Shar moved her blade menacingly, and the Malaugrym sighed. 'Lady, please! Have I threatened you? Do you look upon every man you meet on a stair, here or in fair Waterdeep or in any inn of the Dalelands, as a foe to be cut down rather than spoken to? This place'-he waved at the mists around-'is, after all, my home. May I not walk its halls freely? I was, in fact, returning to my own chambers, and I'd be happy if you'd accompany me there as honored guests.'
'Guests?' Itharr asked quietly, his voice neutral. The young man smiled pleasantly. 'Guests. Here in the castle, that means you are free to come and go as you please, but are under my protection and not to be mistreated by'-his gaze fell to the still-burning Phenanjar at his feet-'those of us with, ah, careless tempers.' 'Are you adept in magic?' Belkram asked. The Malaugrym smiled. 'Hardly. That has been my undoing, thus far. Yes, I work at magic and can hold my own in most company, but not here in the castle. You three need not fear my spells. They are not suited for smiting enemies low or hurling stones about in battle. Come. Be my guests. Learn what one of the blood of Malaug is truly like.'
He met Sharantyr's hard gaze and shrugged. 'You are suspicious of me, of course. Well, then, accompany me for as long as you like, and we'll part when you choose. Of course, thereafter I cannot speak for your presence and purposes in the castle, and some of my kin will seek to slay you on sight.'
'We shall accompany you, sir,' Sharantyr said with a smile that touched her lips but not her eyes. 'Walk ahead of me, if you will, but my blade will stay in my hand.'
'I would not have it put anywhere else, good lady!' he joked, and stepped smoothly past her, inviting the wary Harpers to fall in beside him with a gesture. 'I am Amdramnar, son of Chasra, by the way. And you are-?'
'Hungry,' Itharr said with a beatific smile. 'And he's'-he indicated Belkram, striding along on the Shadowmaster's other flank-'very hungry.'
The Malaugrym chuckled. 'I… see.' He looked over his shoulder at Sharantyr, who was walking warily just behind him. 'Are they always like this, good lady?'
'No,' she replied calmly, a twinkle deep in her watchful eyes, 'they're on their best behavior just now.'
'Alja! Did you hear?'
'Something about Phenanjar being killed, aye? So who finally got tired of him?'
'Mortals did it, they're saying. Folk from Faerun!'
'What? How did they get into the castle?'
'Talk is it's some plot of Amdramnar's. He's parading around the halls with them now, three of them, and the wench has a blade that burns when it cuts. That's what killed Phenanjar… he couldn't heal.'
'Really? I'll bet there's more than a few kin Amdramnar would like to see her put that sword through. He gathers enemies the way you and I collect good gossip!'
'Aye, that's for-whaaaa?'
A startled, wordless exclamation followed, and then all that could be heard in that lonely hallway was the hissing of burnt flesh and a chuckle as Old Elminster's head passed over two blazing bodies and flew on, deeper into the shadows.
16
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
The Malaugrym led them a long and winding way through the castle, through rooms that swam with shadows and rooms where the air was as clear-and as dank — as any they'd seen in a Faerunian keep. After a time, their route led down and down again, into a many-galleried chamber thick with shadows. As they walked its muffled gloom, Belkram ventured to ask, 'What room is this?'
'Some call it the Well of Shadows,' the Malaugrym told him without hesitation, 'but to most of us-I don't know why-it's Deep-pool. There's no actual pool of water here, just shadows, always as thick as you see. Some elders call this the heart of all Shadowhome.'
The three rangers could well believe it. They moved in close around Amdramnar to ensure they wouldn't get separated. It would be a terrible thing to wander here, lost and alone.
It was an eerie place. Night dark and tinged with purple, the tattered shadows slid past, shaping eyeless faces, prancing unicorns, and trees whose whispering leaves were human hands, all grasping and grabbing.
Sharantyr shuddered, shifted the saddlebag on her shoulder, and hefted the comforting weight of the blade Mystra had given her. Its glow was dull here, and moisture clouded its steely length. More than once she turned it sharply behind her to menace the unseen source of some half-heard sound-a slithering or the thuds of monstrous footfalls-but there was never anything visible through the endlessly boiling mists.
Shadows. Just what were they, anyway?
'Amdramnar,' she said carefully, almost stumbling over the unfamiliar name, 'what are these shadows? You speak of them almost with reverence.'
'Not here,' the Shadowmaster replied quickly. 'We'll talk of this in my chambers. It's no secret that some of my kin believe that only two sorts of beings should know the ways of shadow-those of the blood of Malaug… and the dead.'
An old and ornate stair post of black stone loomed up out of the mists, and beyond it a flight of steps climbed an unseen wall. They ascended, Shar grimacing at the carvings on the post as she passed. It was ringed with chained human maidens, bodies bare and mouths open in endless silent wails of despair. The stair itself seemed to moan as they trod its worn, mist-shrouded steps. From time to time, a step would glow with awakened magical light as they stepped on it. Uneasily the three companions went on, wondering just when their guide's treachery would come, and what fatal form it would take.
'What's that?' Itharr snapped, at a sudden movement on the stair ahead. Beads of light swam out of the shadows like a string of little lanterns, slid across their path, and plunged over the stair rail into the shadows of the Well. They watched the glimmering radiances plunge into the falling darkness where the dreamshadows spun-and then burst, one by one.
'Just shadow at play,' Amdramnar said with a shrug. 'There are a lot of things around here that even our elders can't explain. The shadows are alive, you see.'
Blackstaff Tower, Waterdeep, Kythorn 19
'Alustriel's back chambers first, my tower next. It certainly seems as if the Malaugrym are visiting Chosen.'
Elminster frowned at the Lord Mage of Waterdeep, and they stroked their beards in unison. Laeral stifled a giggle at the sight.
'Aye, so much is obvious,' the Old Mage agreed slowly, 'but why have they sent such young dolts? Zhentarim may test their younglings in order to kill them off, but not everyone is that stupid. Why plan for almost inescapable failure?'
'Perhaps they're not testing the Malaugrym, but something else,' Laeral offered. 'Something they mistrust, so they'll risk only the young-and enthusiastic-to try it. That would square with what befell me.'
Khelben and Elminster turned their heads and lifted an eyebrow each, in perfect unison. Laeral managed not even to smile this time.
'Befell you?' Khelben prompted, which was unusual impatience for him. Beneath that calm gravity, he must be excited.
'I could not see who attacked us, until the wild magic broke over them,' Laeral reminded him gently. 'The spell attack, yes, but it seemed to be born from empty air, not a foe. What I could see of the bedchamber beyond the doorway seemed empty, and the body of the Malaugrym should have blocked all view of the bedchamber from me.'
'A cloaking magic, then,' Elminster said, nodding. They're testing something that hides them from us.'
