opaque in the gloom, and those broad pads of feet. And then the figure reached down.
That's just about enough, Sylune thought crisply, as she floated over Sharantyr on silent, unseen watch. Sharply, she brought down a hand that none but she could see, and her spell snapped out.
The Malaugrym recoiled as if he'd been stung, as a wall of black, seeking tentacles suddenly appeared under his ringers, spanning the entire chamber and sealing him off from Itharr and everything beyond.
He stared at the black barrier, shaking his head in disbelief as its eager tentacles probed for him, reaching out seeking tendrils until he batted one away in annoyance- and then, of course, discovered his hand was caught.
Another tentacle came cruising up like a hungry shark, and the Shadowmaster hissed a spell in sudden fear and tore free. Wild-eyed, he stumbled quickly back through the wall and restored it to solidity in panting haste.
Sylune laughed soundlessly as she floated above the three Harpers, and thought again about just how much fun it was to go adventuring.
Ancient, deep shadows shifted out of the way with uncaring slowness, drifting in this hidden place like proud old ghosts. They ignored the black-bladed, gleaming new weapons that hung watchfully among them-weapons waiting to flash to the attack and deal death to an intruder who never came.
In an old and ancient chamber that few knew existed, inside that ring of vigilant death, stood the four beings who'd set the enchanted blades to their silent task. One was a black, glistening globule as large as a house, whose only distinctive features were a pair of green-and-black bat wings large enough to have lifted a dragon. It answered to a terse greeting of, 'Bheloris.' The second was a swift, many-legged lizard whose bulbous head was a thing of a thousand staring eyes, bulging in as many directions. This grotesque cluster was surrounded by a ring of starfish arms ending in snapping mouths, like the maws of snapping turtles, and was greeted as 'Yabrant.'
The last two Malaugrym, Milhvar and Kostil, stood in their human shapes and confronted each other with soft menace in politely cultured tones.
'Though the cloak seems technically flawless,' Kostil commented, 'the inexperience of the test subjects and the protection surrounding the Chosen at the locales selected for forays has not only proved fatal to most of the test subjects, it has brought jeopardy on both the secrete of the cloak and on the security of the Malaugrym themselves '
'Oh?' Milhvar asked coolly. 'How so?'
'What if one of these Chosen sets up a killing brew of linked-by-contingencies spells, or even memorizes a goodly array of ready combat spells, and uses those belt buckles to trace us? I don't want spell-bombs raging through the castle twice or thrice a day!'
'Yes,' Yabrant rumbled. 'This foolishness must end.'
Milhvar spread his hands smoothly. 'But we are so close to achieving our aim and striking down one of the Chosen, a victory we need right now, as a people, to hold up our heads in confidence as we prepare to choose a new Shadowmaster High!'
'Pretty speech,' Bheloris said mildly, shifting smoothly toward human appearance and size. 'Are you planning to seek the Shadow Throne?'
Milhvar shook his head. All of the Malaugrym in the room knew he wielded greater influence right now than any Shadowmaster High.
Or had wielded it-until now. The thousand-eyed lizard who was Yabrant pressed on. 'No, Milhvar, the blood of Malaug aren't close to grasping any victory of consequence. I have watched much and said little these last few months, and I believe it's you who stand close to achieving some personal goal.' His voice changed, thinning to the cold clarity of a stabbing knife. 'And just what, your elders gathered here would like to know, would that goal be?'
Milhvar shook his head again. 'You are mistaken. My aims lie in perfecting ever-more-powerful shadow magic, and my progress in this is a very slow thing, not something whose achievements are near or within my-or any being's-grasp.'
'So you have pretended, these last ten years,' Yabrant went on, his body slowly shifting in shape toward a human build and size, 'as you've played the role of studious but dangerously capable mage, but I know you to be more than that. Much more than that. What, for instance, befell that priest of Mystra you captured? You slew him, didn't you? To work one of the forbidden magics, no doubt. What is it, Milhvar? Human shape or dragon shape at will? Breeding with baatezu? The ability to control the minds of our young, and to expel the minds of the old from their bodies, leaving the husks for your allies to seize and control?'
Milhvar's face changed subtly, and Yabrant pressed him. 'That's it, isn't it? You're trying to take over our family by the bodysnatch method!'
'And that,' Bheloris said grimly, 'is punishable by death.' A barbed strangling wire suddenly appeared in his hands; it flashed as he brought it down…
… around a throat that wasn't there. Milhvar had called on the most precious garment he wore-the real cloak of shadows-and silently faded away.
The three elders looked at each other.
'Right now, he's the true Shadowmaster High,' Yabrant said angrily.
'He always was,' Kostil replied quietly. 'He always was.'
The cloak spun him through shadows with swift ease, to a place he had chosen beforehand. It had gone badly, as badly as he'd anticipated… but not as badly as he'd feared and prepared for.
Milhvar stiffened as a chime sounded behind him, and whirled around. Then he smiled slowly. Hanging in the stasis field he'd set to catch intruders was an unlikely looking visitor: the floating, disembodied head of Old Elminster. The head was watching him.
'Ah, yes,' he said pleasantly, 'I should have expected you, once your young rabble showed up just walking around our castle. You've been watching all along, haven't you? Laughing at us, to boot. Well, that'll end right now.'
He whispered a word, and white fires suddenly streamed around the head, beginning nowhere in the air before it and dying away nowhere in the air behind it. Milhvar leaned forward to grin through the silent, cool, rushing flames at the unseeing eyes.
'Yes,' he said softly, knowing a certain distant wizard could hear him. 'It's a spell loop. I suspect even the great Elminster won't be able to break free for quite some time. And by then,' he said archly, knowing what a cliche it was, ' 'twill be too late. Much too late.'
19
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 20
The door chimed discreetly once, and then Amdramnar's gentle voice issued from it. 'Are you awake, friends?'
'We are. Please come in,' Belkram called merrily. Half-clad, crossed arms shielding herself, Shar stared at him in indignant astonishment. He stuffed her into the top half of her leathers with blinding speed, earning more than one angry growl of promised revenge from her as he merrily laced and snugged, and finished by chucking her briskly under the chin.
'Crude, Belk,' Itharr told him, as the door opened. 'You're always so crude.'
'Ah, but I get the job done,' Belkram replied with a smile. 'And at the end of the day…'
'It's the crudity I remember,' Shar said crisply, taking the blue sword into her hand and waving it meaningfully.
'In hearty spirits, I see,' their host said with a smile, as he set down steaming platters of broth flanked by crescent-shaped toasted rolls slathered in butter.
'You've got more hearty spirits in your cellar? All that drinking we did last night was for naught?' Belkram
