The moment the Shadowmaster stepped back through the door that led to his larder, Belkram stretched and brought his hand down over the stone in his pocket. Sylune, he thought at it, concentrating hard.
Gently! The silent voice in his mind sounded reproachful.
Sorry, he told the Witch of Shadowdale, but we've some urgency. Can we trust the food and drink here? Thanks for reassuring me about the shadowslug, but he's bringing a lot more. How will we know?
I've told Shar to plead a delicate stomach, and Itharr to eat slowly, she replied, so you're it, Harper bold. I'll vibrate or even sting you, like this, if something's dangerous. Belkram nearly jumped out of his seat at the jolt he felt then, and favored her with a silent growl, which earned him a giggle in return. And don't talk when he's out of the room. This lad leaves more spying spells lying around than a castle full of Zhentarim! Her mind voice changed. Whoops-'ware!
Belkram just had time to bring his hand down and look casual before Amdramnar reappeared, several steaming platters balanced in his arms. 'Feast is served, friends,' he said, extending several arms out as if they were expandable poles to set platters down on side tables all over the room. Sharantyr grinned despite herself at the sight.
Itharr looked at the platter beside him and drew back. 'Thanks, Amdramnar,' he said steadily, 'but… what is this? It looks… alive.'
The platter held a bed of rice, and on it some sort of chopped and seared green vegetable rather like peppers. Among those deep green shells were brown, fried things that looked like worms in sauce… squirming worms.
Amdramnar leaned over. 'Worms in sauce,' he explained eagerly. 'Tombworms, they're called. They live in the castle foundations. Taste like roast almonds, only better. You'll love them!'
The look Itharr gave him then almost made Shar choke forth all the wine she'd just sipped, but it was obvious that the Shadowmaster wasn't jesting with them. He genuinely loved good food and wanted to share his enthusiasms with someone. Three someones… even if they were rather wary guests.
If we live through this, Belkram thought silently, I'm going to get you for this, Elminster, I really am!
Sylune laughed lightly in his mind. Do you know how many folk have said that, down the years'?
No, and I care not, Belkram told her sourly. With what I'm planning to do to him, only one of us has to succeed. '… And this,' Amdramnar was saying enthusiastically, waving a platter, 'is a special delicacy. Netherbird brains in shadowdark wine!'
Remember, Belkram reminded her darkly, it takes only one.
Sharantyr shuddered delicately, but when she looked to Belkram, he gave her a very slight reassuring nod. He'd better not be enjoying this, she thought to herself, and gingerly took a spoonful.
It was good, and Shar told herself, for perhaps the hundredth time that night, to relax. Her ribs and shoulders ached with tension, and yet the smiling young Malaugrym that she knew they could not trust was being a charming host, plying them with food and wine, and partaking just as heavily himself as he kept up a smooth and witty flow of conversation, deftly slipping in sly digs when talking to Belkram and Itharr until he had them insulting each other with the easy grace of yore. The seat was comfortable, the room warm, and…suddenly Shar stiffened and sat up once more, slapping a hand to the comforting hard length of Mystra's sword, where she'd propped it against the inside of her right thigh. Had that been a stealthy tug on the blade? She leaned forward to look, but found no tendril or tentacle. When she looked up sharply at Amdramnar, she found herself looking at the Shadowmaster's back, as he pointed out to Itharr a particular scene etched on the wall.
Not Amdramnar, then. What could have jolted her so? Did the Castle of Shadows have… shadow rats? Shar sighed and set down her glass. Stop doing this to yourself, lass, she told herself sternly, hunching forward in her seat and laying a hand on the hilt of her blade.
And then she felt it again, a gentle probing near her ankle. She kicked back sharply and got up, whirling to see what could have touched her, and bumped Amdramnar solidly, thigh to thigh.
Their Malaugrym host looked at her, startled, and Sharantyr had to catch her breath. Gods, but he's beautiful, she thought. And then a tiny voice within her replied: Of course. He can make himself look like whatever you most want. It's how they catch their prey.
'What's wrong, Lady Sharantyr?' Amdramnar asked, real concern in his stormy gray eyes.
They hadn't been that hue before. They'd been blazing red when he fought Olorn. Enough of this! Sharantyr shook herself mentally, wondering if she was falling under some sort of spell, and said firmly, 'I'm sorry. I was startled. The seat… it started… to touch my leg.'
'Wise seat,' Belkram told his plate, and Itharr chuckled.
The Malaugrym shook his head at them. 'Are they always like this?' he asked, mild amusement in his eyes.
Sharantyr nodded serenely. 'Yes,' she said. 'I pay them no mind. They're my swordbrothers.'
The Shadowmaster seemed to freeze for a moment, then said, 'You'll have to explain that to me sometime, after we deal with your seat.' He leaned forward and pushed on the fabric. 'All of this is shadowstuff,' he explained to them, 'and it responds to magic. Some shadows flee strong magic, and others try to merge with it. This seat is of the latter sort. Your blade is powerful magic indeed. May I ask where you got it?'
He straightened, holding her eyes with his own, his deep and somehow hungry gaze locked with hers. So this was it, at last, Sharantyr thought, heart suddenly racing. Belkram and Itharr watched her, their faces expressionless.
And then she thought: He has spoken truth to us since we met. Lied with truth perhaps, but cleaved to truth. Very well. I shall do the same.
'This blade was given to me by the goddess Mystra,' she said. 'I am here under her protection, and she watches what we do even now.'
The Shadowmaster stood as if frozen, and she wanted — suddenly wanted desperately-to see him show just the smallest amount of shock. Or surprise. Anything but that smooth, almost mocking confidence.
His mouth did not fall open, but he did lick his lips and hesitate before choosing his next words, almost whispering, 'And your true mission here, Lady Sharantyr?'
'Is not something I can reveal to you,' Sharantyr told him gently, 'if you would live.' She saw his eyes flicker and added almost pleadingly, 'It is not something that should bring doom upon you, if you behave well toward us.'
Amdramnar bowed then, and they saw his mocking confidence return. 'Then I shall strive to be the perfect host, Lady,' he murmured, bending over her hand.
Smoothly she took her hand from his grasp, pretending not to see the little barbs that were showing just above the skin of his fingers, and smiled at him. 'I have no complaints at all about your behavior,' she told him softly.
'Uh-oh!' Belkram told the ceiling loudly. 'We know what those words mean, don't we, Itharr?'
Itharr nodded. 'We get to sleep in the passage tonight,' he said forlornly. 'I hope it's softer than the last hallway was.'
Sharantyr gave them both murderous looks and tried to keep all hints of the laughter welling up within her off her face. These two Harpers! What a pair! Catching sight of the Shadowmaster's quizzical expression, she lurched a dangerous step closer to open laughter.
And then she saw the first glint of what might have been fear in Amdramnar's eyes, and her heart surged in triumph. They'd just won the respect they might need to stay alive this night.
Of course, it was also the respect that might drive him to betray them on the morrow.
Somewhere in Faerun, Kythorn 19
'Warriors of the Nose Bone obey no coward's orders!' The hobgoblin askarr almost spat the words. 'We run only to hunt down those who flee from us! We do not run-ever-to flee from battle!'
'Then warriors of the Nose Bone are fools,' growled the other hobgoblin, 'and are better off dead fools, leaving the fields of Thar to those more worthy.'
'More worthy?' The askarr followed that last snarled word by swinging his rusty-spiked morningstar with all his strength.
It whistled past its target's shoulder with a rattle of chain and crashed to the stones underfoot as its wielder
