Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [37]
"I think she would be, too." Caledan stood up. "But sword or no sword, I would still like to have you by my side, Tyveris."
The big man stood and gripped Caledan's hand tightly. Caledan winced, hoping that none of his bones would break. "Then you can count on me tomorrow," Tyveris said firmly. "Ferret deserves our help. And Oghma knows, there is no love lost between myself and the Zhentarim."
Tyveris promised to be at the Dreaming Dragon early the next morning, and Caledan bid his old friend farewell. The gloom of dusk was just beginning to gather as he rode back toward the waiting city.
It was full dark when the stranger caught scent of the trail, but the black-robed one did not need any illumination to follow the prey. The call of the shadow magic was strong. The other was still within the city's walls, still beyond his reach. But not Caldorien. Caldorien was outside the city- in the stranger's territory.
Heavy robes billowed out like dark, fantastic wings as the stranger sped across the shadowed land. An evening wind hissed through the grass. There was no moon, but the stranger did not know this, did not care. All that mattered was finding Caldorien, finding him and tearing the life from his body.
All with the shadow magic must die. All. The master had decreed it.
The scent grew stronger, the trail fresher. Caldorien was close now, very close. No more than a minute or two ahead. The stranger's black-gloved hands opened and closed in anticipation of the flesh they would crush.
Suddenly the stranger faltered and slowed. Caldorien's scent dwindled, faded, was lost in a roar of other odors, pungent and overwhelming-the city. Caldorien had reached its walls, eluding the stranger's grasp once again. The figure reeled, turned, and slipped back toward the plains, letting out a high, blood-chilling shriek of fury.
Then the night was silent.
Caledan rose in the gray light before dawn. There were preparations to make. He found Mari and Estah already in the kitchen. "Can you shoot a bow, Harper?" he asked gruffly.
She set down her cup of tea and looked him straight in the eye. "Try me."
Dawn was just breaking over the city's towers as Caledan and Mari strung a pair of longbows in the garden behind the inn. Jolle had brought the two bows down from the attic, along with a longsword now belted at Caledan's hip. There was quite a store of weapons, armor, and traveling gear up there, left over from the days of the Fellowship. Estah had thrown nothing out.
Caledan nocked an arrow and aimed at an apple dangling by a string from a tree branch across the garden, a good hundred feet away. His hand steady, he pulled the arrow back until the fletching brushed his cheek. Then he let it % The arrow hissed through the air. A heartbeat later, the apple spun on the string.
Caledan was smug. "Beat that, Harper."
He watched as she carefully selected an arrow and nocked it, lifting the bow with a sure, easy grace. The morning mist clung to her green velvet jacket like translucent pearls, and the first rays of the sun seemed to set fire to her dark auburn hair. She looked almost beautiful in this light, Caledan suddenly thought. Almost. Not that he particularly cared.
Mari paused for a moment, then the arrow raced through the air. The apple dropped to the ground.
"Damn, you'll have to try again, Harper," Caledan growled, walking toward the target "The string broke."
"It didn't break, scoundrel," Mari said, a hint of mirth in her rich voice.
Caledan frowned in