whatever had happened to Myrin in the audience chamber of the Dragon, she was silent all the way back to the Rat. The wizard had sealed herself in her chamber and would listen to no appeal to open the door. Her silence was a constant source of discouragement to Rhett, who had taken vigil at her door without being asked.

For his part, Kalen understood. He wished he’d been that upset the first time he’d killed a man-if that’s truly what Myrin had done. Who could say for certain what had come to pass when Myrin had taken the memories from Umbra? Had she drained his life as well?

Those were questions for another day. For now, he had to focus on the plague and trust Myrin to find her own answers. He wasn’t sure what this “turncloak priest” would have to tell him, but Umbra had seemed insistent they find him. And the Coin-Spinners were the only priests he knew of in Luskan.

He could see the Clearlight-the old temple of Tymora-down below. To call it a “temple” seemed wrong: it no longer boasted its former statuary and someone had reinforced it considerably in the years he’d been away. The place more resembled a fortress, with high wood walls on all sides and watch fires burning throughout the night. The construction of the temple’s walls and the organization of its defenses were both solid. Just on that basis, Kalen could tell why the Coin Priest commanded such respect in the city. Possibly the “turncloak priest” was one of them, or the Coin Priest himself. If not, perhaps they would be able to help him find the man.

All in all, the lead seemed thin. Kalen might have ignored the whole thing were it not for Rhett. The lad had pushed Vindicator on Kalen. “Take it,” he’d said. “Use it and find this priest. Then get us the Nine Hells out of this city.”

The blade felt entirely too comfortable in his hand. He wondered how badly its hilt burned him even now, but he feared to inspect the wound. No doubt, it would be awful.

Focus.