26 KYTHORN (NIGHT)

IN THE VOID, THERE WAS NOTHING.

No light.

No sound.

Nothing.

It was exactly as his mantra said.

“A darkness where there is only me,” he said, but his words vanished without reaching his ears. He repeated them in his head, just to assure himself he existed.

This was, he realized, the end result of his sickness. One day, he would feel nothing—would know nothing.

Madness closed in around him in the sucking dark. He could not feel his heart racing, but he imagined it. He saw himself breaking into countless figments and dispersing into the endless abyss. Never existing—never being.

The anger, he thought. The anger was still there. He grasped it and clung to it. His rage gave him form and sense.

He searched for Myrin. She had to be here somewhere, he thought—she had taken Sithe’s power, but she couldn’t control it. He remembered well when she had absorbed the slaying spells of a wizard far her superior—how the spell had gone wild and nearly slain him and countless bystanders.

Just like that, as though thinking of her brought them closer, Kalen sensed her. Blue fire filled the void, reaching out from him like tendrils toward something—someone. Someone alone, afraid, and despairing of a way out.

Myrin, he thought to her.

Kalen? Oh gods, not you, too!

The full force of her panic fell upon him, rending his wits such that he almost lost himself in the emptiness. He kept together only by focusing on two things: his anger and his goal. Her.

He visualized himself holding her, enfolding her in his numb, scarred arms. In some part of reality he understood only dimly, he was holding her. Blue fire wrapped around them. Her presence seemed to calm—albeit slightly.

You have to take us home, Myrin, he conveyed. You have to do it now.

I can’t! she replied, refusing to meet his gaze. His vision broke up. I don’t know how. You shouldn’t have come—now you’re trapped, too.

I came to Luskan to save you. Kalen imagined himself brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. Do you really think I’d leave you in darkness?

Myrin’s heart hammered. But we’re trapped—

I suppose we could stay here. At least the smell is less.

He felt a relaxation of tension, but worry remained. I don’t know if I can do this.

I do, he said. If you wish it, we will go back.

Do you wish it, Kalen? she asked. You seemed so upset before. Do you—do you even want me back?

He clutched her tighter. Of course I do.

Very well, Myrin said. Here we—

They came back into the world in a rush, and all of existence bore down upon them in such an unstoppable flood of sensation that Kalen staggered. The otherwise bare chamber was suddenly filled with a teeming swarm of creatures smaller than fleas, flowing all over each other. Heaps of slithering vermin were held together only loosely by a mutual desire for survival. The floorboards, the scant furnishings, the air itself—all were horribly, feverishly alive in infinite minutiae.

The overwhelming being of that moment was enough to shatter Kalen’s mind. Heartbeats sounded like thunder in his ears. Myrin lay enfolded in his arms, her body curled against him. They gazed into one another’s eyes, at once comforting and taking comfort, seeing each other with a clarity neither had ever known. Kalen wanted nothing more than to lie here with her, and let the world fall apart around them.

A cry arose, breaking the moment. Kalen saw that the common hall had become a frenzied mass of people. Dead Rats argued in panic and rage.

Rhett stood among the crowd, his sword ready. “Saer Shadowbane!” he called.

As though his voice woke her, Myrin stirred and sat up. “We did it,” she said. “We—” Then tears brimmed in her eyes. “Gods. Toy—is he …?”

Kalen brushed the blood from Toytere’s beating out of his eyes. A few paces distant, Sithe stood over the fallen halfling and a spreading puddle of blood.

“Get away from him!” Myrin cried, leveling her wand at the genasi.

Kalen restrained her. “It was mercy, not anger,” he said. “He’s dying.”

Sure enough, at Sithe’s feet, Toytere’s body shuddered. He loosed a whine like that of a rat caught in a trap. Rhett had tended him, Kalen saw, but the wound was too great—that, or the plague would not permit him to escape.

Long past the point of coherence, Toytere squealed and roared in pain. His hands grasped at his midsection and his limbs stretched painfully.

“Why haven’t you ended it?” Kalen indicated Sithe’s axe.

“It is for her to do,” Sithe said. “He betrayed her, his life is hers.”

“You also betrayed us,” Kalen said.

“And my life is also hers,” Sithe said. “But she should decide sooner for him.”

Myrin sat at Toytere’s side and took his hand. The halfling’s bloody eyes turned to her and his lips formed her name. “Myrin?”

“Yes,” she said. “Toy, you’re dying.”

“Hrk!” A cough wracked the halfling’s body. “Die … die a man?”

“A man,” Myrin said, clasping his hand hard. “The man you should be.”

Toytere gave her a bloody smile. “Aye, that’s all I wan—” His body jerked taut and his eyes glazed over. A sound emerged from his bloody lips—a low, buzzing hum.

“What’s happening?” Rhett asked.

“Prophecy. He—” The halfling clenched Myrin’s hand hard, cutting off her words.

“Too late,” the gang leader said, in a voice suddenly distant. “Dren will fall to the dark.”

“What?” Kalen asked, eyes fixed on Toytere.

Myrin was staring at the halfling, the blood beating in the hollow of her throat.

“Darkness will take you, Champion of Ruin, fight as you will,” Toytere said in that odd drone. “All that you love will sift as ash through your fingers. It is too late!”

Kalen pushed Myrin wide of Toytere’s grasp and caught the halfling’s collar. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”

The halfling eyes blinked out of the Sight. “Little Dren,” he said. “Gods, I See it. I’ve got to warn—”

Then his eyes widened past the red surrounding the whites. He loosed a savage snarl and lunged at Kalen, who kept from being bitten by wincing back. He held the halfling down with a foot on his chest.

The crowded Rats parted and Myrin approached. “What is—oh gods, Toy!”

“Stay back,” Kalen said. “He isn’t Toytere anymore—that man’s dead.” He turned to Rhett, who backed away, taking Vindicator with him. Instead, Kalen seized Sithe’s axe and raised it over his head. “Turn away.”

Myrin stared at him, eyes wide. “No.”

“I said—”

“I heard what you said.” Myrin straightened her shoulders. “And I’m not turning aside, Kalen. If this is what you are, so be it.”

He hesitated, his blade held high. Beneath his foot, the raging beast that had been Toytere uttered a fitful cry and grasped at its midsection. A huge mass was creeping up, like a boil growing before their eyes. The halfling whimpered in pain and fury. The huge pustule rising from the halfling’s chest continued to grow and squirm.

The ring of Dead Rats expanded, giving the thing more space. Toytere’s body jerked and squirmed, sending blood flailing. Finally, it burst open, spilling forth a quivering horde of half formed insects—locusts, bees, beetles, and gods knew what else.

Kalen brought the axe down and Toytere stopped dead.

The steel on wood rang throughout the hall, followed by the utter silence of three dozen men and women looking to Kalen and his burning steel. The axe flared, burning the twitching vermin. They went up like pinecones in a chorus of sickly pops.

One voice rose from the back of the horde. “Shadowbane!” it cried. “King Shadowbane!”

“King Shadowbane!” another voice answered. “King of the Rats!”

Myrin stared at him, her gaze dark—disappointed. She drew away, turned to confer with Rhett. Kalen watched her go and felt a part of his heart draining away.

“King Shadowbane!” the Rats cried, and “Kalen of the Rats!” and “Shadowbane!”

Kalen nodded grimly.

Eden leaned back from her scrying pool, letting the image waver and die, and tapped her fingers together. What an unlikely series of events—one that she would need to plan around.

Seeing the fate that had befallen Toytere when he tried to move against Kalen and Myrin dissuaded her, even considering the kingly sum offered for the lass’s capture. Still, it was the principle of the thing. Offended pride such as hers was worth the ransom of kingdoms, not mere kings.

The Horned One had told her to stop, so Eden meant to press forward.

Why would the Horned One, favorite of the Lady, be so adamant Eden not touch this Myrin Darkdance? What power did the girl hold—and how could Eden possess it? How could she use Myrin against the Horned One himself?

It would have worked, and she would have had Myrin, had not a certain halfling decided to kill himself out of misguided nobility.

“Bane’s black balls,” Eden murmured. “You can’t trust anyone these days.”

Well, she’d just have to deal with Kalen’s standing in the way of her next move. And if he met a horrible death in the process, all the better.

She thought of the scroll the Horned One had given her. Yes.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of her advisors—two men, one tall and fat, the other short and precipitously lean, both ugly and odious. She’d never bothered trying to learn their names. The short one spoke.

“Me lady, beloved of Mistress Fortune,” he said. “You summoned us?”

“Yes, yes,” Eden said. “I’ve called you to say that a miracle has come to pass. The Lady provides protection from the Fury.”

The men looked stunned. “Me lady, that’s a blessing for true!” said the short one. “We—we must tell everyone! Immediately! Bring adherents flocking to our—to the Lady’s banner! All will be drawn to this cure!”

“Cure?” Eden let a smile steal across her features. “Ha. I offer no cure, you oafs, but a blessing. It is an assurance that those the Lady favors will go untouched.”

“How is that not a cure, me lady?” asked the short one.

They were growing tiresome, Eden thought. Her head was starting to throb and she would much rather consider how best to move against the Horned One.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

The men quavered a bit at that, but their faces still shone with eagerness. Fools.

Eden reached into the bodice of her dress and withdrew the scroll the Horned One had given her. She had mastered the script and could pronounce the letters in her sleep. Still, holding the scroll was key to unlocking its power. Unfurling it across the bed in front of her, she began to read, her voice twisting into the dark and guttural syllables of the Abyssal tongue.

At first, nothing happened and her advisers’ nervousness faded a touch. “I—that is, we,” said the short one, with a nod at his companion. “We don’t feel any different.”

Eden smiled, even as she cursed them mentally. “This plague—the Fury,” she said. “It isn’t a cough or a pox or the like, but rather the gift of something … greater. Something darker. Something that scours.”

As if in response to her words, the room filled suddenly with the sound of rustling and scuttling—thousands of tiny legs tap-tap-tapping on wood and stone. The three humans were far from alone in the chamber.

Blackness seeped out of the walls and floor: a flood of tiny, ferocious bodies, all of their fangs and claws serving Eden’s will. Her advisors cowered back a step.

“Oh, not to worry.” Eden tapped the scroll with one long finger. “With this, I can summon and keep the beast at bay. I extend the Lady’s blessing to any I deem worthy.”

“You,” said the fat one, wiping sweat from his brow. “You mean the goddess—those that she deems worthy.”

“Not actually, no,” said Eden. “For instance, I’m sure the goddess loves you two. I, on the other hand, do not share her opinion.”

With a lazy hand, she indicated her advisors.

The two men screamed as the blackness swarmed over them.

“A single bite leaves the Fury,” Eden explained as they flailed and gibbered, “but a thousand bites leave much less.”

Now that the plague was a weapon rather than a threat, she had only one thing left to take care of: becoming queen of Luskan. Queen of the North would come later.

Her brother and that thrice-damned wizard of his stood in the way, but Eden expected that would resolve itself. Her brother would, after all, fall into darkness—so said Toytere’s last prophecy.

She had to admit—as the demon finished its meal, leaving only bones for later removal by her slaves—that her brother turning into a “champion of ruin” struck her as a delicious concept.