'And only us,' Laeral added. 'The 'prentices could see the Malaugrym normally. Poor Ushard may just have been distracted.'
'His attention was permanently elsewhere,' Khelben said darkly.
'It certainly is now,' Elminster agreed, his lips twisting into a mirthless smile. 'Servants and guards readily saw the Malaugrym who got into the palace in Silvery-moon, too. So this cloak is set against us-the Chosen. The 'how' we can wonder about later, and the answer to 'why now' is almost certainly to take advantage of chaos across the Realms, so guards won't be guarding and watchers not watching-'
'And great power walks the land for those who can devise some way of taking it,' Laeral reminded them.
Khelben looked at her. 'I doubt I'm archmage enough to tear divine powers from an avatar, master them, and hold on to them-and most of the Malaugrym aren't half the wizards we are.'
'Ah, but we're not half the arrogant dancing idiots they are,' Elminster told him, a bleak smile growing on his face. 'That's what they'll be after, all right, the ambitious ones. The older, craftier ones will probably settle for sliding into Faerun and taking over a kingdom here and a region there, by slaying kings and envoys and taking their shapes, using this cloak to hide themselves from our prying eyes.'
'They might have picked a quieter time in the Realms,' Khelben said grimly.
'But they did not, love, and 'twas ever thus,' Laeral replied quietly, 'and you know it.'
'Yes,' Khelben growled, getting to his feet. Floating in the air across the chamber, the nearest of his blackstaves moaned in sympathy. He glanced at its pattern of winking lights to be sure that nothing was amiss and then looked down at Elminster. 'If that cloak works,' he growled, 'they'll be able to hide from us with impunity. They'll come after us to slay us, one by one and time after time, until Tymora smiles upon them. We've got to find out just who knows how to raise the cloak, and destroy them and all their work so that no clever Malaugrym or other foe coming along later can craft other cloaks.'
'It's not the best season for touring the Castle of Shadows,' Elminster murmured with the beginnings of a smile on his face, 'but I may already have eyes and ears-if not much else-there.'
Laeral gave him a look. 'I'd not call those Harpers and the lady Knight of yours little more than eyes and ears,' she said reprovingly.
'Nor would I,' Elminster agreed. 'I meant something else.'
Khelben gave him a look of failing patience and asked, 'What, O grand and mysterious one?'
'Well, 'tis often said ye must get a head in this world…' Elminster began innocently. Laeral, who knew what was coming, nudged his ribs with one shapely boot and groaned.
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
'Wine?' Amdramnar held out the slim, fluted bottle, but three heads were shaking firmly.
'No, thank you,' Shar said calmly, her fingers laced about the hilt of her still-drawn sword as she sat with its point grounded on her boot. 'We're not thirsty.'
The Malaugrym half-smiled. 'Inform me when that situation changes, please,' he said smoothly, as a velvet- shrouded seat glided up out of the floor behind him. 'I can assure you that whatever I offer will be safe to consume.'
He poured himself a glass and sat, adding, 'Hard as you may find it to believe, trust is something that can grow between us.'
'Well, then,' Belkram said, a trifle less smoothly, leaning forward in his seat, 'perhaps we can begin by trading information.'
'An excellent idea,' the Malaugrym said, growing another hand. As they watched, fascinated-for it looked identical to his other limbs and to their own-it deftly took his wineglass, leaving his other hands free to gesture. 'Pray state what it is you'd like to know, and what you offer in trade for it.'
'Who and what the Malaugrym are,' Itharr said calmly, 'and what your folk intend to do in the-in Faerun.'
Amdramnar nodded. 'An inquiry bound to touch on sensitive areas before it is done. And for such lore you will give me-?'
'Tongue-fencing is not a sport all of us here favor,' Sharantyr told him bluntly. 'What do you want to know?'
The Shadowmaster raised an eyebrow. 'Oh? You show mastery of it, though. As to my desires, they approximate yours. I want to know who you are, and why you're here. What are your intentions in Shadowhome?'
'Clear and civil enough,' Itharr said. 'Who begins?'
'As host,' Amdramnar said smoothly, 'I feel under some obligation. A little, then, you shall have. My name you know. I am a male of the blood of Malaug, a family who can shapeshift, descended from the sorcerer of that name.'
'Who was this Malaug?'
Amdramnar shrugged. 'I'm not a historian, and we tend to speak the same few admiring phrases about the family founder, without really knowing overmuch. He's been dead a long time.' He sipped wine. 'All I really know is that Malaug was a human mage, the first in Toril to find his way here and master the use of shadow in magic.'
'What is shadow, anyway?'
'It is the formless, ever-changing stuff of this demiplane. Sages-even among our kin-argue a lot about what shadow really is, but most of us consider the matter something like this. Shadow is the mobile, mutable essence of Shadowhome, a fog that is everywhere, as air is everywhere in Faerun. It absorbs energies and traces of whatever it flows past, and uses these energies to move about. Shadow can easily be harnessed-as a power source and as a raw material-to make things, or used to change things or do things. Its unevenly stored energy gives it lighter and darker areas, although it usually looks sort of gray, like sea mist or moon shadows in Faerun.'
'You can make things out of it-solid, permanent things?'
'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.'
