Shadowbane

“A’ times it’s Tymora,” said the beggar with a sigh, “a’ times it’s Beshaba.”

“What?” Kalen said, not turning.

“What I mean is,” he said, “no matter if you a bright angel or a filthy devil, fortune will sway as it do. Foul fates for good folk, fair for evil.”

“Foul fates for good,” Kalen echoed, “fair for evil.”

“Speaking of.” The beggar extended a hand.

Kalen looked into the man’s greasy palm, then up into his face. The scamp’s eyes gleamed with a golden glint in the moonlight.

Fifteen years dissolved. He saw again a shadow standing over him. His cheek exploded in pain where he’d been struck. He heard the ringing sound Vindicator had made when it struck the grime-coated cobblestones. “Never beg again,” Gedrin had said.

The beggar waited. Kalen drew a gold coin out of his sleeve and set it in his hand. It was more coin than the old codger would likely ever see at one time. It wasn’t even the tiniest bit of what Kalen owed to this city-this world.

The man gave a toothy smile. “You’re a good man, Kalen Dren.”

They stood, silent again, as the night waned.

“There you are, Saer Shadowbane.”

Rhett and Myrin stood a dozen paces away, at the edge of the graveyard. The boy, his wounds bandaged, gave him a nod. Myrin refused to meet his eye. He could sense her anguish. “Don’t mind the-” Kalen turned to point out the beggar, but the man had vanished into the night. He wondered if the beggar had really been there or if he just needed sleep.

“Preparations are under way,” Rhett said. “It looks like the Rats mean to fight a war starting tomorrow.”

“They will,” Kalen said.

“And what would you have of us?” Rhett asked. “Myrin and I can-”

“I need you to leave,” Kalen said.

“Hold just a moment-” Rhett said.

Myrin shrugged and said simply, “Very well.”

“Very well?” The young guardsman stared at her. “What do you mean?”

She crossed her arms. “Shall I leave in the morning or on the instant?”

Kalen hadn’t expected such immediate agreement, but he wouldn’t refuse it. “Either,” he said. “Can you walk out of Luskan by magic?”

“Yes,” she said. “One of Umbra’s memories contained me, walking through shadows, across vast distances. I think I can reason out the ritual.”

Her face had a harried look. She grasped the elbow of one arm behind her back and ground her toe into the floor. Kalen realized the meaning of this posture: unassuming, tentative. She had something to say, but feared it. Also, from the way she pressed her nails into her palms, she was angry.

He stepped toward her. “Myrin, I need you to go.”

She made no sign of backing down. “And I agreed. What of it?”

“ ‘What of it’?” Anger flared in the pit of Kalen’s stomach, too hot to ignore. He grabbed her arm. “Can’t you see I want to protect you? Can’t you just-for once-listen?”

“No, you listen,” Myrin said through gritted teeth. “I thought you could change. But then I saw you and Toytere-the way you just cut into him without a moment’s pause.”

“He was dying, Myrin,” Kalen said. “I gave him mercy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Myrin said. “I know what you are-I’ve always known. I just … I just wanted you to see me for what I am. I’m not a child. I can make my own godsdamned decisions. I don’t need you making them for me.”

“But-”

“My words, your ears, Kalen!”

He shut his mouth.

Myrin pressed her face close to his. “You need me,” she said. “I thought everything I’d done in this city had proved that, but in case you need further verbal rhetoric, here it is: no one else in Luskan can do what I do. No one except for a necromancer who likes speaking through dead people and, apparently, your own insane, one- eyed sister. So you may not like it, but I’m all you’ve got.” She looked down at his hand on her wrist.

Kalen released her and flexed his numb fingers.

Myrin stepped away and crossed her arms. “You need me here, even if you’re too blind to see it,” she said. “But if you ask me to leave, then I’ll leave. Just don’t pretend that you’re doing it to protect me.”

“But I am,” he said. “I need you safe. Whatever I have to keep you from-”

Myrin did something that surprised him-something he would never have expected of her. She wound her hand back and slapped him across the face, so hard and so suddenly it sent him back a pace.

“Gods burn you, Kalen!” she said, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare say you’re keeping me from being hurt! What do you think it does to me to see you hurt!”

Stunned, Kalen tried to speak, but Myrin’s vehemence was such that he could not. He had never seen her quite so passionate, her lip trembling with words she could not say, her eyes brimming with hot, angry tears.

She visibly composed herself and wiped the moisture from her eyes. “Was there aught else?” she asked. “Or shall I storm away now?”

He didn’t like any of this, but what choice did he have? He had already committed to this course and he didn’t want Myrin to see it. He neither wanted her endangered, nor did he want her to see what would become of him.

“I need you to take something back,” Kalen said. “Something I have of yours.”

Myrin raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You don’t have anything of mine,” she said.

“Just take it back,” Kalen said.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Take what back?”

“This.” Kalen forced his numb fingers into a pocket inside his cloak and pulled out a slip of paper-creased, water-damaged, and showing signs of many readings. The note she’d left him. He unfolded it and showed it to her. “What you wrote here. This.”

The letter bore her neat, sharp script and was signed at the bottom. He didn’t show her that side, however, but rather the back-the postscript she’d left for him. It said she’d taken some of his sickness-given some of her life in exchange for his.

“Take it back,” he said.

Myrin looked from the note to Kalen’s face, recognition dawning in her eyes. “That’s why you came,” she said. “What I wrote.”

“It is.”

Myrin took the note, holding it loosely between her fingers. She read it over, her eyes moving fast. What Kalen had done for her and what she had taken from him-what she’d taken from him in exchange. “Only”-she said, her voice barely a whisper-“only that?”

Kalen frowned. “What else?”

“Shame.” Myrin tore the note in two. “So much and all for nothing.”

“What?” Kalen started. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Myrin shook her head, smiling helplessly. “Perhaps. I’ve always been the smarter of us, but you’re not stupid. Only self-blinding.”

“Myrin-”

“I’ll go,” she said. “I’ll leave here for Westgate. Or Waterdeep or Shadowdale or the Great Glacier or wherever you want. And I won’t come back.” She raised her chin. “If that’s what you want.”

Kalen looked down and away. His spellscar pulled toward her, wanting to embrace her. Through sheer strength of will, he kept it in check.

“Very well.” Myrin turned and, without saying farewell, walked away.

In the silence of her wake, Rhett and Kalen stared after her until she vanished back down the street toward