were gone!
And Storm, standing in her kitchen clad only in boots, armed against the world with an iron bar half as long as herself, felt a swift icy finger run down her spine. She whispered, 'No, Sister. I don't know what's befallen him. Do you think-?'
Start looking and asking, her sister told her crisply, every inch the Queen of Aglarond, but without raising rumors about his death or disappearance. That, as before, we dare not do. The voice paused, and then resumed with an amused mindtone. Making folk think everything's fine and you're just casually asking if they've seem Elminster about will no doubt work better if you put some clothes on. I know all you folk are weird up there in Shadowdale, but…
Storm faced west and made a certain gesture with the pry bar that looked almost as impossible as it seemed painful.
Gods above, her distant sister replied, you've seen him do that? Perhaps I shouldn't be worried after all!
'Nethreen,' Storm said, managing to keep her voice steady, 'leave me be for now. Unobtrusively searching all of Toril for Elminster isn't going to be swiftly done.'
It may be unnecessary, the Simbul said hopefully. He may just be off gallivanting in disguise, or hidden in the heart of wild magic somewhere…
'Yes,' Storm replied, putting as much hearty reassurance into that word as she could. But as she hung the pry bar back on its hook and sought the stairs to her wardrobe, her heart was dark and heavy, and foreboding ran lightly beside her. She had a feeling it would be at her elbow for a long time to come.
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 20
'This must be the Red Chamber,' Belkram announced unnecessarily as he strode into the room in front of them.
Sharantyr stayed where she was, gazing around in amazed wonder at a high-ceilinged room as large as the feasting halls of most proud palaces of Faerun. Every surface-walls, floor, and ceiling-was entirely covered in what looked like red plush velvet. She'd never seen a room decorated in such poor taste, but it looked grand and impressive when done so completely and on such a large scale. 'Gods,' she murmured, 'it looks like the inside of some gigantic beast's stomach.'
Belkram spun around. 'Do you mind?' he complained, waving his arms. 'After I step well into it, d'you have to say something like that?'
The lady Knight sighed. 'Belt up,' she said calmly, 'and put that sword away. You might hit someone with it.'
'Well, that is the general idea,' he agreed, 'but-'
'Belkram,' she said in silken warning. 'Now.'
'Well, as you state your view so eloquently and persuasively,' the handsome Harper said innocently, returning his blade to its scabbard with a gentle flourish, 'perhaps there is something in what you say.'
Sharantyr turned dangerous eyes to her other companion. 'Well,' she asked mildly, 'do you have something inane and clever to unburden yourself of at this time? If so, may we hear it and get it out of the way?'
Itharr dropped his eyes from surveying distant corners of the ceiling and said briefly, 'A fascinating room, decorated in-Early Bordello, do you think, Belk?'
'I frequent bordellos only when the hour is late,' his friend replied smoothly, 'but-'
'How do you put up with them, gracious lady?'
They all whirled around. The speaker was a tall man with an elegant moustache and rich robes, who seemed to be melting and flowing out of the wall. Sharantyr eyed that movement of matter with a frown, then raised her eyes to meet his own dark and solemn gaze.
'I manage,' she said, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. 'And you, sir, are-?'
'Charmed to make your acquaintance,' the Malaugrym replied, dropping into a smooth bow. As he straightened up, his mouth crooked and he said in a stage whisper to Itharr, 'You see? That's how to do it.' He waved a dismissive hand at Itharr's leveled sword and added, 'And it's Late Bordello, definitely.'
'I bow to your superior experience in these matters,' Itharr said urbanely, and did so.
The sword in Sharantyr's hands hummed then, and all eyes went to it. She waited until the Shadowmaster's gaze went sideways to her own, and said, 'I am Sharantyr of Shadowdale, Knight of Myth Drannor. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?'
'Bheloris,' the shapeshifter replied, 'of this castle. One of the elders of my kin.' A half-smile of sadness rose onto his face as the blue blade lifted to menace him. 'I am not,' he added mildly, 'disposed to offer you violence… now or at any other time.' He eyed the two Harpers, who were watching him tensely with hands on weapons, and added, 'That is not a view shared, I'm afraid, by many of the blood of Malaug.' He strode forward, gesturing to indicate his intended passage through them. 'May I?'
The three rangers parted to let him pass, and Bheloris walked calmly past them, into the soft red heart of the chamber. 'I should warn you,' he added, 'that such fangs as you carry will avail you little against the magic most of us could hurl your way here in the castle. Smooth words and an air of gentle menace will carry you farther.'
'Why are y- Are you curious about us, too?' Shar asked him, one eyebrow lifted.
'Of course,' the Shadowmaster replied. 'So, if you will, I'll accompany you about our halls. Amdramnar must be crazed-or more cruel than I thought-not to have escorted you himself.'
'I don't know if I want an escort,' Sharantyr said carefully.
'You do,' Bheloris told her gravely, 'or you will, if you think about it calmly for a moment. Could you handle an attack from an archmage who struck from the other end of this chamber? A being who could melt away into the walls whenever you tried to strike back?'
Shar shrugged.
'So I thought,' the Shadowmaster said mildly. 'You'd be carrion in short order.' He spread his hands. 'Go where you please. No place is forbidden except the seat of the Shadow Throne itself.'
Shar had a sudden vision of herself hacking at a grand black throne with her blade, a throne that twisted and tried to wriggle away from her blows as she struck showers of sparks from it. Then it was exploding, and she was being hurled helplessly away, whirled to her death against hard, hard walls and pillars…
'I'd like to see that throne,' she said firmly, lifting her head.
'Soon enough,' the Shadowmaster replied. His eyes were on Belkram, who was strolling toward him, looking around. Tall-backed chairs were drawn up around a circular table at the heart of the room, as if for solemn conclaves, all dark wood and gleaming, mirror-smooth polish. 'What do you think of this room?' he asked the Harper.
'I don't think I should be impressed,' Belkram answered him honestly, 'but I am. It's so… overblown.'
'Your first key to understanding us,' Bheloris answered him lightly. Sharantyr's eyes narrowed.
'Do you know why we're here?' she challenged him quietly.
The Malaugrym spread his hands to indicate bewilderment. 'You've come a long way, into much danger. Not the act of most idle tourists, nor the achievement of most lost wayfarers. So you must have come for a good purpose, and I'd prefer that whomever you're reporting to have a clear picture of the power you're dealing with, here in Shadowhome. It might steady judgments and save much bloodshed.'
'Consider this in turn,' Sharantyr replied. 'You may be mistaken as to our presumed status as scouts for some invading force.'
Bheloris bowed. 'I hope I am, Lady of Shadowdale. I merely seek to anticipate the worst and deny it any chance at becoming reality.'
Sharantyr stood very still. She'd not told this mild-voiced Malaugrym her Shadowdale title. He knew far more about her-about them all-than he should.
Sylune? Sharantyr asked in her mind, but if the Witch of Shadowdale was still resident in her head, she gave no sign.
'Of course,' she replied, striding forward to stand beside Belkram. Behind her, she could see that Itharr had noted the little circle she'd made with her sword tip, and was closing ranks too.
The Shadowmaster smiled. 'I don't wish to sound menacing,' he remarked, 'but standing close together is very poor tactics against anyone wielding magic. One spell can so easily harm all.'
He shrugged and turned to face the table, calmly turning his back on them. 'But enough talk of battle and
