by Ed Greenwood
The other woman was as tall and as shapely, but thin, and her hair seemed like spun glass or flowing ice-the tresses of a ghost, that one could see through. She stood still and at peace. Her eyes were of the deepest green, and she wore green silks that did not hide what lay beneath them, yet she brought awe and stillness upon those who looked at her.
She nodded gravely to Elminster and then to the other lady, who smiled back at her. Then the lady in leathers walked on air to where Ramtharage stood frozen. When she moved, it was with the surge of the leaping buck and the casual grace of the prowling panther.
"Do you know me, Ramthar?" The voice was low, even purring. The priest trembled, sighed, and spoke. "N-no, Lady," he husked, and licked dry lips. She stretched forth a long finger and touched him.
Sweat broke out upon his brow in a flood and washed down his cheeks. "I am Mielikki, and I tell you truly, diligent priest, that you err in this. I call upon you to free the men you have thought to sacrifice."
"Uh… ah… I do not worship thee, Lady," the Keeper of the Fastness managed to say, almost gabbling in terror. Then he whimpered at the flash of her eyes, and flung up his hands as if to ward off a blow.
The Lady merely curled her lip and drew back from him, turning her head. "Datha?"
The other apparition nodded and stepped forward. "But you do worship me, Ramtharage Druin… do you not?"
"M-myLady?"
"I am Eldath," she said gently, "and you have done me much honor down the years. Will you deny me now?"
"No! Ah, no, divine Lady…"
"Then do as I bid. Free those men and apologize to them for what you intended. Then go forth in the world and tell all who care that Eldath and Mielikki are friends and sisters, now and forevermore." She looked deep into his eyes and touched him with a finger. "Will you do this?"
Ramtharage shuddered and closed his eyes for an instant, then seemed to see the knife in his hand for the first time. He flung it away in disgust and went to his knees in the air. "Oh, Lady, I will!"
Eldath smiled almost impishly. "Good. That's settled, then." She turned briskly and embraced Mielikki, and they both turned and shook hands with Elminster before Ramtharage's dumbfounded eyes.
"This was well done, mage," Eldath said, and Mielikki reached out and tousled the wizard's long but thinning white hair.
"Thanks," Elminster said dryly, bowing his head to hide his grin. He was still doing that when the air swirled like stars around him, and the sudden hubbub of movement and sound told him that the goddesses had gone, and banished all bindings in the Fastness in their going.
The Old Mage and the Keeper thumped unceremoniously to the ground in unison and looked at each other. Around them shouts and sobs and excited talk rose and swelled.
"Well," Elminster asked wearily. "Do ye believe now?"
"I… I do," Ramthar told him, and there were tears in the priest's eyes. "I came so close… to such a grievous mis-"
"But ye see that, and didn't do the thing," Elminster told him briskly. "Good. About time. Now stop pontificating, free these very patient men"-he grinned up at the three pinioned rangers, who grinned happily back-"and go do something useful." The Old Mage whirled around to point at the pool. "Ye can clean up Eldath's Water, for a start."
"The Fastness, you mean," Ramtharage corrected him, almost happily.
"Lad, 'twas Eldath's Water nigh a century ago, when I first bathed in it," Elminster told him gruffly. As the priest stiffened in dawning indignation, the Old Mage waved a cheery hand and vanished, leaving them all staring at the empty air where he'd been.
"Gods!" the youngest ranger gasped. "He summoned Our Lady-two goddesses, no less-just for us!"
"That, lad," said the grimy, sweat-soaked ranger beside him, "is why all Faerun needs Elminster of Shadowdale. He aids us, great and small, one at a time. All the gods keep him from harm, I say."
The third ranger chuckled. "By some of the things I hear he's pulled, down the years, I don't doubt they do. More'n that-I'll bet you the task keeps them right busy, some nights!"
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
The shadows seemed to drift more slowly at night, sliding with stately grace around the three sleeping Harpers. They lay sprawled on the floating silks and cushions Amdramnar had provided, outflung hands and feet just touching each other for reassurance. By the frowns on their faces and their shifting movements and murmurs, it seemed that such reassurance was very much needed.
Over them all hung the blue blade, humming its quiet, endless song, and the questing shadows parted around it as they came. Otherwise, all was quiet.
Until the wall not far from Itharr's feet melted away with the faintest of sighs to reveal a dark figure beyond.
It stood motionless, watching, for a long, patient time before it stepped into the chamber. Catlike, long tailed, tentacled, and with broad, soundless soft pads for feet, yet it was somehow recognizably Amdramnar.
It did not go far, and eyed the sword warily as it padded forward to stand by Itharr's head. There it halted, looking down.
And then, with infinite slowness, its shape began to shift. The tail and tentacles drew in, reabsorbed by the body, whose catlike bulk grew lighter in hue and less furry before straightening toward an upright stance. With each passing moment it grew more and more like Itharr's sprawled, hairy, comfortably naked form.
Soon all that could be deemed different in the standing, silently shifting figure were eyes that gleamed opaque in the gloom, and those broad pads of feet. And then the figure reached down.
That's just about enough, Sylune thought crisply, as she floated over Sharantyr on silent, unseen watch. Sharply, she brought down a hand that none but she could see, and her spell snapped out.
The Malaugrym recoiled as if he'd been stung, as a wall of black, seeking tentacles suddenly appeared under his ringers, spanning the entire chamber and sealing him off from Itharr and everything beyond.
He stared at the black barrier, shaking his head in disbelief as its eager tentacles probed for him, reaching out seeking tendrils until he batted one away in annoyance- and then, of course, discovered his hand was caught.
Another tentacle came cruising up like a hungry shark, and the Shadowmaster hissed a spell in sudden fear and tore free. Wild-eyed, he stumbled quickly back through the wall and restored it to solidity in panting haste.
Sylune laughed soundlessly as she floated above the three Harpers, and thought again about just how much fun it was to go adventuring.
Ancient, deep shadows shifted out of the way with uncaring slowness, drifting in this hidden place like proud old ghosts. They ignored the black-bladed, gleaming new weapons that hung watchfully among them-weapons waiting to flash to the attack and deal death to an intruder who never came.
In an old and ancient chamber that few knew existed, inside that ring of vigilant death, stood the four beings who'd set the enchanted blades to their silent task. One was a black, glistening globule as large as a house, whose only distinctive features were a pair of green-and-black bat wings large enough to have lifted a dragon. It answered to a terse greeting of, "Bheloris." The second was a swift, many-legged lizard whose bulbous head was a thing of a thousand staring eyes, bulging in as many directions. This grotesque cluster was surrounded by a ring of starfish arms ending in snapping mouths, like the maws of snapping turtles, and was greeted as "Yabrant."
The last two Malaugrym, Milhvar and Kostil, stood in their human shapes and confronted each other with soft menace in politely cultured tones.
"Though the cloak seems technically flawless," Kostil commented, "the inexperience of the test subjects and the protection surrounding the Chosen at the locales selected for forays has not only proved fatal to most of the test subjects, it has brought jeopardy on both the secrete of the cloak and on the security of the Malaugrym themselves "
"Oh?" Milhvar asked coolly. "How so?"
"What if one of these Chosen sets up a killing brew of linked-by-contingencies spells, or e
ven memorizes a goodly array of ready combat spells, and uses those belt buckles to trace us? I don't want spell-bombs raging through the castle twice or thrice a day!"
"Yes," Yabrant rumbled. "This foolishness must end."
Milhvar spread his hands smoothly. "But we are so close to achieving our aim and striking down one of the Chosen, a victory we need right now, as a people, to hold up our heads in confidence as we prepare to choose a new Shadowmaster High!"
"Pretty speech," Bheloris said mildly, shifting smoothly toward human appearance and size. "Are you planning to seek the Shadow Throne?"
Milhvar shook his head. All of the Malaugrym in the room knew he wielded greater influence right now than any Shadowmaster High.
Or had wielded it-until now. The thousand-eyed lizard who was Yabrant pressed on. "No, Milhvar, the blood of Malaug aren't close to grasping any victory of consequence. I have watched much and said little these last few months, and I believe it's you who stand close to achieving some personal goal." His voice changed, thinning to the cold clarity of a stabbing knife. "And just what, your elders gathered here would like to know, would that goal be?"
Milhvar shook his head again. "You are mistaken. My aims lie in perfecting ever-more-powerful shadow magic, and my progress in this is a very slow thing, not something whose achievements are near or within my-or any being's-grasp."
"So you have pretended, these last ten years," Yabrant went on, his body slowly shifting in shape toward a human build and size, "as you've played the role of studious but dangerously capable mage, but I know you to be more than that. Much more than that. What, for instance, befell that priest of Mystra you captured? You slew him, didn't you? To work one of the forbidden magics, no doubt. What is it, Milhvar? Human shape or dragon shape at will? Breeding with baatezu? The ability to control the minds of our young, and to expel the minds of the old from their bodies, leaving the husks for your allies to seize and control?"
Milhvar's face changed subtly, and Yabrant pressed him. "That's it, isn't it? You're trying to take over our family by the bodysnatch method!"
"And that," Bheloris said grimly, "is punishable by death." A barbed strangling wire suddenly appeared in his hands; it flashed as he brought it down…
… around a throat that wasn't there. Milhvar had called on the most precious garment he wore-the real cloak of shadows-and silently faded away.
The three elders looked at each other.
"Right now, he's the true Shadowmaster High," Yabrant said angrily.
"He always was," Kostil replied quietly. "He always was."
The cloak spun him through shadows with swift ease, to a place he had chosen beforehand. It had gone badly, as badly as he'd anticipated… but not as badly as he'd feared and prepared for.
Milhvar stiffened as a chime sounded behind him, and whirled around. Then he smiled slowly. Hanging in the stasis field he'd set to catch intruders was an unlikely looking visitor: the floating, disembodied head of Old Elminster. The head was watching him.
"Ah, yes," he said pleasantly, "I should have expected you, once your young rabble showed up just walking around our castle. You've been watching all along, haven't you? Laughing at us, to boot. Well, that'll end right now."
He whispered a word, and white fires suddenly streamed around the head, beginning nowhere in the air before it and dying away nowhere in the air behind it. Milhvar leaned forward to grin through the silent, cool, rushing flames at the unseeing eyes.
"Yes," he said softly, knowing a certain distant wizard could hear him. "It's a spell loop. I suspect even the great Elminster won't be able to break free for quite some time. And by then," he said archly, knowing what a cliche it was, " 'twill be too late. Much too late."
19
But a Grand Place to Skulk About
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 20
The door chimed discreetly once, and then Amdramnar's gentle voice issued from it. "Are you awake, friends?"
"We are. Please come in," Belkram called merrily. Half-clad, crossed arms shielding herself, Shar stared at him in indignant astonishment. He stuffed her into the top half of her leathers with blinding speed, earning more than one angry growl of promised revenge from her as he merrily laced and snugged, and finished by chucking her briskly under the chin.
"Crude, Belk," Itharr told him, as the door opened. "You're always so crude."
"Ah, but I get the job done," Belkram replied with a smile. "And at the end of the day…"
"It's the crudity I remember," Shar said crisply, taking the blue sword into her hand and waving it meaningfully.
"In hearty spirits, I see," their host said with a smile, as he set down steaming platters of broth flanked by crescent-shaped toasted rolls slathered in butter.
"You've got more hearty spirits in your cellar? All that drinking we did last night was for naught?" Belkram asked almost reproachfully.
Amdramnar gave this sally a delighted grin. "This is fun. I must tell you all, I've really enjoyed hearing jests and clever words with every third breath of the day. It's something… rare in the Castle of Shadows."
"You get tired of it," Sharantyr told him flatly. "Really you do."
The Shadowmaster spread his hands. "Perhaps after years together, I might, but I've had barely more than an evening to enjoy your company so far."
"We'll be happy to stay with you again this night, if you'll have us," Shar said firmly, "but we'd like to see more of this wondrous castle today. May we wander it freely?"
Their host grimaced and then reluctantly nodded. "With care, yes," he said. "Speak to others with deference, I urge you, and tell them you're… my allies, if questioned. Do not mention Elminster or the goddess Mystra, and I strongly advise you to refuse all duels, no matter what the provocation. Nor should you surrender that sword." He nodded at the faintly glowing blade in Sharantyr's hands, and then at the plate before her. "But eat first, and drink deep. Water and food will be scarce as you wander. Meals are taken privately among my kin, never consumed in banquets or at set times. Oh, and worry not, young sirs, about controlling your shape-shifting when you leave my chambers. My magic has taken care of that small problem."
The Harpers exchanged uneasy glances at the news they had been bespelled without their knowledge, but shrugged, and smiled again.
"Who heads your family?" Sharantyr asked casually, chewing strong-seasoned buttered rolls, and being surprised at how marvelous they tasted.
"The Shadowmaster High, who sits on the Shadow Throne," Amdramnar replied calmly, perching himself on the edge of a seat as the three rangers ate. What he'd made was very good, and they told him so. He grinned with pride, and Sharantyr found herself warming to their host. He was just like Belkram and Itharr, at heart.
No, lass, Sylune said quietly, in the depths of her mind. That's what he wants you to think, but that's not what he is. Watch him always.
"What's he like?" Belkram asked. "I mean, how'll he react if someone complains that three humans are wandering around his halls?"
"He'll do nothing," Amdramnar replied, "because he's dead. The Shadow Throne sits empty."
"Empty?"
"Yes, and don't even approach it when you reach the Great Hall. It's guarded, and an attempt to sit on it will bring swift death upon you."
"I'll try to remember that," Belkram said dryly. "Help me, will you Itharr?"
"Great Hall… don't sit on throne," Itharr murmured. "Yes, I think I've got it."
"Good," Belkram said. "Anything else?"
"Don't mind them," Sharantyr said. "They mean no offense by this flippancy. It's just their foolish way."
"Oh, I realized that early on," the Malaugrym told her, "but I must warn you that some of my kin won't understand it so, or will consider the insult all the greater if they do. Friends, be very careful."
Belkram sighed. "Everyone tells me that… aunts, mother, tutors, passing rangers and merchants… even you and you and you. Doesn't anyone want me to have any fun?"
"During yo
ur execution, or after?" Itharr inquired, running a finger around his plate to catch the last of the butter.
Shar sighed. "Just do as Amdramnar says, will you?"
"Heroes never do as they're told," Belkram informed her proudly.
Shar looked at him. "Has it never occurred to you," she asked dryly, "that such stone-headed habits might be why the term 'dead' usually goes in front of the title 'hero'?"
"I thought it was just to make tombstones look grander," the Harper replied.
Itharr sighed heavily. "I'll start work on yours straight away."
Not far away in the castle, a lean and lithe woman embraced a long gray saurian neck. It stretched up from a body as large as twenty of her, but it ended in a tiny head that sported a huge underslung jaw lined with hooked teeth, opening up to well back down the massive neck. The jaw opened now.
"Daughter," the voice came out, as deep and as rough as always, "I must go. Milhvar's schemes run on while we wait and debate and do nothing."
"Be careful, father," Huerbara whispered, so their servitor creatures could not hear. "I don't want to lose you."
"I'm always careful," Ahorga told her gruffly, his stout forelimbs growing long, dexterous claws.
"Be… very careful," his daughter replied gravely, and he turned away quickly as he saw tears glimmering in her eyes. Malaugrym should not weep.
He waved a jaunty farewell with his tail as he plunged into deep shadows, and in so doing failed to see the small, dark shape that peeled itself off the wall outside his door and drifted after him, flitting from thick shadow to thick shadow.
But then, he'd been a Shadowmaster elder for long centuries. He'd probably have done no differently had the shadow spy walked along right under his nose. Fear's cold iron taste was something he'd almost forgotten.