promptly asked: Why should they?
'Oprion Blackstone?' the cold voice said in derisive surprise. 'The priesthood of the Dread Lord flourishes indeed.'
Option scrambled up. How had anyone passed the guards and locks to reach this room? And that voice, He spun around, and his face went as white as polished bone. 'Manshoon!' he gasped, when he could speak. -You're alive!' He stared at the High Lord of Zhentil Keep, looking up and down, and then turned away in confusion, 'I'm- I'm delighted.'
Manshoon's smile was crooked, 'You mean, you're surprised I still have clones left.'
Oprion stuttered for a moment, and then said rather desperately, 'No, no. But when so much time had passed, we-'
'Assumed you were finally rid of me, Have you raised Fzoul yet?'
Oprion's mouth dropped open. 'W-Why?'
'He's thrice the administrator you'll ever he-and a capable schemer, too, if not my equal. The Brotherhood needs him, I hear you've been rather careless with ourah, human resources, since 1 was last here, Sarhthor, Elthaulin, and about two hundred others, as I recall; the list made both long and distressing reading.'
Oprion's hand tensed as he eyed a sideboard and the magical mace that lay upon it, It winked back at him, brimming with power, Mageslayer was its name; Fzoul had told him what it could do, His gaze flickered away from it, and Manshoon smiled.
'Is it to be war between us, then?' Manshoon's voice was soft and level; he might have been asking what color cloak his colleague intended to wear.
Oprion's wintry gaze met his own silently for a long time. and then the priest shook his head with careful slowness. 'No. We work together-as always. It is the best way.'
Manshoon nodded, 'Perhaps, one day, with trust,' he murmured.
Option looked at him sharply, but said nothing.
There was a faint smell of pipesmoke in the air, but neither of them recognized it for what it was.
'Be damned to trotting back an' forth all night!' Mirt growled, coming back into the room with the keg on his shoulder. He staggered as he came; it wasn't a hand-keg, but a barrel almost as large around as he was.
Shandril looked at Tessaril. 'You think we'll drink all that? Lords of Cormyr must be optintists, indeed!' Tessaril looked at her dryly, 'No,' she replied, 'I think Mirt will drink all that-if we want any, wed best pull a tankard each now, before it's gone,' She watched Mirt, wheezing and grunting, set the keg onto a couch, 'Tankards, Old Wolf?' she called.
Mirt gave her what some folk in Faerun call'a dirty took,' and set off toward the door again, He'd got about six steps away from the couch before it collapsed with a groan, settling the keg nearer the floor, but thankfully not dumping it. Tessaril surveyed it and said, 'I've a feeling this is going to be a long night, You'd better put something other than that bearskin on, Shan.'
Shan was nodding as the Lord of Eveningstar looked across the room and added, 'And so should your h-'
Tessaril's words broke off and, frowning, she glanced from one of them to the other.
Shandril and Narm both followed her gaze, then looked down at themselves. Both wore identical bearskin rugs.
'What's the matter, Tess?' Shandril asked quietly.
The Lord of Eveningstar's eyes were troubled, 'Throw those furs off, right now! There should only be one of them!'
Shandril and Narm stared at her for one shocked moment, then Shan saw a gold light glowing in the eyes of the dead bear. She shrieked and tried to throw off the skin. Narm's fur fell lifeless and heavy to the stone floor, but Shandril's felt suddenly wet and glistening, and it slapped at her breast and flank as she snatched at the fur around her, Frantically she flung it away, just as it grew a long, hooked claw-that tore a thin ribbon of flesh from her ribs. Dancing backward, Shandril stared down at the blood, The fur (in the floor in front of her gathered itself, shifting, and scuttled toward her, Shandril had the brief impression of tentacles as she backed away, Her hands flamed.
'No!' Tessaril shouted at her. 'No spellfire in here!' Shandril rushed to her discarded clothes and snatched up the Zhent dagger she'd picked up in the courtyard of the Wyvern-the one that had come so close to taking %arm's life. With a snarl, she turned back to the thing that wasn't a bearskin rug, and drove the blade deep into it. Warm, pink liquid as thick as honey gushed out, and the flesh seemed to quiver under her thrust.
The thing had grown, rising to about the height of a large dog, It was moving away from her, slashing with clawed, humanlike hands at Tessaril, who was angrily backing at it with a belt dagger of her own, The Lord of Eveningstar turned her head then and called, 'Knights!' Her words were still echoing in the room when a door appeared in the ceiling and promptly fell open. Torm and Rathan plunged into the room through it calling, 'A rescue! A rescue!' as they came, 'form hit the floor in a roll, bounced up, and slashed at the moving rug with the slim blade in his hand. Rathan landed hard on the thing with both feet, grunted as it convulsed and threw him off, and staggered back to fetch up hard against the wall. With a flourish he brought a mace out of his belt and swung it down to thump solidly in the middle of the shapeshifting fur, Mirt rolled back in through the door at that moment. 'Ye gods!' he said, looking hurt. 'I leave for a moment an' ye start the fun without me!'
Mirt rolled back in through the door at that moment. 'Ye gods!' he said, looking hurt. 'I leave for a moment an' ye start the fun without me!'
Tossing tankards in all directions, he snatched out his blade and lumbered forward, bellowing, 'My turn, blast ye! Out o' the way, Torm!'
The rug was bleeding freely now under their blows, but rising into a man-high form, Tentacles emerged and coiled and shifted back into the main bulk of the thing; the fur broke into shifting patches that floated atop a rippling, glistening, flesh-colored bulk.
Shandril stared at it in horror, then found Narm at her side, his hands raised to cast a spell if need be.
Tessaril stood beside them, her own hands also raised. 'Kill it swiftly!' she said urgently, eyes on the thing. 'Its magic can overmaster all of us!'
Torm laughed as he leapt over tentacles and repeatedly thrust his blade to the hilt. 'Not so long as Elminster's spell lasts!'
'The Old Mage's spell ended when he was laid low fighting the lich lord!' Tessaril screamed, 'Beware!'
'So that's what's making my amulet burn.' Rathan said, bringing his mace down with renewed vigor.
'Hurry, lads-it won't last much longer!'
'It may surprise ye to learn that I am hurrying!' Mirt puffed as ichor of many colors splashed around him. driven by the force of his blows.
'You must be old,' Torm remarked, as he hacked away a tentacle. that threatened to grip his throat. The rising column in front of him had grown a head now, and its featureless front began to twist and shift- swimming into Delg's face.
'No!' Shandril stared at it. 'Torm-stop! What if-?' 'Shandril,' the face said, in Delg's familiar rumble, turning beseeching eyes to meet her gaze, 'Stop them, lass! They're-'
'Not a chance,' Torm said coldly, running his blade through the open dwarven mouth in front of him, 'Die, Magusta of the Malaugrym!'
Delg's eyes turned to flaming gold, gazed at the knight, and spat feeble jets of flame at hum
Torm leapt back and crashed against the wall of the room-but the eyes were already flickering and fading, Wearing Torm's sword, the shapeshifting bulk sank down, coiling and sliding into a sickening puddle of flesh, Mirt and Rathan backed away from it, sweating, and watched it die.
As the first whiff of its death reek came to them, Torm picked himself up from the floor, rubbed at one elbow gingerly, and said, — 'Gods above! What a knight has to do to get a drink around here! Throw us a tankard, will you, Shan? Be useful for once.'
Shandril glared at him, opened her mouth to make a sharp reply… and then closed it again, smiled grimly, and went to get him a tankard, After today, she could wait to take her revenges…
Much later that night, when they were alone at last, Narm pushed their bed over to where they could look out the newly repaired magical window, and see the everchanging scenes of Faerun that appeared beyond.
They lay in bed together and saw stars falling over the dark, dead ruins of an empty city; wolves howling on
