He glanced out the nearest window and, for a moment, watched the runoff sluice down the gutter and past the window in a torrent. They'd been cutoff in this Outback bar by the flooding for hours already, and, judging by the amount of water cascading over the tin roof, they still had hours before the rain let up. Might as well make the best of it, right?

"Yeah, that was a pretty good story," he said, turning to look at the others grouped loosely around the table, their faces half hidden in shadow with the rest illuminated by the dancing light of a half dozen candles.

"But if you want to talk coincidences, let me tell you a story about a paladin knight that found himself sharing a fire in a storm with his greatest enemy. It goes a bit like this:"

In Lights Shadow by @bloodsword

Paxon Grey, knighted paladin champion of the Light demigoddess, the Veiled Lady, and Lord Captain of Her Order Militant, the Knights of the Veiled Path, felt a brow lift when the first fat drop of rain plonked onto his helmet. It was swiftly followed by another and another, until he was being liberally pelted. Frowning, he looked up at the swirling storm clouds, churning as they crested the mountains that reached into the sky on his right.

The storm had paced him for three days, always threatening but never following through. Only when he was back down in the flats did it finally decide to unleash its fury on him. Was it coincidence that the storm was breaking now that he was leagues from cover? 'Coincidence?' he sourly thought as he pulled the hood of his cloak over his helmet. 'Hardly!'

There was a dark presence guiding that storm. He could feel it every time he glanced at the steel grey and charcoal painted clouds. Something fel and menacing was watching him as he traveled.

The veteran paladin wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time he had garnered the attention of darker powers, nor would it be the last. Not if his patron, the Veiled Lady, had anything to say about it. A fervent opponent of the Shadow and its followers, she took every opportunity available to thwart their designs before they could come to fruition. And that kind of effort had earned the Shadow's watchful eye landing on her paladin knights as they moved about the known world, doing her bidding.

Paxon's current quest was yet another attempt to do that bidding. He was to strike deep into the northern mountains to take possession of an ancient artifact stolen from the Vault of Light. The Vault was a repository for items of great power left over from the legendary Shift War, fought between demigods of Light and Shadow.

In typical demigoddess fashion, Her Holiness wouldn't say what the item was. Only that he needed to recover it. And he was to do so without a phalanx of knights of the Order riding behind him.

A trickle of icy water down past his sodden collar was enough to return Paxon's attention to his current dilemma.

"We need to find somewhere to ride out this storm, Troika," he said, leaning over to pat his horse on the neck. "Got any ideas?"

The big charger immediately pulled to a halt, forcing Paxon to pull his cloak tight with a gauntleted hand to keep the deluge from sluicing forward over his shoulders and down his front. Then she was moving to the right and off the road towards a jumble of stone twenty paces away.

As it usually was, the charger's instincts were spot on: in the jumble's lee there was a jagged overhang that offered some shelter from the storm's fury. As they approached, he took quick measure of it. Good, it was big enough for both he and Troika to take cover in. It was also an opportunity to be thankful that his patron had sent him alone; the space was enough for them, but not an entire company.

Letting his mount work her way closer for a moment, Paxon scouted out their surroundings as best he could through the pouring rain, looking for any signs that the rain hid any sort of menace. The last thing he wanted to do was put them in the middle of something nasty, if he could help it.

Then the rain was lessened by Troika stepping into the lee. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Paxon dropped his gauntleted hand from the hilt of his sword and swung out of the saddle. As soon as his metal-shod boots hit the ground, he was turning to remove his equipment and Troika's saddle. Nothing like a soggy saddle on a wet horse to annoy a mount to no end.

Moving further under the overhang, Paxon expertly spread out his things to dry then fished out his flint and some tinder he kept dry in a sealed pack.

"Stay put," he directed his horse quite unnecessarily as he climbed back to his feet. "I'll find us some wood for a fire." With that, he strode back out into the steadily strengthening downpour.

It took longer than Paxon wanted to find enough wood to last through the night. By the time he was ready to return to their makeshift shelter, his cloak was soaked through, and his clothing under that. That meant his armor was now wet and he'd have to break out the oil and grease in the hopes of staving off the rust.

With a double armful of weathered wood, he carefully made his way back through the downpour. He was nearly there when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye that sent a thrill of alarm racing up his spine.

Tossing the wood to the side, he spun towards it, drawing his sword as he did.

"Hark, stay your place," he growled at the shape barely seen through the sluicing grey. "Or I'll cut you down where you stand!"

"I believe you," the shape responded in a low, cultured voice, "Lord Captain."

Paxon's grip on his sword tightened at hearing his title spoken by a stranger. No one from his Order knew he was out here, or any allied force. Which left only, ...

"Come to kill me in this foul rain, agent of the Shadow?" he hissed as he limbered up his sword arm. "You'll not find me easy to fight."

"Yes, I am an agent of the Shadow," the shape unashamedly admitted. "But I'm not here to kill you, Lord Captain." It held up empty hands to show that it wasn't prepared to fight. "I'm just looking for shelter."

"Looking for shelter?" Paxon snorted. "You just happened to be on this road, in this storm, and close enough to seek shelter in the lee of this particular jumble of rock at this precise moment in time?"

"Indeed," the shape replied and Paxon could hear the smile in its voice. "Quite the coincidence, wouldn't you agree?"

"I wouldn't, actually," Paxon bite out, preparing to charge. If this assassin wasn't going to attack, then he would.

~~~

Again, before Paxon could start swinging, the shape spoke.

"So this is the measure of those that profess to stand in the Light," it hissed tautly. "To attack an unarmed stranger who has shown neither threat nor fel intent." It folded its arms in a gesture of passivity. "I am disappointed, yet not surprised. It's the kind of behavior I would've expected from the Butcher of Mendenar."

Paxon's sword tip dropped at the name, a wave of dark memory and regret washing through him.

"So you know of that battle," he said heavily. "Then you would also know that I did only what I was commanded to do by my patron."

"Oh?" the shape replied. "Somehow I very much doubt the Veiled Lady would command you to march into an undefended town and kill every man, woman and child there."

"They knelt to the Shadow," Paxon snapped, a flare of anger rushing through him to push aside the dark memories. How dare this agent of the Shadow accuse him of anything! "I shed no innocent blood."

"They were all innocent, Lord Captain," the figure immediately retorted. "None of them spoke the words that bind, none made the vow. The Shadow held no sway there."

Paxon frowned, momentarily confused. This stranger spoke of the battle as if it were there, as if it had gone into Mendenar and beheld the aftermath. But there was only one enemy force that had done so, that fateful day.

"You march with the Fist of Agurak," he hissed, his realization making his sword come back up.

The figure laughed, a low, mirthless thing.

"I command the Fist of Agurak," it said, sending a chill down Paxon's spine.

"Caryk Shadowsong!" Paxon breathed in disbelief. "Agurak's anointed Hand of Retribution."

The shape stepped into view to reveal itself as a lean drow male wrapped in dark leather, his sodden leather cloak held close against the rain. Catching Paxon's eyes, he respectfully inclined his head.

"Lord Captain," he said. "Yes, I am my lord Agurak's Hand. And, while I know the Veiled Path and the Fist have faced each other in battle many times, harken to me when I swear that I am not here for you. Our meeting in this place is truly just a coincidence. And, if you do know me, you would know that I don't lie."

Paxon's eyes narrowed. It was indeed one of the greatest known contradictions amongst the Shadow commanders: Caryk Shadowsong did not lie.

"Very well," he finally said, slamming his sword back into its scabbard. "While I'll likely regret sparing your life, I will do so. If only to prove to you that I do have the Light's mercy in my heart."

"At long last he sees reason," Caryk deadpanned. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get a bit of this weather off my head before I catch my death from this damp chill!"

It was a couple hours later and under the overhang that found Paxon yet again thoughtfully gazing across their small fire at was the Veiled Path's greatest enemy as Caryk worked on oiling his scale mail tunic.

He, of course, looked nothing like the monster they had thought he was, being a devout follower of one of the most feared and hated of the Shadow demigods, Agurak the Beast. Instead he was a handsome fellow, as dark Elves often were, intelligent and well spoken. And, if the whispered rumors were true, not only did he not lie, but he was a man of honor and integrity as well.

"Perhaps you should consider sleeping instead of staring," Caryk said without looking up from his work. "If your journey is anything like mine, you have many leagues yet to travel."

Paxon's eyes narrowed. So the Hand had a long way to go as well; was this more coincidence?

Then he was dismissing the thought and looking out at the driving rain, which had continued unabated. Catching some sleep at this point was the smartest move. Now, if he could only trust that, ...

"No, I won't slit your throat while you sleep," Caryk said, addressing his unspoken fear at precisely when he thought it. Coincidence again? "You have my word."

"Very well," Paxon reluctantly conceded. "Wake me in four hours." With that, he rolled over in his cloak and tried to find comfort on the uneven ground.

Caryk was as good as his word. Not only did Paxon remain hale and whole in his sleep, the Hand was relatively good natured when he woke him for his turn on watch four hours later. It was a peace that lasted till morning and the storm's breaking.

Caryk was kneeling beside the fire, praying when Paxon awoke in the watery morning light. It immediately struck him as odd that a creature of Shadow would actually pray as a normal man would. But he kept his tongue locked away and said nothing, choosing to get up and make his own preparations to start the day.

If Caryk noticed that Paxon didn't pray even though he was a holy knight, or make any gesture of piousness, he didn't say. He only finished praying himself then smoothly returned to his feet.

"At least that cursed rain stopped," Caryk noted almost casually as he brushed off his breeches. "It'll be nice to be dry in the saddle."

"I thought you afoot, Caryk," Paxon said as he threw Troika's saddle blanket over his charger's back after giving her a quick brush down.

"Not at all," Agurak's Hand replied before whistling softly. "Mine just doesn't mind rain."

It came padding silently out of the gloom: a massive fel saber cat nearly as tall as Troika at the shoulder, its body half covered in black scales, and half in spiky grey fur. It butted its huge head into Caryk's chest in greeting, a low rumbling in its throat.

A well-trained war charger, Troika had faced fel sabers in battle and didn't shy away from the big cat. But that didn't mean she wouldn't turn her head enough to keep an eye on it as Caryk affectionately ruffled its fur.

Then Paxon was climbing into his saddle.

"It feels strange telling my greatest enemy this, but journey well, Caryk," he said.

Inclining his head once more as a ghost of a smile touched his lips, the drow replied:

"And you, Paxon."

Nodding in thanks, Paxon turned his mount and headed for the road.

~~~

Putting his strange night spent sharing a fire with his greatest enemy behind him, Paxon pressed hard to the south. According to the vision his patron had granted him, the thief had fled into a cursed forest at the base of the southern spur of the mountains to the right of the road. While cursed forests and bogs were fairly common, with the Shadow running amok over much of the world, there was only one on this continent. And he was heading right at it.

Three more days of hard travel and Paxon crested a low ridge to find himself looking at the dark, forbidding edge of the Charwood, 200,000 acres of Shadow-tainted forest. Pulling Troika to a halt, he gazed at the narrow, tightly packed trees.

"Well, what we're looking for is in there, somewhere," he said out loud, reaching out to pat his mount on the neck. "Let's hope there's a trail, or that'll be a hard slog to cut through."

Troika snorted then began walking off the road.

"You see something that I don't, girl?" Paxon muttered as he let his horse pick her way through the brush lining the road and onto the grassy slope leading down into the forest. There they found an old road winding its way down the slope, its meandering track nearly lost in the long grass.

"Nicely done, old friend," the veteran paladin said with a smile. He had, indeed, failed to see the road, hidden as it was.

From their new vantage point, he could see the old road led right into the forest. Hopefully it pressed deep into the dark arbor where, according to his patron's vision, the thief hid with its ill-gotten goods from the Vault.

Knowing an ambush could greet him the forest's edge, Paxon paused for a moment to study the approach. Then after loosening his sword in its scabbard, settling his helmet on his head, and slinging his heavy shield over his off arm, he urged Troika back into motion.

It took a moment or two to traverse the slope, the road making the descent easy. Then they were at the edge. In one moment they were walking in the sunshine, and in the next they had been swallowed by shadows, dank and ominous as they folded around them. Grim as the forest's corruption began pressing against his senses, Paxon guided Troika past the brambles marking the edge and deeper into the forest itself.

There! The road indeed continued through the close standing trees, a narrow but passable corridor winding between the dark trunks.

"Steady, girl," he quietly said, using his shield hand to handle the reins in order to keep his sword hand free. "Just keep to the path, ..."

The attack came without warning, a maelstrom of violence and darkness that boiled out of the trees to knock Paxon out of the saddle. Hitting the ground hard enough to see stars, he tried clawing out his sword. But the maelstrom's power was too great; it quickly settled on top of him to pin him down and drive the remaining air from his lungs.

He had just enough time to see the maelstrom drive a wildly kicking Troika to the ground. Then everything went black.

Paxon swam in that darkness for what felt like an eternity. Then, just as abruptly as he was attacked, he was jerked back awake.

"Paxon Grey," a low voice hissed, filled with malevolent hate. "You've come a long way just to die."

As his senses cleared, Paxon felt the rough ropes binding him hand and foot.

"You've stolen an artifact from the Vault of Light, villain," he pushed aside his dismay to growl. "Give it to me or, ..."

The darkness in front of him, what he had thought was mere shadow, shifted with a life of its own.

"Or what, paladin?" it snarled. "I don't see a legion of knights at your back, and you now languish in bondage. Your patron has betrayed you by sending you alone. You will die here."

That tightened the veteran paladin's expression.

"Will I, monster?" he countered. "Then why am I bound instead of already bleeding out my life?"

"Because Maug knows you are not alone!" a familiar voice declared from close by.

Eyes wide, Paxon twisted towards the voice.

"Caryk?? What are you doing here?" he demanded to know as the dark elf padded into view on the back of his fel saber cat.

"Lord Captain," Caryk greeted him with a smile and a nod. "Remember how I said I had not come for you?"

"Aye, I remember."

Caryk's smile broadened slightly before he pointed at the seething darkness that he had named 'Maug'.

"That is what I have come for."

"Lord Agurak's Hand," the darkness stammered, the voice abruptly filled with fear. "I, I was going to give him the artifact as a gift, proof of my loyalty!"

Ignoring the stammering darkness, Caryk climbed off his mount to walk towards Paxon. As he did, he continued to explain.

"My mission is to punish Maug for its betrayal of my patron. It was Maug's intent to use the artifact it stole from the Vault to seize power from its master, Agurak the Beast." He reached down with a curved dagger to slice through the rough rope holding Paxon captive.

Rubbing circulation back into his wrists, the paladin looked up at the grim Hand.

"It's my mission to retrieve that artifact," he said with a thoughtful frown. Then he was taking Caryk's offered hand to let the drow pull him back to his feet. "So it was coincidence that put us to our separate but alike missions at the same time, and in the same place."

"Indeed," the drow agreed. "Lucky for you, Lord Captain, that it did. Else I wouldn't be here to cut these ropes."

"Please, Lord Hand, have mercy, ..." Maug pleaded. Only to howl in pain as Caryk stabbed out a hand to send a bolt of red lightning lashing into the center of the darkness.

Holding the lightning in place, the drow turned back to the thoughtful human.

"You'll find your artifact nearby, Paxon, compliments of my master."

Nodding, Paxon bowed.

"You and your master have the thanks of my mistress for your assistance," he said somewhat formally, to which Caryk inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"The patrons haven't always fought each other," he said with a wry smile. "However, there's a good chance when next we meet, we will be enemies once again."

Paxon nodded, a smile touching his own lips.

"More than likely, Caryk. Journey well."

"Journey well, Paxon." Then the drow turned to send a second fork of red lightning into the seething darkness and the howling grew louder.

He could still hear the howling as he rode Troika out of the forest, the artifact in a saddle bag. It didn't disturb him, however. If anything, it reminded him of just how strange his encounter with Caryk Shadowsong had been. Not the least of which was having his greatest enemy showing him more honor and nobility than any knight he had known in his decades of service. Truly, even in the darkest shadow, there was still light.