Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [71]
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