Midnights Mask Read Online Free PDF Page B

and blue beams intended for Cale struck Azriim and Dolgan.
    The blue beam hit Azriim squarely in the chest. His mouth opened to exclaim in surprise, but before a sound could emerge, his body went rigid. In the span of a single heartbeat, starting at his chest but spreading rapidly to the rest of his body, the magic transformed his flesh, clothing, and weapons into gray stone. In an instant, he was no more than a statue.
    Dolgan took the green beam in his right arm. The impact spun him around and he groaned, wobbled, and fell over, only a few paces from Riven. Cale did not know what the spell had done to him but the slaad was down, and that was enough.
    It was only he and the Sojourner now.
    Cale spared a glance at his friends. Jak’s face was twisted with pain but he had his holy symbol in hand and already was casting a healing spell on his wounded leg. Magadon, still smoking, was climbing clumsily to his feet, his expression dazed.
    The Sojourner started to cast again, this time using gestures and words. His casting with a mere word must be limited, Cale reasoned. That pleased Cale. It made the Sojourner more ordinary.
    Before the creature could complete his spell, Cale stepped into the shadowy space that existed in reality’s interstices. He moved from one side of the chamber to the other in a single stride. He materialized behind the Sojourner, a little to the right, near Riven and the slaadi.
    The Sojourner’s sheath of energy spat arcs of lightning that burned Cale’s skin. The resistance to magic granted by the shadowstuff in his being was no match for the Sojourner’s power. Cale gritted his teeth, endured the pain, and stabbed Weaveshear’s point at the Sojourner’s spine and kidneys, a killing blow.
    The blade cut only empty air.
    The Sojourner winked out and reappeared ten paces away.
    Some kind of contingency, Cale presumed.
    Three bolts of lightning discharged at Cale from the ring of energy around the Sojourner. Weaveshear absorbed two but the third slammed into him. The bolt lifted him from his feet and blew him bodily across the chamber until he slammed into the far wall. His breath left him. His skin smoked and burned. He sagged to the carpeted floor amidst several cushions, gasping, shot through with pain. His shade flesh began to regenerate the injuries.
    The Sojourner began to cast another spell, again using elaborate phrasing and gestures.
    Cale found his breath and clambered to his feet. He pulled the shadows to him and formed them into five images of himself. They flitted around him, exact duplicates that mirrored his movements. Hopefully they would confuse the Sojourner.
    To the left of the creature, Cale saw that Riven had drawn his blades and at last found his feet. The assassin stood on wobbly legs not far from the slaadi, one petrified, the other prone and vulnerable. Riven looked down at Dolgan, back at Magadon and Jak, over at the Sojourner, at Cale.
    What in the Nine Hells was he waiting for?
    “Do it,” Cale shouted, meaning that Riven should kill Dolgan.
    Riven’s eye narrowed but instead of executing the prone slaad, he stared at Cale and offered his signature sneer. Turning toward Magadon and Jak, Riven shouted a series of words in the foul tongue Mask had taught him in his dreams. The words rang off Cale’s ears, sent vomit up his throat. Even Dolgan writhed on the ground. Magadon staggered, fell. Jak vomited, covered his ears.
    Cale cursed Riven, cursed Mask, cursed everything. Riven turned back to grin at him. Cale stared hatefully in answer, leveled Weaveshear at him, and discharged the two stored lightning bolts. They ripped the air between Cale and the assassin but Riven anticipated the move and dived aside in an awkward roll. The bolts slammed into the far wall, blackening stone, setting a divan afire, and narrowly missing Jak.
    Riven regained his feet, wobbled, stayed upright.
    “I told you what I wanted, Sojourner,” Riven called. With that, he turned and advanced