She began to change.

Her body grew taller, and thickened. Her nose and mouth expanded and she offered a mouth full of fangs. Her hands lengthened, and her fingers birthed claws. Her alabaster skin turned darker, and began to grow ridges, scales.

"Let us begin again, Erevis Cale," she spat.

Wide-eyed, Cale took a step back.

"Elura!" Azriim shouted. "Don't!"

In mid-transformation, she whirled to look at the half-drow, a question on her metamorphosing face.

"Don't!"

She cocked her head and a long, forked tongue licked the ridges of her lips. Jak felt certain that an unspoken communication passed between her and the half-drow.

"Leave him," commanded the half-drow, indicating the easterner.

Simultaneously, each of them quickly pulled out their bronze teleportation rods, twisted them, and disappeared. Dolgan clambered to his feet, leaking blood from his side and arm. Again he had survived seemingly mortal wounds. He too removed his teleportation device, manipulated it, and vanished.

Jak, still dazed, took a few moments to whisper a healing prayer to the Trickster. The battle was over.

CHAPTER 11

THE INEXORABILITY OF ARITHMETIC

Cale went first to Ren. He would have uttered a spell of healing to close the seeping stumps of the young man's fingers, but in his hunger for violence he had requested from the Lord of Shadows only spells suitable for combat. He regretted that, and wondered if there wasn't a lesson in it.

So instead, he used his dagger to cut off strips of his cloak and with those wrapped Ren's hands. He then traced a symbol of power in the air with his fingers and intoned the prayer that would free Ren from his magical paralysis.

The moment the spell took effect, Ren fell forward, gasping, cradling his hand. Cale caught him under the armpits and kept him from falling.

"My hand, Mister Cale! My hand!"

To his credit, Ren managed to hold back the tears. When it seemed the young guardsman had gathered himself, Cale held him at arm's length and looked him in the eyes. Ren's face was pale, his eyes sunken. He had been through a lot.

"Can you walk?" Cale asked softly.

It didn't please him, but he had to send Ren back to the city alone. This business was far from over.

Ren looked up from his hand and met Cale's gaze, obviously disconcerted by the mask Cale wore.

"Yes, Mister Cale."

Cale nodded, gave him a gentle shake, and said, "Good man. Listen to me. We can't take you back to Selgaunt and it's dangerous for you to remain here with us. Can you make it back alone? Now?"

For a moment, Ren looked as though all of Toril lay on his back, but he rallied quickly. He stood up straight and gave Cale a nod. His severed fingers made him wince.

Cale thumped him on the shoulder and said, "Good. Go directly to Stormweather. Tell Tam—Tell Lord Uskevren what happened to you, what you saw." Cale debated what else to say. "Also tell him that I now have the entire sphere and that there's no further danger to the House. But also tell him the task is not yet done and that I have to see it through. Do you understand?"

"Understood," Ren answered. He released his wounded hand and held out his other.

Cale clasped it.

"Thank you, Mister Cale." He looked beyond Cale to Riven and Jak and added, "All of you."

Cale could say nothing. He didn't feel as though he deserved thanks.

With a final nod, the young guardsman turned and trudged off into the night.

Cale watched him go. He thought Ren would be all right. At least, he hoped so.

He turned to Jak, who sat on the wet grass nearby, his blades lying beside him. The halfling had a cut above his eye where Azriim's long sword must have nicked him. He still looked a little dazed.

"Trickster's toes, Cale," Jak said, shaking his head and forcing a crooked grin, "that was near one."

Cale nodded and tried to return the grin; he couldn't.

The sphere lay in the grass near Jak. Cale walked over to it, kneeled down and picked it up. To his surprise, he saw that the two halves had somehow fused back together. Only a thin seam around the center, like a scar, evidenced its former split. He studied it for a moment before placing it in his pack.

"All this for that," Jak said.

Cale nodded. He turned to Jak and extended a hand.

"You gonna stay on your arse the rest of the night or find your feet?" Cale joked.

Jak smiled, took Cale's hand, and pulled himself to his feet.

Cale put a hand on his shoulder and asked, "You all right, little man?"

"I'm all right," Jak said, but Cale thought he sounded shaken. "How's Ren?"

Jak indicated the direction Ren had walked, but the night and rain had already swallowed the guard's silhouette.

"I don't know," Cale replied. "He'll be all right eventually."

Jak nodded. He kneeled and picked up his weapons. As he did, he looked sidelong to Riven, who was tending the shallow wounds he had received.

"Riven," Jak said, and Cale could see the halfling was embarrassed. "I owe you."

To Cale's surprise, Riven didn't offer his sneer, didn't even look at the halfling.

"You owe me nothing, Fleet," Riven said as he began to rifle the easterner's cloak. He threw coins to the ground, but when he located the bronze teleportation rod, he examined it for a moment before putting it in a pocket of his own. "I've got one rule when blades are drawn—my side walks away. Everyone else—" he thumped a fist into the easterner's chest—"you leave bleeding in the dirt. It's that simple."

"Understood," Jak said. "And that's mutual." The halfling looked at Cale. "Take off that mask, eh? You're both starting to make me nervous."

Cale had almost forgotten that he had it on. He had fought with it on only once before. Wearing it made him feel anonymous, as though he had moral permission to kill. He didn't care for the feeling. He took off the mask, put it in his vest, and patted Jak on the shoulder. For an instant, he wondered what kind of man he would have become had he not met Jak Fleet. The halfling was his conscience, he knew. Jak had softened the edges of his nature almost as much as had Thazienne.

"I don't think Vraggen's dead," Jak said. "I hurt him bad, but not bad enough."

Cale nodded. He didn't think Vraggen was dead either.

"We'll find him again, little man," Cale said. "But first we get the sphere back to Sephris. He can tell us when Vraggen plans to do whatever it is that he plans to do. We'll just have to find out the where and the what some other way."

Jak nodded. He reached for his pipe, remembered that it was raining, and let his hand fall to his side.

"Did you see the woman start to change?" the halfling asked. "There at the end?"

Cale nodded.

"What are these things?" Jak asked. "Not just shapeshifters, and that's certain."

Cale had no answer, but he knew that whatever the woman was in her natural form, it was big, with jaws large enough to eat a meat shank in a single bite.

"Look at this," Riven said, and Cale and Jak turned.

Riven had his ear to the easterner's mouth.

"This one's still breathing," he said. He stepped back and eyed the chest wounds he had given the easterner. "The wounds are already closing." Riven gave Jak a frown, then looked a question at Cale. "We passed an abandoned barn about halfway between here and the High Bridge. Did you see it?"

Cale took Riven's meaning right away and said, "I did."

Cale watched the halfling and waited for the import of Riven's comment to settle in. It didn't take long.

Jak's eyes went wide. He grabbed Cale's hand.

"You're not—Cale, we can't. No."

"Jak..."

Jak shook his head emphatically. "No." His voice lowered to a whisper. "You're talking about torture, Erevis. That's not us."