"This is Talek Talembar' as it was written in the language of the easterners," Morhion explained. "Only it wouldn't have been pronounced the same as in Talfir. It would have sounded something more like 'Calen Cal-endir.' A few centuries ago, a new wave of immigrants came over the Sunset Mountains from the kingdoms of Cormyr and Sembia. These were our direct ancestors, Mari. They brought yet another language—the one we now speak—and the names of people and places in the

Western Heartlands were changed once again, this time to conform to Cormyrean writing and pronunciation." The mage pointed to the final line of writing on the parchment. "This is the Cormyrean version of the name 'Calen Calendir.'"

Mari read the words, then looked at the mage. "Caledan Caldorien?" she whispered.

Morhion's chill blue gaze locked on her own. "The very same."

"But that means that Caledan is a direct descendant of Talek Talembar!" Estah exclaimed.

Mari spoke, half in a daze. "And a descendant of the Shadowking as well. Of course! It all makes sense now. That's why Caledan's shadow magic had the power to defeat the Shadowking. It came from the Shadowking himself!"

"It must be so," Morhion replied grimly. "The same magic that flowed in the veins of Verraketh flows in Caledan's."

Mari grappled for understanding. "But if that's true, why didn't any of Caledan's other ancestors become shadowkings?"

"I believe I know the answer to that," Morhion explained. "Talek Talembar had many descendants, and all possessed the shadow magic, though many to only a slight degree. In them, the power of the shadow magic was diffused. None inherited enough of the magic to undergo the dark metamorphosis. Then Ravendas's Lord Steward, Snake—who in truth served the Shadowking— summoned a shadevar, one of thirteen ancient beings of mayhem banished from the world by Azuth the High One. The shadevar's orders were to hunt down and slay all in the Realms who possessed the shadow magic. This it did before we destroyed it."

"Save for Caledan and Kellen," Mari said in amazement.

"Yes. And in them, the shadow magic is concentrated as never before. I think that is why Caledan's transformation seems to be progressing so quickly, while Verraketh's took centuries."

A terrible thought occurred to her. "Then will… will Kellen become a shadowking, too?"

Morhion shook his head. "I do not know. However, I suspect there can be but one Shadowking at a time. For now, let us concern ourselves with Caledan." He rolled up the parchment and replaced it in his belt. "Oh, there is one more thing that I learned. The Shadowstar has the power to halt Caledan's metamorphosis… or complete it."

Mari pondered the implications. "You think Caledan is searching for the Shadowstar, don't you?"

He nodded in affirmation. "Long ago, the Shadowstar was buried in the crypt of the Shadowking beneath Iriaebor, but at some point it was stolen by a tomb robber. I have discovered that it is presently in the possession of a mysterious personage known only as Stiletto."

A thought struck Mari. "You couldn't possibly have read that in the Mal'eb'dala, Morhion. Where did you learn about this Stiletto?"

For the first time in this grim conversation, Mari saw a troubled look cross Morhion's impassive visage. "I dare not reveal my source," the mage said coolly. "Suffice it to say that I know, and leave it at that."

Mari did not press the point. Regardless of how Morhion had come by the knowledge, the important thing was that the Shadowstar had the power to save Caledan. The three agreed that they had to find the medallion before Caledan did.

"Do you have any idea who this Stiletto person is, Morhion?" Estah asked. "Or where we could find him?"

Morhion regained his composure. "I am afraid that knowledge has eluded even me."

Mari tapped a cheek thoughtfully. "Stiletto… Too bad Ferret isn't around to lend a hand."

Ferret had once been a member of the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon. The weasely thief had helped the others escape the crypt of the Shadowking as it crumbled, while he himself was lost in the destruction. Despite his wily and greedy exterior, Mari had met few in her life as truly selfless as the thief Ferret. She wished he were here now, but it was a vain thought.

Morhion offered a suggestion. "We do need to find someone like Ferret, someone who deals in information and who casts a wide enough net that he may have heard of this Stiletto."

A crooked smile curled about Mari's lips. "On second thought, I think I know just the person. And he adores me."

Seven

Mari groaned. Why did these things always seem to happen to her?

"I thought Cormik adored you," Morhion said coldly.

"I thought he did, too," she said through clenched teeth.

"Well, if you don't mind my saying, he has a rather peculiar manner of expressing his affection."

For emphasis, Morhion rattled the heavy iron shackles that bound his wrists. He and Mari were chained to a rough stone wall in a dank underground chamber. The muffled sounds of raucous laughter and clinking coins drifted down from above. They were somewhere in the basement of the Prince and Pauper, the seamiest gambling house in Iriaebor.

"In case you're wondering, you really aren't being helpful, Morhion," Mari replied in a surly tone. "Can't you get us out of here with a spell?"

"No, I can't. Casting a spell requires ritual gestures as well as magical words"—he cast a rueful look at the thick bands of iron that held his hands immobile—"a fact of which your dear friend Cormik seems well aware."

"Everyone's entitled to a few mistakes," Mari grumbled. She seemed to remember Caledan saying that exact phrase once when the two of them were caught in a similar predicament. Things were worse than she thought if she was starting to sound like Caldorien.

Mari racked her brain, trying to think of what she might have done to get on Cormik's bad side. Cormik was the proprietor of the Prince and Pauper, but he was also one of the most powerful underworld lords in Iriaebor. Officially, Mari could not condone Cormik's illicit practices, but he had helped the Fellowship to defeat Ravendas. Besides, she had always liked his daggerlike wit and impeccable sense of taste.

It must have been that incident a year ago, she decided. Cormik had wanted her help in prying some compromising secrets out of a particularly wealthy nobleman. Mari had haughtily told Cormik to go ask one of the painted ladies on the Street of Lanterns instead, and had run him out of the Dreaming Dragon. She had not spoken to him since that day. Well, if he was still holding a grudge, she was going to have to find a way to—

The chamber's ironbound door flew open. Mari blinked against the glare of crimson torchlight that gushed through the opening. When her vision cleared, a figure stood before her. Cormik. He was a corpulent man with a florid, pockmarked complexion and a jewel-encrusted patch over one eye. As ever, he was clad in gaudy finery that involved voluminous quantities of blue silk, wine-colored velvet, and gold brocade. Flanking him were two hulking bodyguards, each bearing a jeweled sword.

Mari licked her hps. "Cormik, if you'll let me explain—"

He cut her off with a wave of a chubby, ring-laden hand. "Haven't we been through this once before, Harper?" he said impatiently. "I didn't want to hear Caledan's explanation then, and I don't want to hear yours now. I'm a busy man, you know." He made a sharp gesture to his bodyguards. "Jad, Kevrek—deal with these two for me."

Cormik strode from the chamber. His two bull-necked servants stepped forward, grinning fiercely as they reached into leather pouches on their belts. Mari's eyes widened as she caught a glint of silver and a wisp of steam. She shut her eyes, bracing herself against the coming attack.