laying waste to the land all around, for he drew strength and power from the destruction of living things. Eventually, the Shadowking decided to bring all the world of Toril under his dark dominion. Deep in a mountain cave, he forged a stone. The magic of the stone was that it could control the shadows that reside in a man's heart- for all men have a dark aspect within-and thus control the man himself. It was called the Nightstone, and with it the Shadowking would have the power to rule the world.'
'But the Shadowking didn't, did he?' Pog asked in a quavering voice. 'Rule the world, I mean.'
Kellen shook his head. Pog and Nog knew the familiar tale almost by heart. 'No, he didn't. When the Shadowking tried to use the Nightstone, the troll who had worked the bellows of the forge threw off his disguise. He wasn't a troll at all, but a man. His name was Talek Talembar, and he was a great bard. Unknown to the Shadowking, Talembar had bound an enchantment into the Nightstone as it was being forged. This was the shadow song. When Talembar played the song on his pipes, the Nightstone listened and would not obey the Shadowking. In fury, the Shadowking attacked Talek Talembar, and the two fought night and day for a year.'
Kellen played a stirring air on his flute, and the shadows reshaped themselves into the two titanic figures, caught in the throes of battle. Pog and Nog were mesmerized. 'In the end, Talek Talembar used the shadow song to wrest the Nightstone from his foe, and thus the Shadowking was defeated. Talembar raised a great cairn over the crypt of the sorcerer-king of Ebenfar, so the evils of the Shadowking and his Nightstone were hidden away.' Kellen played a triumphant melody, and the outline of a mountain rose over the fallen silhouette of the Shadowking.
'But what happened to Talek Talembar?' Pog asked.
'Like many heroes, he met an unheroic end,' Kellen said quietly. 'He was slain by a goblin's arrow, in a land that is now lost under the Fields of the Dead, far to the west.' He played one last wistful note on the bone flute, and the shadows swirled like mist before a wind. When they coalesced again, it was in the shape of those mundane objects standing between candle and wall: chairs and tables and small halfling children. The shadowplay was over.
Pog's forehead crinkled in a frown. 'That's not a good enough ending,' she protested. 'Talek Talembar ought to live happily ever after.' Nog nodded emphatically in agreement.
'But that's not what happened,' Kellen said softly. He cast a sad look toward the door of the kitchen. 'Sometimes people don't live happily ever after, and that's just the way it is.'
Before Pog and Nog could protest further, Estah poked her head into the common room, calling her children to their chores. They groaned but obeyed, dragging their feet as they shuffled into the kitchen.
Alone, Kellen ran his fingers over the smooth bone flute. He thought about the part of the tale he had never told Pog and Nog. A thousand years after the time of Talek Talembar, the crypt of the Shadowking was found once more, and the Nightstone with it, and the Shadowking almost came to life again. It was a story Kellen knew all too well, for he himself had been a part of it.
It was Kellen's own mother, the Zhentarim lord Ravendas, who discovered the crypt beneath the Tor- the crag upon which perched Iriaebor's many-towered Old City. With the Nightstone, she aspired to rule all the Zhentarim. However, to remove the stone from its resting place, she needed someone with shadow magic, such as Talek Talembar himself had possessed. Kellen wasn't entirely certain of the details-adults could be infuriatingly vague about certain subjects when they knew children were listening-but Ravendas tricked Caledan into thinking she was someone else, someone he loved, and thereby used him to create a baby. That baby was Kellen, who like Caledan possessed the shadow magic. Ravendas had what she needed.
Though Kellen didn't know it at the time-his mother had kept him locked in a room in Iriaebor's High Tower- the Harpers had sent Caledan and Mari to stop Ravendas. Helping them was the renowned Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon, including Estah, the mage Morhion, a monk named Tyveris, and a thief called Ferret, who was lost forever in the destruction of the Shadowking's crypt.
For indeed, it was destroyed in the end, as was Kellen's mother, and by her own evil plan. When Ravendas seized the Nightstone, its magic consumed her. From her body burst a dark, monstrous shape: the Shadowking reborn. The Shadowking would have walked the face of Toril once more, but at the last moment Caledan discovered the long-lost secret of Talek Talembar's shadow song. When he played the song on his pipes, the Nightstone burst asunder, and the Shadowking-as well as Ravendas-was no more.
The events in the crypt had taken place two and a half years ago. Afterward, Kellen went to live with Caledan and Mari at Estah's inn, and for a time they had all been happy. For a time. Kellen sighed. Once again, he wondered why Caledan and Mari could not seem to get along. He supposed that, sometimes, even love wasn't enough to overcome all differences. Picking up his flute, he played a melancholy tune. Shadows swirled once more on the wall, and the dark silhouettes of two birds whirled and dived gracefully. Kellen concentrated, and the music changed, growing bolder. Suddenly, the two bird shadows flew off the wall. Like wisps of dark silk, they swirled around Kellen's head, flapping their silent wings in time to the music.
'Your father could never do that.'
Kellen jumped out of his chair at the sound of the voice, nearly dropping the flute. The shadow birds vanished like puffs of smoke. He spun around to see a tall man with eyes like blue ice and hair as long and golden as a lion's mane. Though Kellen had seen the man only a handful of times over the last two years, he recognized him all the same. It was Morhion, the mage who had once belonged to the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon.
Morhion took a step closer. He was clad in shirt and breeches of pearl gray, and over these flowed a vest of twilight purple so long it almost reached the ground. The mage spoke again in his resonant voice. 'Caledan can make shadows dance with his music, but I have never seen him pipe them right off the wall. How long have you been able to perform this feat, Kellen?'
Kellen thought about this. 'Always, I suppose,' he said finally. 'However, it was only a few months ago that I discovered I could do it. It isn't so hard, really. I just think about the shadows jumping off the wall… and they do!'
A musing smile touched the handsome mage's lips. 'Something tells me that it is not quite so simple as you present it, Kellen. You have great talent at magic.'
Kellen only shrugged, but inwardly he beamed. He barely knew Morhion, but Kellen liked the mage all the same. Morhion was cool, even distant, but there was lightning in his blue eyes, and he wore power comfortably, like a soft cloak. An idea struck Kellen. 'I think that we should be friends, Morhion.'
Morhion raised a single eyebrow. 'Oh? And why is that?'
Kellen thought of the years he had spent locked in a tower room by his mother, so that his power over shadows would remain a secret. He knew Morhion spent most of his time in solitude in his own tower, studying spells. 'Because,' he said finally, 'we both know what it is to be alone with our magic.'
After a long moment, Morhion nodded. 'I think perhaps you're right. Very well. Come to my tower tomorrow, Kellen. We shall talk of magic, you and I.'
Kellen gave the mage a smile. Then, placing his flute in its leather pouch, he dashed off to the kitchen to help Estah and Jolle with the evening meal. Outside, the storm had passed, and by sundown the inn would be crowded with hungry patrons once again.
Caledan returned from his wanderings late in the afternoon. Mari came downstairs just as he stepped through the inn's door. The two exchanged troubled looks but no words. Morhion spoke briefly with each. He had some news concerning their investigation into the unexplained deaths, though Kellen did not learn its precise nature. After that, Morhion left the inn to return to his tower. Belatedly, Kellen realized that the mage would have been the perfect person to tell about the frosty handprint.
'I suppose I can tell Morhion tomorrow,' Kellen decided as he cranked the handle of the iron spit, turning the sizzling piglet over the hot flames.
Estah appeared before him. 'I need some more sage for the stew, Kellen. Do you think you could pick some in the garden for me?'
Kellen nodded and ran out the back door of the inn. He was glad to escape the heat of the fire; the cool evening air felt good against his glowing cheeks. The inn was perched on the precipitous western edge of the Tor, and Kellen paused to gaze at the distant horizon, watching the sun sink into a sea of clouds as brilliant as molten copper. He hurriedly made his way through the garden This late in the year, the garden was mostly a tangle of dried brown plants and witchgrass. At last Kellen found a patch of dark green herbs. He knew which was sage by its dusty scent, and he picked a handful. Turning, he started back toward the inn.
