endless gray waves. Pale mist pooled in low hollows, and here and there jagged spurs of rock thrust upward toward the leaden sky like beckoning fingers. A few wind-twisted plants clung precariously to the barren landscape, but there was no sign of anything moving. The High Moor was a dying land. How appropriate that somewhere in its heart should be a dead kingdom. Ebenfar.
Caledan nudged Mista into a canter across the damp moor. Almost unconsciously, he lifted a hand to grip the star-shaped medallion resting against his heart. Despite the chill air, the dull silvery metal was curiously warm. It had been strangely easy to take the medallion from the treasure chamber in Soubar. No-it had not been strange after all, for the Shadowstar had wanted to be found. The door to the treasure chamber had responded willingly to Caledan's shadow magic, and the medallion had nearly leapt into his hand.
In the instant he hung the medallion around his neck, he had understood his destiny. He was to journey to Ebenfar, to the ancient kingdom of the Shadowking. He sensed that the medallion had the power to whisk him instantly there but did not wish to do this. The journey itself was important. The other still needed time to grow. And grow it would. Soon, all that would be left of him III be the shadowking within, and he would leave behind the man Caledan forever.
'I have to hold on, Mista.' he whispered hoarsely, gripping her mane tightly in clenched fingers. 'I cannot forget who I am. I must not.'
For a moment, thoughts of those he loved drifted into his mind. Were the companions following him? Would they understand the signs he had been leaving for them? Quickly he forced his friends from his mind. It was a mistake to think about them. Now that he had the Shadowstar, the other slept less and less, and he had to keep his one fragile hope concealed. 'If there is any hope at all,' he murmured. Suddenly the Shadowstar twitched against his chest, sending a hot, dizzying wave coursing through his body. Caledan brought Mista to a halt. Gripping the medallion, he squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, he could feel the dark ones. They were close now. The shadevari. Ever since his journey had begun, Caledan had sensed the dark presence following him. As soon as he gained the Shadowstar, his senses had grown remarkably keen, and he had discerned the true nature of the creatures pursuing him. They were shadevari, three of the ancient, malevolent beings banished beyond the Circle of the World by the god Azuth-beings who, he now realized were somehow inextricably linked with the shadow magic.
An idea occurred to him. 'We don't want the shadevari to find me too easily, do we, Mista?' he said with a harsh laugh. 'That wouldn't be any fun for them. Maybe there's a way to make my trail a little harder to follow.'
Mista gave a snort.
'Just watch,' Caledan replied.
He gripped the Shadowstar more tightly and hummed a dissonant tune under his breath. Mista pranced skittishly as a patch of shadow near her hooves swirled expanded. Like dark serpents, a dozen sinuous forms sprang from the patch of shadow. The forms wriggled swiftly away, each in a different direction, snaking across the High Moor until they were lost in the distance.
'There,' Caledan said in grim satisfaction, releasing the Shadowstar. 'The shadevari won't be able to distinguish my trail from any of those shadowserpents. That should keep them guessing which way I've gone, at least for a little while.'
Mista gave an impressed whinny.
'Why, thank you.' Caledan patted her neck fondly. Slowly his eyes rose toward the far-off horizon.
'All right, my friend,' he whispered. 'Let's go.'
Concealed inside a heavy cloak, K'shar watched the crimson tent from a distance. At last the half-elf's patience was rewarded. The tent's entrance flap parted a few scant inches, and he caught a glimpse of a face peering out. After a moment, the face vanished. However, ths glimpse had been more than enough for his sharp golden eyes. He knew the watcher in the tent from the description given by a soldier he had interrogated in Triel. It was one of Al'maren's companions, the thief Jewel. His quarry must still be in Soubar. Anticipation boiled in K'shar's veins. The chase was nearly over. For a time, in the tangled depths of the Reaching Woids, he had feared that the unthinkable had happened, that he had lost his prey. The trail had led to a ruined city where he had seen evidence of a battle with some sort of doglike creatures. The signs indicated that the companions had crossed the River Reaching, but by what means K'shar could not discern. For two days he searched for a way across the roiling river and found none. At last he was forced to give up and return to the Dusk Road. Just as he was growing concerned that his quarry had escaped him, he picked up the trail once again in Triel. Running night and day, he had journeyed swiftly to Soubar. Now it appeared that he had caught up wit them at last.
'You are a worthy opponent, Harper Al'maren,' he murmured, baring his slightly pointed teeth in a feral smile. 'But no one can elude me forever.' Soundlessly, he moved to the entrance of the crimson tent and slipped within. His eyes adjusted instantly to the dim interior. But the tent was empty. Alarm flared in his mind. Something was wrong…
Too late he realized it was a trap. There was a hissing sound as the floor dropped from beneath him, and he fell through a series of steel hoops to land upright. Then the metal hoops tightened forcefully around his body, clamping his arms to his sides and immobilizing him. From behind, a hand reached out and pressed an acrid- smelling cloth over his mouth and nose. Reflexively, he inhaled.
You fool, Kshar! he chastised himself. You have grown lazy and thoughtless in your arrogance. Never did you consider that Al'maren might figure out you were following her. Never did you consider that she might lay a trap…
Quickly, the pungent vapors from the cloth did their work, and K'shar sank into unconsciousness.
After a time, he woke to the sound of voices.
For a moment he listened, eyes closed. The voices were far-off, so faint that no human ear could possibly hear them. Fortunately, K'shar's ears were more than merely human.
'Now that we have him, what do we do with him?' a smoky, feminine voice said. That could only be the thief, Jewel.
'Well, how should I know?' a bubbling male voice replied. K'shar guessed that one belonged to the corpulent crime lord, Cormik.
'I thought you were the one who was always full of ideas,' Jewel said peevishly.
'Even the best of us have our off days,' Cormik whined. 'I'd rather not win the undying enmity of the Harpers killing their best Hunter. However, we have to make certain K'shar doesn't follow the others into the High Moor. They've got only a day's jump on him, and they…'
K'shar's amber eyes flashed open. He did not bother listening to the rest of Cormik's words. There was no need. Al'maren was journeying to the High Moor, only single day ahead of him. That was all he needed to know.
Now there was simply the small matter of escaping. He was in an underground chamber, he guessed by the chill, musty air. They had left him alone, no doubt expecting the effect of the drug to last longer than it had. K'shar knew his metabolism worked more swiftly than that of a normal human. He was suspended upright from the chamber's ceiling, still immobilized by the steel bands bound tightly around ankles, knees, waist, torso, and shoulders. Shutting his eyes, he concentrated, drifting into a trance.
Focusing on his thrumming heartbeat, he forced his body to relax, willing his muscles to become as soft and malleable as clay. One by one, they responded. Soon it felt as if he were adrift in a warm ocean. He was ready. Gathering his will, he gave a swift, sharp jerk, dislocating his left shoulder. There was a wet popping noise, but almost no pain. Without hesitating he jerked again, dislocating his right shoulder.
Now that his arms dangled loosely, it was easy to fold his shoulders inward, like a severely hunched old man. This created precious inches of space within the three steel rings that bound his upper body. Slowly he inched his left arm out of the rings that encircled his waist, his midriff, and finally his shoulders. This created yet more space within the rings; his right arm was more easily freed. He took a deep breath, then clenched the muscles of his back and shoulders. There was an audible sucking sound as the round ends of his arm bones were drawn once more into the sockets of his shoulder joints. He would be sore tomorrow, but it did not matter. Arms free, he reached up and gripped the iron chain that suspended the steel hoops from the ceiling. He hauled himself upward, his relaxed muscles allowing him to slip out of the rings that bound his legs, and dropped nimbly down to the floor.
