For he would certainly know it when he arrived there; he dreaded that time, evn as it drew him onward.
Occasionally he passed other travelers on the road- merchants, soldiers, or wanderers on pilgrimage-and these drew away, clutching cloths to their mouths and noses as they hurried by, as though they feared he might have some disease. He knew that he looked strange. That morning he had caught, a glimpse of himself in a pool of water as he bent to drink. His flesh was mushroom-pale, and half-moons of shadow hung beneath his green eyes. Given this, and his midnight blue cloak that was caked with mud and dried leaves from sleeping on the ground, he supposed people feared him for a dead man risen from the grave. It was ironic, for a shambling corpse was nothing compared to the horror he was in truth becoming. He laughed, knowing it was a terrible sound.
The mist-gray mare he rode nickered questioningly, shattering his dark reverie.
'It's all right, Mista,' Caledan murmured, leaning forward to stroke the smooth arch of her neck. 'It's just me here now, not… the other.'
Mista let out a soft whinny.
'Let's stop a moment,' he said, trying to sound more cheerful. 'We've been on the road all day, and you must be tired.'
At this, Mista gave an emphatic and slightly indignant snort. She hadn't planned to mention it, but since he brought it up, she was indeed overdue for a rest stop. They came to a halt at the side of the road, and Caledan dismounted. He ran his hand over the pale velvet of her nose. While this would have been a perfect opportunity In bite his fingers, as she was wont to do, she only nibbled at them halfheartedly. Mista knew this was a dark time for her friend.
'I don't know what I'd do without you, Mista,' Caledan said quietly. 'I think I'm starting to forget myself, to forget who I am. I try to remember things from my life, and all I see are shadows. I can hardly remember what Mari looks like now, or Kellen, or Morhion.' He leaned his cheek against Mista's flat forehead. 'But you're my oldest friend of all, aren't you? And you're here with me, so I can't forget you.'
The opportunity was simply too much for her to resist. She bared her big yellow teeth and chomped his ear.
'You wench!' he roared, slapping her flank. She threw her ears back and gave him a distinctly self-satisfied look. 'So much for tender moments,' he grumbled, and went to find some water for them to drink.
A clear brook ran beside the road. Next to it was a bush laden with autumn blackberries. He wasn't hungry, knew he should eat. Plucking a handful of the he popped them into his mouth one by one. Then another handful for Mista. He started to rise, then halted. Now was the perfect chance, while the other slumbered. Caledan reached his free hand toward the blackberry bush, whistling a dissonant melody. All he had to do was relax his will for a heartbeat, and the shadow magic welled forth like dark water gushing from an underground spring. Still, he usually played his pipes or at least hummed a tune when he worked the transformations. It helped him concentrate. And somehow it made him seem less of a monster.
Caledan's hand began to tremble, calling tendrils of from nearby shadows. They coiled like onyx serpents around the bush, molding the plant, reshaping it. After a moment, he whistled a sharp note of dismissal.
The dark tendrils slipped silently back into their pools of shadow. Caledan an never knew what form the metamorphosis would take, but the new shape was always a reflection of his soul. This time, the bush's branches had been molded into two, intertwining figures. They were human forms, but whether they were embracing each other in a sensuous expression of love or were fighting to strangle each other in their loathing, it was impossible to tell.
Caledan scrambled away from the bush. It was dangerous to linger too long. The other was sleeping now, but when it woke it would know all that he knew. If the other learned what the metamorphosed objects meant, it would surely try to stop him from creating more. The dark presence had been growing within Caledan for months now, perhaps years. For a long time it had kept its existence hidden. He knew now-as he did not know before-that he had been the cause of the murders in Iriaebor. The other had used his shadow magic to perform the deeds without his knowledge, but Caledan not blameless. The victims-men of violence, corrupt nobles, agents of the Zhentarim-all had been people Caledan himself despised. The hatred had been his own.
In the village of Corm Orp, he had finally realized the truth about himself. He had been powerless to halt the destruction he had wreaked there with his shadow magic. The incident had nearly driven him mad. It would have, except afterward the darkness had retreated deep within him, as if to rest there, and regroup.
Since then, he had battled constantly to control the chaos raging inside him. Yet with each passing day, the other woke more often and stayed awake longer. During those times, he felt that his own consciousness was simply a spark awash in a sea of darkness. It was only a matter of time until the spark was extinguished. When that happened, he would cease to be Caledan entirely. All would remain would be the other… the shadowking.
Caledan returned to Mista, offering her the blackberries. She ate the proffered treat delicately, 'accidentally' nipping his fingers only once.
The next day they came to the sprawling tent city of Soubar, and he sensed that he had reached his destination.
Ever since leaving Corm Orp, the thing had called him, like a ringing in his ears, drawing him onward. The Shadowstar. He wasn't certain when the name had drifted into his mind. It had come to him unbidden, like so many things did these days. He did not even know what the Shadowstar might be, only that it was the key to his salvation… or his damnation.
Now it was close. Perilously close.
'We're almost there, Mista,' he murmured. The pale mare gave an uncertain nicker, then began wending her way through the disordered cluster of tents and shanties.
Soubar was a seasonal trading town situated on the harsh plains south of the Forest of Wyrms. It boasted only thirty or so permanent structures in winter, but in summer its population swelled a hundredfold as merchants, caravaners, and traders from a dozen lands journeyed there, setting up tents to trade all manner of goods. This late in the season, however, most of the wealthier merchants had departed, leaving only the dregs behind- swindlers, charlatans, and thieves.
Mista picked her way disdainfully through the town's makeshift streets, a twisting maze of foul, churned mud that would freeze solid in another tenday or two. Caledan knew the Shadowstar was near, but it was difficult to hear its call amid all the noise and confusion.
Rickety wagons rattled past. Two traders engaged in a shouting match over the price of a cart of moldy turnips. Bawdy music and coarse laughter drifted from dozens of canvas tents. It would take time for him to determine the direction of the Shadowstar's call. It was growing dark, and Caledan decided to see if he could find food and rest.
After some searching, he discovered a makeshift tavern set up inside a rank-smelling tent. There was a small corral out back. Caledan managed to find a bit of musty hay and a trough with an inch of scummy water at the bottom. Mista was not impressed.
'Well, it's the best I can do,' Caledan griped. 'Besides, I have a feeling I'm not going to fare much better inside.'
He was right.
It took his eyes a long moment to adjust to the murky interior of the tent. When they did, all he could see were a dozen unfriendly faces glaring at him. Hastily, he sat at a filthy table in one corner. After a while a surly barmaid brought him a cup of sour beer, some stale black bread, and a bit of moldy cheese. The cost was exorbitant-an entire gold coin-but he needed the food. The fare tasted foul, but he gagged it down.
Finished, he decided it would be best not to linger here. He stood and made his way toward the tent's canvas door. Three burly men-traders of some sort blocked his way. They grinned evilly, displaying no more than a dozen yellowed teeth among the lot of them.
'Pardon me,' Caledan muttered, trying to move past them to the door.
One of the men stuck out a muddy boot, tripping him. The three men laughed heartily, as if the sight of Caledan sprawling on the floor were a great joke.
'This fellow thinks he's too good for our establishment.' one of the traders said coarsely.
'I think you're right, Goris,' another agreed.
'Maybe if he had a little less gold in his purse, he wouldn't feel so damn superior,' the third trader growled.
