Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [110]
The Valesong.
*****
So, Morhion thought darkly, this is how it ends. He braced his shoulders, watching grimly as the last shadevar flew toward him across the vale. Then three fiery columns of steam and lava burst out of the ground, shooting toward the iron gray sky. This time, the shadow-steed was not swift enough to correct its course. With shrill screams, beast and shadevar flew directly into the surging pillars. Roiling steam ripped the shadowsteed's midnight wings to shreds while molten slag engulfed the shadevar. In a fiery blaze, the two monsters plummeted through the air, crashing to the ground with violent force. When the swirling steam cleared, all that remained of the two creatures was a smoking heap of sludge. The last of the shadevari was dead. That was when Morhion heard the Valesong. An inhuman scream sounded. The mage whirled around and stared in horror. Before the basalt throne, the shad-owking writhed in agony. The creature flapped dark wings spasmodically, clenching clawed fingers as if struggling with an invisible foe. Against the shadowking's chest, the Shadowstar pulsated wildly in time to the throbbing music of the Valesong. In moments the star-shaped lump of metal glowed white-hot, sizzling as it burned into the shadowking's flesh. Then, all at once, the medallion turned to liquid; glowing droplets of metal fell to pool before the throne.
As the Shadowstar melted, the shadowking spread its impossibly long arms in an anguished gesture. It tilted it's head back as if to let out a bellowing howl of outrage, yet all that issued from its gaping maw was silence. The shadowking straightened. For a second, Morhion thought it gazed at him with faded green eyes, eyes filled with a look of unspeakable sorrow. Then, like a felled tree, the onyx creature toppled to the hard stone platform in of the throne. The shadowking was dead.
*****
Mari reached the base of the pinnacle just as Ferret and Kellen, pale and wide eyed, crawled from their hiding place. The thief eyed Mari critically. Her clothing had been reduced to filthy rags that clung wetly to her body. Soot and blood smudged her face; her hair was a tangled rat's-nest.
"By Shar above," Ferret swore with a low whistle, "you look like a she-orc after a bad night of drinking, Mari."
"Thanks, Ferret," she replied with a weak smile. "You sure know how to compliment a girl." Abruptly she slumped toward the ground. Ferret and Kellen rushed forward to support her.
"I think something has happened up there," Kellen said quietly, gazing toward the summit.
"Maybe we should go see," Ferret suggested, his beady eyes shifting nervously.
Mari agreed. Together, the three ascended the spiral staircase. They reached the pinnacle's summit to see Morhion kneeling before the basalt throne. Prostrate beside him was a huge, dark creature.
"It's dead," Morhion said without looking up, his voice haggard. "He's dead."
Mari choked back tears. They had saved the world from the darkness of a second shadowking. Yet it was no victory to her. Caledan was gone, and she felt utterly hollow. Reluctantly, her eyes moved to the fallen shadowking. The dark body, once gleaming with sinuous life, now seemed merely a shell, the horned countenance a mask.
"I'm sorry, Mari," Ferret said softly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.
She gave the thief a grateful look, then limped toward Morhion. Reaching down, she gripped the mage's hand, pulling him to his feet. "Come," she said, leading him away from the throne. "Let's be gone from this place. There is nothing left for us here."
"Wait."
Mari looked up in surprise. It was Kellen. In his small hands he clutched the obsidian pipes, the instrument forged by Caledan's shadow magic.
"I would like to play a song for my father." A sharp pang pierced Mari's chest. For the second