Cloak of Shadows asota-2

by Ed Greenwood

  "Well, nothing is permanent. The shadows are ever changing by nature. But yes, some of us can craft items, tools, furnishings, even weapons from it. Much of this castle is made of shadows, and it changes, most of it, only slowly. Learn to fear shadow here, for those who do not learn may die, killed by creatures out of shadow or by their own foolhardy actions."

  "Some of you use magic, too," Shar said slowly.

  "As with other humans," the shapeshifter said with a smile. "A few of us are mages; most are not."

  "Forgive the manner of my asking," Itharr said quietly, "but you are… human?"

  "Of course. We can take other shapes-as you your selves have found, shadow tugs at everyone who enters Shadowhome-but we are humans underneath the shapes we take."

  "I was wondering about that," Belkram said, looking at his own hands.

  Amdramnar spread his hands. "Here in my chambers, as in most inhabited rooms of the castle, the wild effects of shadow are lessened by enchantments and habit and… the force of our wills. Out in the passages, shadows play, though Malaugrym learn to counter unwanted effects until it becomes a habit. Your shifting marked you as mortal. Only the young of my family care to indulge in uncontrolled shifting as they go about the castle."

  "I see," Belkram said. "Can we learn to control our own bodies?"

  The Shadowmaster's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Perhaps," he said, "perhaps not. Some have come to join our ranks and mastered shadow readily. Others never do."

  "Some have come to join you?" Sharantyr asked. "From Faerun?"

  "From many places," their host replied, raising his glass.

  "Well then, why haven't we heard of you, across the Realms?" Itharr asked, frowning.

  "Realms-wide recognition of us, and knowledge of our natures, is not something we welcome," Amdramnar said, his smile dimming a trifle. "So many folk in your world fear and hate others who have power they do not, or seek to seize such powers for their own purposes. The sorcerers of Thay and Zhentil Keep, in particular, have hunted us. Common folk from the Sea of Swords to the Celestial Sea think we're dopplegangers come to eat them, when our paths cross. We've grown rather tired of always finding swords thrust through our innards."

  "But you do come to the Realms," Belkram said slowly, as if listening to some inner voice, "and take away women. Several sages have told us this."

  Amdramnar raised his eyebrows. "Oh? It's not an amusement I'm personally aware of. Were they sure Malaugrym were taking maidens? This sounds like one of those 'dark dragon' tales old nurses scare young brats with."

  "You need them for breeding," Belkram said inexorably, "because female Malaugrym are barren."

  Their host shrugged. "Forgive me. I must reveal ignorance of this because, as you may have gathered, I am not a woman." He sipped at his wine and added, "I should warn you, however, that from what I do know-and know well-of the temperament of the ladies of my family, this is not a wise topic of conversation when you're in their hearing." He smiled faintly. "Ah, we do have a family tradition of duels-on the spot-to answer what are regarded as insults."

  He set down his glass and added, "It seems you've made a good beginning at getting to know my kin, and I'd like to learn as much, if I may, about yourselves. It's not every day I meet visitors from Faerun upon the stairs."

  Amdramnar leaned forward. "This much I can tell. You are friends, companions-at-arms, and know each other. You are adventurers, or at least more comfortable on forays into the unknown than say, a potter or cowherd might be. There my useful information ends. Tell me more, if you would, such as your names and where you hail from and whatever led you from there to Shadow-home."

  "Belkram is my name," Belkram said calmly, "and that's Itharr. We're both rangers, wandering the Realms getting to know its ways, a common thing for folk in our line of work to do. One travels the wilds of Faerun, looking for the places one is loved and needed." Itharr nodded his agreement but said nothing.

  "And I am Sharantyr," the lady Knight told him. I dwell in Shadowdale, and yes, I am an adventurer. We grew restless and accompanied a friend of ours on a journey as his sword escort. The Realms have become dangerous this last year, and he was headed through Daggerdale, which has been a perilous land for some time, thanks to the Zhentarim."

  "Ah, yes," the Shadowmaster said with a bleak smile, "we've had our own occasions to thank those ambitious wizards of Zhentil Keep." He bent his head to one side, "Through Daggerdale, you say?"

  Sharantyr shrugged. "He didn't… live to tell us his destination."

  Amdramnar's eyebrows lifted. "Oh? Some misfortune befell him?"

  "He was killed," she said flatly, "by some rival mages. A day ago. This morning, wandering open country in Daggerdale, we stumbled through some sort of glowing door and found ourselves here, in your castle."

  "Oh? Where in the castle?"

  They gave him three shrugs. "Somewhere shadowy," Itharr told him, straight-faced. The Shadowmaster almost smiled.

  "I… see," he replied. "And who was your friend? 'Rival mages,' you said. Was he a mage of some reputation?"

  "Oh, yes," Belkram replied quickly. "Quite famous, in the Dalelands at least. His name was… Elminster of Shadowdale."

  Eyebrows rose. "I have heard of him, yes," Amdramnar said mildly, reaching for his glass. "He must have been, oh, several hundreds of years old, at least."

  Itharr nodded. "We believe so." The Shadowmaster fixed bland eyes on him and seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but the burly ranger spread his hands to indicate he had no more to say, and kept silence.

  "Would you judge that the gate that brought you here was of his making?" Amdramnar asked. "Could he have been taking you to it, perhaps?"

  Sharantyr and Belkram spoke together, "No." After exchanging quick glances, Shar went on. "We don't think so. The place where we camped was not in quite the direction we'd been faring, and he'd said nothing of such things to us." She let a note of sadness creep into her voice and added, "He… liked to talk. There were very few things about magic that he didn't warn us about, not just on this venture but always, in all the time I've known him."

  The Shadowmaster frowned. "I'm sorry to hear of his passing," he murmured, "though not all of my kin would share that view, I'm afraid. Some of the elders here in the castle are-were-sworn foes of his. Just what disagreements they had with him were very much before my time, so I've never known just why this… coolness… existed between Elminster and my kin." He stirred. "Nevertheless, Shadowdale-Faerun-has lost a great mage, and that's something all should be saddened by. 'Tis only the advances in magecraft that make life, in whatever small ways, better and better with the passing years. Are things seen this same way in Shadowdale?"

  "They are." Sharantyr agreed. "Though the power of sorcery corrupts far too many men, and far too often, some good always finds its way down to the farmhands and the honest tradesfolk. His death diminishes us all." Amdramnar frowned over his glass, then looked up. "What you say leaves me downcast, but also curious. If Elminster of Shadowdale knew nothing of the gate that brought you here, how came it into being, and when?" He smiled thinly. "It's no secret that we haven't seen any stream of visitors from Daggerdale before you."

  It was Itharr's turn to shrug. "Truly, we went through the gate by accident. We've heard of such things before-fireside tales of wizards fighting wizards are full of them-but we'd never seen one. At first, well, I thought it was some sort of trap to lure us, or even something to do with mating, that a will o' wisp had spun."

  The Shadowmaster chuckled. "Oh, that's something I've never thought of. How do they mate, I wonder?" He set aside his glass again. "Can you find this end of the gate again, to get back home?"

  Sharantyr shook her head. "No," she said simply. "We don't even know for sure if they work in both directions." "Well, some do, and some…," their host replied, tilting his head from side to side in a gesture of resignation. Then he leaned forward again. "Some of my kin certainly know sorcery enough to get you back to Faerun,
though just where you'd emerge is another matter. I must warn you, however, that such powerful spells are regarded as valuable, and the caster will expect payment"-he eyed the sword Sharantyr held-"in the form of a service, if you have nothing more tangible that you're willing to part with." He smiled and leaned back again, waving a dismissive hand. "However, that can be a problem for another day."

  The Shadowmaster spread his hands to indicate the room around them. "Now that you're here, however accidental your journey, what are your plans?"

  "Uh, to get home again safely," Belkram said with a tentative smile. The shapeshifter nodded approvingly.

  "A wise ambition," he said. "I must warn you that, were you to wander freely about the castle, you might well be attacked by those of my kin who fear you're spies for an army of mages from Thay or elsewhere. Or you just might talk too loosely of what you've seen when you get back home, and spur someone more greedy than prudent into trying to take magic from us."

  He held up a gentle hand to indicate he suspected them of no such failings, and added, "Moreover, shadows are strange things, as you've seen. There are some among us whose wits have… shall we say, been changed by their experiences with shadow. They aren't safe to themselves or to the rest of us. For some of these unfortunates, the sight of mortals is a goad that enrages them into attacking in beast shape or hurling the most damaging spells they know, or… similar behavior. You'll readily see why wandering about the castle with no good plan is asking for trouble."

  Amdramnar stood up. "Please don't misunderstand me," he continued, walking slowly to a sideboard, "if I say that it might be safest for you if you remained here in my chambers. In fact, I'd like you to stay here tonight, if you will. I've room enough to spare to afford you private rooms, all three, and your own bathing and cooking facilities. I must confess I find you entertaining, and welcome a chance to talk more with you about life in Faerun and, I suppose, tell you more of things in Shadowhome."

  He turned, a platter in his hands, and smiled. "On the other hand, I know you're curious about the castle-who wouldn't be? — and I'll quite understand if you'd like to explore it. It would be cruelly remiss of me, however, to let you walk out that door without providing you with my protection, or some small magical defense, or something to keep you from another distressing encounter such as the one during which I first met you. And I must stress that not all of my kin would be as easily defeated as Phenanjar."

  "Well," Belkram began, "w-"

  "We'd be happy to stay with you this night," Sharantyr said firmly, giving the Shadowmaster her first real smile in some time, "and talk further. Is there a place we could… ah, refresh ourselves? And is there anything we could do to help with a meal? We don't want to be a hindrance to you in your living, or in your affairs."

  The Shadowmaster waved a dismissive hand. "As to the first, go through that door, though I fear you'll find the facilities somewhat… different. We usually leave wastes behind us through changing shape, you see, and let the shadows take away what we don't want." He smiled broadly and went on. "As to the second, be at ease. We can prepare food together if you'd like, or you can leave things to me, as you prefer. It's no hindrance, and I'm delighted to have you."

  He set down the platter and turned to the door. "Here," he said, "let me show you. You might find that your sword-"

  "Feels best if it stays with me," Sharantyr murmured softly, and he gave her a surprised look.

  "Ah, yes, of course," Amdramnar replied, and opened the door by holding his palm up in front of it. He indicated a dim passage beyond. "You see," he said. "Now, if you'd feel more comfortable venturing down it together, by all means. Your travel arrangements are your own."

  "That won't be necessary," Sharantyr said, whirling about to stare hard into Belkram's eager face. The ranger had already opened his mouth to offer. Staring at her eyeball to eyeball, he shut it again, blinked, gave her a weak smile, and sank back into his seat.

  The Shadowmaster turned quickly back to the platter with what sounded suspiciously like a snort, and announced, "I'll just get the meat and bring it back here. I won't be much time at all."

  And he strode away through the mists, another door opening for him in what had seemed to be a dark and solid wall. Belkram promptly leaned over to Itharr and said in his ear, "If I hear much more of this smooth-as-silk politeness, I may spew! Have you ever heard the like? Not a word wrong. He's worse than a Waterdhavian courtier!"

  "Better than a Waterdhavian courtier, Belk," Sharantyr told him severely, bending over them both. "Better, do you hear me? I'm rather enjoying it, for a change. Heed ye, gentle sirs!"

  "Ye gods, he hasn't got you believing him, has he?"

  "He's probably listening," Shar hissed, shaking her head to indicate "no." She straightened, strode quickly across the room, paused in the doorway their host had shown her, and looked uncertainly back at them. "Itharr!" she hissed, and beckoned. He came.

  "Stand in this doorway," she said, "as if you have to… go, you know… and don't let the door close. I don't want to be trapped on the other side of a stone wall that won't open for me, fighting to the death, while you two sit in here with him swapping 'and then I changed shape and she swooned' stories!"

  Itharr looked hurt. "I don't know any such stories to trade. You'll have to tell me some."

  "Itharr!" she wailed under her breath.

  "Go," he whispered, nodding as he took up his position in the doorway. "And… be quick!"

  "I intend to," they heard her soft voice floating back to them. "I certainly intend to."

  Sharantyr was as good as her word. She arrived back through the door, panting and with the sword pulsing sullenly in her hands, a scant instant before their host returned, his platter piled high with what looked like slabs of pork cooked in a variety of green herbs.

  "Boar?" Belkram asked, sniffing the unfamiliar, faintly lemony scent.

  "Ah, no," Amdramnar replied, looking a little uneasy. "Actually it's… roast shadowslug." He watched them draw back and added, "Er… from an earlier meal, too."

  He took up a fork and speared a piece, saw them all watching, and muttered, "Excuse me," as one of his hands grew into a needle-sharp knife of bone. Sawing off a long strip of meat, he fed it delicately into his mouth, put forth a shockingly long tongue to lap some of the herbed sauce from his chin, and murmured in appreciation.

  "It's very good," he said, "and it's not harmful to you… really. Try a little." He offered it to Itharr, who held up a warding hand wordlessly. Then he offered it to Belkram, who leaned forward with a smile, astonishing his companions, and said, "Yes, I think I'd like to try. It looks wonderful!"

  The Shadowmaster gave him a genuine smile, and Belkram realized something. Taking the proffered small piece, he sat back, turning his head slightly so Amdramnar couldn't see the wink of reassurance he gave Shar, and bit into the shadowslug with gusto.

  The stone that was Sylune vibrated soundlessly, telling him that-so far as she could tell-the meat was safe. He chewed, aware that their host was watching his face almost anxiously. It was good.

  "Did you cook this?" Belkram asked him eagerly. "It's great!"

  Amdramnar beamed, and Belkram knew he'd guessed right. "As a matter of fact," the Malaugrym said proudly, "I did, and-"

  And then the door they'd come in by slid open by itself, and his face changed. Belkram's head swung around, and he suddenly wished he hadn't eaten a piece of shadowslug-or anything else.

  The passage outside was full of Shadowmasters in human form, standing tall and grim and silent, their faces hard. One shouldered into the room and glared around at them all.

  Amdramnar saw Shar's hands tighten on her sword and put out his hand in a quick quelling gesture.

  The newcomer's eyes slid coldly over all of them, lingering for a moment on Sharantyr's sword, and came to rest, as if nailed there, on Amdramnar's face.

  "I had heard," their Malaugrym visitor said coldly, "that you were entertaining humans in your chambers,
but I hadn't thought even you to be quite so foolish. It appears that, sadly, I was wrong."

  "And not for the first time," Amdramnar said coolly, "though this is the first time I've had an uninvited guest cross the threshold of my chambers."

  "I don't like such dangers being harbored-even embraced-in our midst without all of us being informed," the newcomer said tightly, ignoring Amdramnar's words. "Such offal must be"-he raised a hand that slowly became a thick, powerful, sucker-studded tentacle-"destroyed!"

  17

  Hot and Cold Running Receptions

  Somewhere in Faerun, Kythorn 19

  The midmorning sun laid dappled patches of golden light and shadow across the forest trail. Elminster appeared out of empty air behind his favorite boulder. He sniffed, frowned, and looked critically at the nearby evidence that some wolf had been using it as a boundary marker. Ah, well. Life in Faerun was at least never dull.

  He looked to one side, frowned again, and rubbed his nose. Small wonder the wolves had been about. Enough fresh-gnawed bones to make up at least a dozen folk lay strewn down the hillside in the lee of the rocks. Hmm. It had been his experience that feeding hungry wildlife wasn't usually the goal of so many kindhearted folk in one locale, during peacetime. He'd found the spot, right enough, so 'twas time to stow the 'prentice philosophy. To work!

  Stepping out from behind the stone, the Old Mage strolled down to the path, hitching at his robes so that it might look to an observer as if he'd had urgent business in the bushes off the trail.

  Reaching the cart ruts, he stepped up onto the worn grassy strip between them and trudged along. As he'd expected, one of the bushes beside the path ahead trembled slightly.

  "Oh, a wizard may well find time for much fun (for much fun), but an old rogue's work is seldom ever done (ever done)!" Elminster warbled, taking up a tune he'd heard a world away from this one.

  "Aghh! Do ye mind!" A deep voice growled from the bushes. "I was plannin' just to rob thee, but if ye don't'en belt up, I'll be happy to gut ye instead."