Telemont turned to face his counselor.

Hadrhune stood near the door, deep in shadows, his glowing eyes like steel stars in the black constellation of his face.

"What is it, Hadrhune?"

Two small, bald gray heads poked out of Hadrhune's cloak, tiny ears raised and alert. They looked on Telemont with terror, but behind the fear their opalescent eyes looked profoundly sad.

Telemont froze. Shadows roiled around him. "Are those . . . ?"

Hadrhune nodded. "They are, Most High. Prince Brennus's constructs. They should have died when . . . he died. I can't explain it."

"We lost," the homunculi said in their high-pitched voices.

"Me, too," Telemont said.

"Forgive me, Most High," Hadrhune said, pushing the homunculi back into his cloak. They squeaked in protest. "I should not have troubled you with this."

"No, you did the right thing," Telemont said. "Leave them."

"Most High?"

"Leave them with me, Hadrhune. Is that unclear?"

"No, Most High. Of course. Shoo," he said to the homunculi, and shook them from his cloak.

They hit the ground and cowered, keeping one hand each on Hadrhune's cloak, eyeing Telemont fearfully.

"That will be all, Hadrhune."

"Of course, Most High."

After Hadrhune left, the homunculi crowded close together, hugging one another, trembling.

"Most High hurt us?"

"No," Telemont said softly. He kneeled and held out a hand, the same way Alashar had held out a hand to Rivalen. "Come here. Take my hand. It's all right."

They crossed the smooth floor in hesitant fits and starts, nostrils flaring, eyes diffident. When they reached him, Telemont ran a finger gently over each of their heads. They relaxed and cooed.

"My son was your master," Telemont murmured. "He made you. Loved you, maybe."

"Master loved us," they echoed, nodding. "Him come home soon?"

Telemont's eyes welled for only the third time that he could remember. "No. He's not coming home anymore."

Cale kneeled in the grass before Varra's simple headstone. Her name had been etched into the limestone slab, underneath an etching of the sunrise. A partially decayed orchid lay in the grass before the stone.

Shadows poured from Cale's flesh as he replayed the last moments they'd shared together. He remembered the smell of her hair, the feel of her smooth skin under his hands, the weight of her atop him. They'd made Vasen that night.

He dragged his fingertips over the cold limestone slab.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

He felt Vasen's eyes on him. His son. Their son.

"I shouldn't have left her," Cale said over his shoulder. "I went back later but it was too late. She was gone."

"You did what you had to, what you thought was right. There's no room for regret in that."

"There's room for regret in everything," Cale said. "How did she die?" Vasen cleared his throat. "She sacrificed herself for me. She died loved, though. And not alone."

"I'm glad."

"I didn't know her," Vasen said. "No one knew anything about her, and she died before she could tell anyone much. She spoke of you, though." "How do you know that?"

"My fath-Derreg told me."

Cale nodded. Tears pooled in his eyes, fell down his face. He thought of the first time he'd met Varra, in a dark tavern in Skullport.

"I'll tell you about her sometime," Cale said. "Just . . . not right now." "Of course," Vasen said, shifting on his feet.

Cale looked at the headstone beside Varra's, also adorned with a decayed orchid. The name etched in the stone read "Derreg, son of Regg." "Derreg raised you?" Cale asked.

"He did," Vasen said, and Cale heard the pride in his voice. "I knew Regg," Cale said.

"I know."

"If I could thank Derreg, I would."

Cale heard a smile in Vasen's tone. "He was not the kind of man who needed thanks for doing the right thing."

Cale smiled in turn. "He was indeed Regg's son, then."

Cale ran his fingers over Varra's headstone a final time and stood. "We should go."

"Go where? What's next?"

Cale looked his son in the eye and smiled.

THE COMPANIONS.

R.A. Salvatore.

THE GODBORN.

Paul S. Kemp.

THE ADVERSARY.

Erin M. Evans.

December 2013.

THE REAVER.

Richard Lee Byers.

February 2014.

THE SENTINEL.

Troy Denning.

April 2014.

THE HERALD.

Ed Greenwood.

April 2014.

About the Author.

While his mind is often in the Forgotten Realms, Paul Kemp's body lives in Grosse Pointe, Michigan, with his wife Jennifer, their twin sons, and their two daughters. He is a graduate of the University of MichiganDearborn and the University of Michigan law school. He enjoys single-malt scotch, good books, and blood-soaked rituals designed to return the world to the Old Ones.

Also by Paul S. Kemp.

Sembia: Gateway to the Realms.

Shadow's Witness.

R. A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen.

Resurrection.

The Erevis Cale Trilogy.

Twilight Falling.

Dawn of Night Midnight's Mask The Twilight War.

Shadowbred Shadowstorm.

Shadowrealm Tales of Egil and Nix Hammer and the Blade.

A Discourse in Steel A Conversation in Blood.

end.