Like falling asleep on the street, he thought angrily.

He needed help and he knew it. For an instant, he wondered if he had done the right thing by leaving Stormweather. Perhaps he should have accepted Tamlin's offer of aid.

He shook his head. No. He'd had to leave. The presence of the sphere put the Uskevren at risk. Besides, he could no longer stay in the same home as Thazienne. Also, he saw Mask's hand behind recent events. He didn't think it a coincidence that the wizard who had accompanied the half-drow had worn a holy symbol of Cyric—a rival deity hated by Mask. The Lord of Shadows had used Cale before to thwart the Cyricists. Cale accepted that as one of the duties of his Calling. While he didn't always do exactly what his god dictated, in general their interests were aligned. After all, Cale had no love for the followers of the Dark Sun. But to return to Stormweather might involve the Uskevren in one of the many battles in the divine war between Mask and Cyric. Cale alone had chosen to heed Mask's Calling. He could be a soldier in that war, but he would not conscript the Uskevren.

He reached into his pocket and ran his fingers over the velvet mask that served as his holy symbol.

This fight is ours alone, he thought to Mask.

As though in response, a low whistle sounded from a side street to his right. Cale lowered into a fighting crouch and sought the source.

Riven stepped from the shadows of a covered porch. He had eschewed his scarlet cloak for a more practical gray. That gave Cale pause. Riven rarely discarded his cloak. Was this another illusionary imposter? Cale hesitated.

Riven's mouth twisted in impatience. He waved Cale toward him.

Cale kept his hand near his blade hilt as he walked toward the assassin. He called to mind the prayer that allowed him to see magical dweomers and whispered it under his breath. If the spell showed a dweomer on Riven, Cale would cut him down and determine its accuracy after the fact.

Riven's sabers glowed blue with magic, as did his armor, a ring on his left hand, and something in one of his belt pouches, but not Riven himself. Cale breathed a bit easier. Riven was Riven. Cale should have known. Even the most sophisticated illusion would be hard pressed to mimic the arrogance of Riven's sneer.

Riven nodded at Cale's blade hand and asked, "You nervous, Cale?"

Cale ignored the barb but took his hand off his sword hilt.

"I said I'd find you," said Cale. "You tailing me?"

It concerned him that Riven had tracked him down. If the assassin could do it, so could the wizard and the half-drow.

"You look like the Ninth Hell," Riven said, and grinned through his goatee.

"I asked if you were following me."

"Not exactly," Riven said, and he pulled the chain that held his holy symbol out from behind his blue tunic. The onyx disc looked like a hole in the assassin's callused palm. "A mutual friend told me where to find you."

Cale stared at the symbol, nodded. Mask had probably spoken to Riven in a dream, or a vision. The Lord of Shadows had often so spoken to Cale.

Looking at the holy symbol, Cale wondered again, with a pang of jealousy that surprised him, if Riven could cast spells. After a moment's thought, he decided not. Riven was smart, but his intelligence was more of a practical street wisdom. Cale thought spellcasting required a kind of insight that Riven lacked, a sort of philosophical introspection.

Or at least he would choose to think so.

He wondered too why Riven and he served the same god but used different holy symbols. For that, he had no ready answer, but it somehow comforted him. Mask distinguished between them. Cale liked that.

"What else did he tell you?" Cale asked.

"Nothing."

Riven's sneer softened, and he replaced his holy symbol behind his tunic. Cale nodded knowingly.

"Get used to it," Cale said. "That's his method. He reveals only what he thinks you need to know to serve his purposes. You know why?"

"Don't care."

"Because to him, you're only a tool," Cale answered anyway, though he could tell from Riven's face that the assassin wasn't listening. "You think you're more than that, don't you?"

Riven's one eye narrowed and he said, "You be a tool, Cale. I'll be a weapon."

That made Cale wonder what promises Mask had made to secure Riven's loyalty.

"We'll see," Cale replied. "But I'll do you a favor and tell you something: he's as much your tool as you are his."

He realized how arrogant it sounded the moment the words left his mouth—A god his tool? But, yes. Foolish or not, he regarded Mask as serving him as much as he served Mask. Jak had once described it as a confluence of mortal and divine interests. Cale thought that put too nice a dress on it. It was mutual utility, nothing less and nothing more. Because Cale realized that, he could resist Mask's imperatives and stay his own man. He wondered if Riven could do the same.

"You going to tell me what's going on?" Riven asked.

Cale looked him in the eye and said, "You want in on this? All the way? It's ugly."

Riven's mouth was a tight line, but he said, "I've been in this since those sons of whores blew me out of the Stag. I'm in it all the way."

"Well enough. Let's keep moving."

They fell into stride together, heading for the Lizard. As they walked, Cale filled Riven in on what had occurred at Stormweather.

"So there are at least five of them," Riven said afterward. "That'd be manageable. Where's this sphere then?"

"Half-sphere," Cale corrected. "It's safe. And we're not handling this alone. I'm bringing in Fleet."

Riven stopped cold and pulled Cale around by the shoulder to face him. Cale stared at his hand. Riven removed it.

"That little prig halfling bastard?" Riven sneered. "He's a liability, Cale. You and I can handle this alone. We've taken down Cyricists before."

Cale remembered. They had worked together well. Too well.

"True," Cale acknowledged.

"So why bring in Fleet?"

Because he's my friend, Cale thought but didn't say.

Instead, he stared evenly at Riven and said, "Because I can trust him." He paused before adding, "And I don't trust you."

Riven looked angry for a moment, then recaptured his sneer.

"Pleased to hear it," said the assassin. "I thought you were getting soft."

Cale decided to resolve a few things right then and there. He knew that Riven despised Jak. Several months before, the halfling had nearly killed Riven with a stab through the back. That had been business though, and Cale thought Riven could put it aside as such. After all, he and Riven had scarred each other previously too. But Cale knew that it must have galled the assassin that he had been split by a halfling. Cale had to set some rules. He put a finger on Riven's chest and looked him in the face.

"Fleet's my first choice on this, Riven. It's us, and it's you. You're along for the ride, nothing more, holy symbol or no. We can use your blades, but we can get by without them." He waited for a reply but Riven made none. Cale went on, "If you can't handle being around the little man, then walk away now. You move on him and I'll put you down without a second thought. Clear?"

Riven stared at him, his good eye unreadable, his other an empty hole. A long moment passed. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.

"You know, Cale, you've threatened to kill me before, yet here I stand. You're losing credibility. And one day your threats are going to make me angry."

Cale tensed, let his hand glide near his blade hilt. If he had to, he would take Riven down right then.

Through his goatee, Riven smiled a mouthful of stained teeth and said, "But not today. I hear you. Fleet keeps breathing. But I want in on this, all the way through."

Cale heard the sincerity in Riven's voice. The assassin owed the shadow mage a blood-debt for whatever that spell had done to him in the street.