fell forward, the blood-drenched point of a broadsword protruding from his back.
'Aye,' its wielder said, snatching a replacement blade from the fallen askarr's scabbard. 'More worthy, I said. Are yuh deaf, too?' He laughed harshly, made a rude gesture with his new sword-and with the long, dirty knife in his other hand-at the ranks of the Nose Bone, and trotted away.
And with a ragged roar, the hobgoblins of the Nose Bone turned from the cowering warriors of the Thentian caravan they'd attacked, and charged after the running hobgoblin who'd slain their leader.
The battlegar of the Splintered Sword, he was, and if they had their way, he'd soon be shattered bones on a cookfire, with all his band on side platters!
In moments, the crest of the hill was a shrieking, hacking mass of dying hobgoblins. One of them, who'd come up that hill running, just kept on going, flinging his captured Nose Bone blade away… and then his knife… and then his helm.
He seemed to dwindle as he ran, and by the time he reached the nearest tree, a trail of greaves and bracers and armor plate marked his route, and he stood almost naked, his unlovely hide dark with dirt. Then he grinned at the sky, scratched at his ribs, and became Elminster again for a moment before he shrank into a crow once more and leapt into the sky. He circled over the hilltop, cawing loudly to give any surviving hobgoblins an ill omen, and watched the Thentians hastily hitching up their beasts again and trying to move off in frantic, almost comical haste. Another caravan saved, another scrap of order salvaged from all this chaos.
Ao was going to owe him a lot, Elminster decided, before this Time of Troubles was through.
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
'The time has come, Milhvar, for some explanations,' Ahorga said coldly, and the row of candles in the Great Hall of the Throne flickered as if in agreement.
Milhvar smiled that slow smile of his and spread his hands. 'The cloak of spells was a project ordered by Dhalgrave before his unfortunate passing. Obedience to the will of the Shadowmaster High is the cornerstone of order among those of the blood of Malaug, something recognized by all of the diligent participants in this work, not merely myself. Many of us labored long and hard to weave a web of enchantments that would shield users fully against the perceptions-and the launched magic-of any of Mystra's Chosen. Only with such a shield can we hope to bring doom to Elminster.'
'Yes, yes,' Ahorga growled, rising against the candlelit shadows like an angry giant. 'We've heard this self- serving 'I am loyal' speech before! I'm-'
'Going to hear it again,' Milhvar said, his voice suddenly steely. 'Come, Shadowmaster Ahorga. That is the least you can do to honor the memory of your daughter Huerbara, who sacrificed her life testing this cloak. She fell in battle nobly, striving against the might of the defenders of Silverymoon. Let her sacrifice not be in vain.'
'Strutting mage,' Ahorga snarled, advancing menacingly, 'I've heard enough! For the loss of her life, yours is forfeit!' He flung four Malaugrym out of the way as if they were dolls and mounted the steps to where Milhvar stood. 'She was worth ten of you!' he roared in anguish, in a voice that shook that vast chamber. 'She was the hope for the future of us all! I'll scream her name from every battlement of this castle as I break the bodies of those who wrought this wretched cloak, and every one of them shall die!'
Milhvar nodded to the cowled figure beside him. It stayed motionless for a long moment, as a trembling Ahorga hurled kin after kin out of the way, ascending the guarded steps of the stair, until Milhvar began to fear that a trick was being played on him, and that Ahorga was going to reach him after all while cool eyes watched slaughter through that cowl.
And then the robe fell away, and Huerbara stood revealed, nude in the candlelight so that her father could see the true, twisted form of her birthing and know her for his own. 'Father!' she cried, delighted at his vow of revenge and his judgment of her worth. 'Father!'
'Huerbara!' the giant Shadowmaster cried in a disbelieving shout of wonder that shook most of the castle. A gigantic tentacle swept her from her feet to his breast, under his searching gaze, and then he cried exultantly, 'Yes! My daughter lives!'
Milhvar stood watching with a small smile on his face until a tentacle slithered out of the affectionate embrace of father and daughter, grew a small fanged mouth, and said to him in a soft, menacing rumble, 'The cruelty of your tricks impresses even me, Milhvar. Watch your back hereafter, and spend no more Malaugrym lives on this fool's game of hunting down Elminster. Every one of us who dies is someone's son or daughter. You would trade all these lives for that of one old human wizard?
We should all be glad the House of Malaug is not a fruit stall, and you the vendor! How long would the stall survive?'
Milhvar stood very still as the tentacle withdrew, staring after it thoughtfully, and said nothing. When Huerbara looked back at where her mentor had stood with her atop the steps, exulting in the sure knowledge that her father loved her, Milhvar had faded away.
18
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
Shadows swirled around them, blue-green and laced with white, and even Belkram had to admit the spherical room was beautiful.
'I worked on this for years,' Amdramnar said proudly, 'after I-' Abruptly he fell silent, and his three guests looked at him curiously. Under their gazes, he continued with some embarrassment, 'after I saw a similar room in a satrap's pleasure palace in Calimport. Ah, through my scrying stone, of course.'
Belkram hooted. 'In use, was it?'
The Shadowmaster nodded, the ghost of a smile on his face. 'I've not yet found sixteen willing and tattooed ladies to share it with me-with little gold rings and bells set into their skin all over-as the satrap enjoyed, but…'
'Someday,' Itharr agreed.
'You're working on it,' Belkram offered.
The Malaugrym shook his head slightly and smiled in spite of himself. 'I see what you mean,' he said to Shar, who smiled ruefully in response.
'They're handy for soaping your back, though,' she offered. Amdramnar shrugged. 'A man with tentacles has no need…' he said almost sadly, and then added, 'I always like to have music when I bathe, and wine. Will you join me?'
'Join you? Ah, in the water?' Itharr asked.
'No, on the ceiling!.. In the water, yes,' the Shadow-master said with mock severity. Looking straight into Itharr's eyes, he added quietly, 'If you're fearing I'll grow tentacles like an octopus and pull all of you under to drown, fear no more. You are my guests and, I hope, my friends.'
'Of course,' the Harper answered hastily. Why does this shapeshifter go on with all this? Belkram wondered. He'd forgotten that Sylune was with him, riding his thoughts, until she replied, He plays a deeper game, with patience. Some men do, you know. His derisive reply had no words to it. Sharantyr appeared to have come to a decision. 'Is the water ready?' she asked. The Shadowmaster nodded, and waved a hand. 'Warmer at this end, colder over there, and the floating pods hold soaps. Smell them until you find a favorite. I'll set out trays with some wines.'
'Then let us begin,' Sharantyr said, and held her sword up horizontally over her head. She whispered a word to it and let go-and it hummed a bright blue and hung motionless above her. Beneath its glittering edge the lady ranger bent over, put her hands to her leathers, and calmly began to disrobe.
The Shadowmaster looked at the hovering blade expressionlessly for a moment and then turned toward the door.
Itharr was out of his clothes and into the pool in a flash, coming up to rest his elbows on the edge and watch Sharantyr in frank and open admiration. She wrinkled her nose at him and flicked her fingers in a 'so?' expression
