Shadowbane

toward the shield again, but the words rose in volume, causing the beast to falter and cry out.

The swarm fell apart into thousands of vermin, all of which skittered and milled one over another. They fled with surprising alacrity, flitting into the shadows and the rotting sewers. In half a breath, Kalen and Myrin stood free of vermin, still encompassed in a shield of fire.

“Myrin,” Kalen said. “Myrin.”

Her face locked in concentration, the woman had fallen to her knees and clasped her arms around herself. She blinked up at Kalen. “We’re alive?”

He nodded. “We made it.”

“Thank Mystra.” Myrin let her magic dissipate.

The market was a ruin, even more so than it had been before. Without exception, the lean- to stands and tents lay in shards and tatters. Of the people, only white skeletons remained, lying in the dust. Scores of skeletons-even hundreds. The great kingmaking battle had been a massacre.

“Sithe?” Kalen scanned around for a distinctive black axe next to a skeleton.

The air rippled near them and Sithe was abruptly standing there, her flesh and clothing torn to shreds. She wore no demon vermin about her, but from the haunted look on her face, the struggle to free herself had not been an easy one. Now that she had returned, she leaned upon her axe like an old woman upon a cane.

Kalen stepped forward to take her arm, but she flinched. “I only meant to help,” he said.

Sithe looked past Kalen and raised one shuddering black finger to point.

A man stood among the dead-a man not attired in blood and torn rags, like the rest of them, but rather in immaculate, fashionable clothing. The dust hardly seemed to touch him. His purity gleamed in the rays of the sun. Beautiful Elvish words fell from his lips-he was the source of the song that had called off the swarm. His was also the voice that had offered Kalen strength in the Drowned Rat the night Toytere died.

“You,” Kalen said.

“Me.” The elf dandy gave them a slight nod. “I suppose it’s time we had a talk.”

In her inner chamber at the temple, Eden sighed contentedly. She was pleased-and not merely because the other gangs were broken and hers was untouched.

It also wasn’t just that she’d saved the day, bringing hundreds of new followers into her church. After the “miracle” in the market square-easily accomplished with the ritual that bound the demon to her will-Tymora had become the first name on every Luskar’s lips. Eden of the Clearlight was the second.

Thirdly, it wasn’t just that she’d as good as crowned herself queen of Luskan. Should she wear a crown? Would that be ostentatious? She wondered.

Lastly, her contentment had little enough to do with the two men currently serving her pleasure-though that she did rather enjoy.

Nay, Eden was pleased because she’d watched her stupid brother’s plans crumble to dust. She’d seen to it that he died a horrific death of a thousand bites. Or, if he’d escaped, at least the ravening death of the Fury’s madness.

Yes, the queen of Luskan was well pleased.

A knock came at the door and she growled in consternation. She shoved one of the men away but kept the other. “This had better be important!”

The door opened to admit a trembling woman. Eden had never done well with female servants. They were so much harder to manage than men.

“Speak,” she said. “And-oooh! — make it quick, will you?”

“Aye, me priestess,” she said. “You commanded word of Shadowbane, aye?”

“I know what I said.” Eden was losing patience. “And call me Majesty.”

“Aye, Majesty-well, Shadowbane, he-he survived the market, and-”

“He was bitten, yes?” Eden said. “Tell me at least that he was wounded. Even lightly so. A single bite would do.”

The acolyte shook her head. “ ’Twas the blue-haired wizard, lady-Majesty.”

It was all Eden could do not to throttle her. A hunger grew inside her-a constant whine in a thousand voices to feed. “Anything else?” she asked coldly.

“The Dead Rats’ enforcer, Sithe-she were hurt bad in th’ battle.”

“There’s that, at least. Begone!” She slapped the man kissing her neck. “Out all of you!”

The servants retreated hastily, knowing full well the price of disobedience.

Her chest heaving, Eden sat naked and sweaty on her wide bed, seething. The genasi might have contracted the Fury, but not Kalen? And not his blue-headed tart?

Damn her brother! Ever since he’d been born and taken away her mother’s sanity, his every act seemed dead set against her. He couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could he? She hated him. She hated him!

And that girl-the one that the Horned One meant to protect. Why did he care about that little slut and not Eden, high priestess of the Lady?

Why had Tymora turned her smile away and left her with Beshaba’s sneer?

It must be a test. Surely, it was a test.

Clearly, Eden had to kill them all herself. That would win her mother-rather, her goddess’s love.

She gave orders to bring her scrying bowl. She would prepare for a strike that very night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

7 FLAMERULE (HIGHSUN)

'You wanted to talk,”Kalen said. “So talk.”

“Straight to the point,” the elf said. “I like that. It shows character.”

They had returned to the mostly abandoned Drowned Rat tavern to find only a dozen or so members of the gang. A pair of toughs sat in the corner, their eyes twitching at everything that moved. Behind the bar, Flick poured drinks and dispensed rations. Other survivors avoided Kalen as though he himself had brought the plague. And perhaps he had-after all, his plan had led hundreds to their deaths.

“Myrin,” Kalen had said, but she’d shaken her head and gone immediately upstairs. Sithe might have gone with her, but the sun elf with the gold eyes laid a hand on her brow and murmured a short, lyrical verse. Kalen watched as healing magic, sculpted by his words, flowed into her and she stood a little easier. A bard, then.

They took a table near the center of the common hall, and Kalen waved for mead. The elf kissed the back of Flick’s hand, causing her to blush as she poured.

“None for me, dear one,” the elf said. “I’m not staying.”

Flick went away, casting her eyes back over her shoulder at the elf.

“Well?” Kalen asked. “Who are you?”

“I have many names upon many lips,” he said. “But Lilten is the name I prefer, teller of tales, singer of songs, walker of roads.”

“Lilten,” Kalen said. “Are you an adventurer?”

“Now that is a much longer story than we have time for me to tell,” the elf said. “After all, you have a city to save, hero. Suffice it to say, I am a traveler like you. I always seem to turn up when I’m most needed-or when I’m least wanted.”

“Such as against the demon.”

“Such as.”

The elf reminded Kalen of someone, but damned if he could say exactly whom.

“You healed me when Toytere tried to kill us,” Kalen said. “Why?”

“On behalf of Lady Darkdance,” Lilten said. “But this is not the matter under discussion. There will be time enough for all of that later. Ah. My lady.” He rose and bowed gallantly.

Myrin appeared on the stairs, looking very weary but at least cleansed of the dust of travel. She seemed to