strife. This is where our council met, in the days before… our last Shadowmaster High, Dhalgrave, dissolved it.'
'A council of elders? Were you on the council?' Itharr asked.
The Malaugrym smiled. 'You are swift, friend. I was.'
'Who rules now that the Shadowmaster High is dead?' Shar asked.
Bheloris smiled. 'No one-yet. The more daring among us have begun to act as they please, and things may end in kinstrife. You have come at a most dangerous time, for there is no authority to appeal to if one is wronged. There are many chances for ambitious Malaugrym to enhance their reputations by outdoing each other in acts of aggression, confidence, and efficient violence… and here you are, strolling our passageways, easy meat.'
'I appreciate your candor,' Belkram told the Shadow-master, 'but-'
And then the floor beneath his feet gave way. 'Whoa!' he cried, grabbing at Sharantyr's arm for support.
Her sword arm. As her elbow was dragged down, a startled Sharantyr thought, / must keep my feet. My sword may be all that is keeping this Malaugrym from striking us down.
As she set herself, determined not to be pulled over, the sword in her hands hummed and drifted firmly upward, straightening her and taking Belkram's weight.
He got one boot up on the floor again and sprang back. The punishing weight was suddenly gone from Sharantyr's arm. Together they looked at the octagonal opening in the floor. A trapdoor had fallen to one side, opening into emptiness.
Belkram gestured at it. 'And is this a friendly welcome? Or one of those little acts of aggression you spoke of?'
'Neither,' the Shadowmaster replied, striding over to the hole. He raised a hand, murmured something they could not catch, and the trapdoor rose smoothly into place. Bheloris promptly stepped forward onto it and stood calmly facing them. 'My apologies for any distress,' he said to Belkram. 'You had the misfortune to step on a trap- chute that someone-carelessly or deliberately, I know not which-left active.'
'Trap-chute?' Itharr prompted mildly, waving his blade.
'Swift ways down to dungeon caverns. Long unused by the council, but once part of the ceremonial way in which Malaugrym who'd displeased us began their punishment. Down they'd go upon the instant of their sentencing, an impressive gesture for the benefit of others who might plot defiance of the council.'
'Are there many such traps about the castle?' Belkram asked, looking suspiciously at the red plush around his boots.
Bheloris shook his head. 'Only here, but there must be eighty or more in all, one every few paces.'
'Amdramnar didn't warn us about this,' Belkram said grimly.
Shar shrugged. 'He may have forgotten about them, if they've been 'long unused.''
Bheloris arched an eyebrow. 'Oh, I hardly think so.' He met their suddenly riveted gazes and said, 'The moment they master teleporting — for the journeys back up — all children of the blood of Malaug play here for years before they grow tired of hurtling down stone chutes. Some never do.'
The three rangers exchanged frowning glances.
'I think we've seen enough red plush to last us for some time,' Shar said quietly, 'and we'd like to see Glyorgh's Chamber, if you'd be so kind as to conduct us there. Amdramnar says it's not to be missed.'
The Malaugrym bowed. 'Certainly, my lady,' he said. 'This way, if you please.' He indicated the door they'd come in by, and glided past them. As he went past, Belkram raised a questioning hand. 'There wouldn't be any dangers awaiting us there that Amdramnar might have… ah, neglected to inform us of, would there?'
The Shadowmaster met his eyes steadily. 'No, so long as you stay back of the warning wall of everflame and don't send any spells over it.'
'We weren't intending to,' Shar said, 'but he gave us no warnings about this.'
Bheloris spread his hands. 'In his defense, may I say that it's something no Malaugrym would think of doing.'
'We seem to have made a career, recently, of doing things no Malaugrym would think of doing,' Itharr mused.
The Shadowmaster turned an expressionless face toward him. 'Continue to do so,' he suggested. 'It may help to keep you alive.'
Shadowdale, Kythorn 20
'Well met, Storm,' came the smoky, sultry tones of the High Lady of Berdusk out of the speaking stone. 'How fare the two Harpers we sent you?'
'Well enough,' Storm said to the polished marble sphere floating in the center of her bedchamber, as she struggled into the clothes she'd chosen, 'when I saw them last… a tenday ago, riding into Daggerdale.'
'Good to hear. How can I serve? Pray speak.'
'It's… becoming increasingly urgent that I speak with Elminster,' Storm told her, 'and he's off racing around the Realms, as usual. If his path should happen to cross that of any of your Harpers, have them tell him to call on me, will you?'
'Of course. Tell us when to call off our hounds, though. I'd hate to have a few good Harpers turned into frogs because the Old Mage has grown tired of hearing the same message.'
'I shall, Cylyria,' Storm promised. 'Thank you.'
'You are always welcome, Storm,' the speaking stone replied. 'Call on me more often. I grow weary of hearing about the daring exploits of Harpers out east only in minstrels' ballads and tavern gossip!'
Storm winced. 'You know I hate using this thing,' she said softly. 'Yet you're right, Cyl. Expect to hear from me soon.'
'Please do. And, Storm-?'
'Yes?'
'If you're lonely, call me and we can sing ballads back and forth to each other.'
'Thank you,' Storm said huskily, sudden tears threatening to burst up from her throat. 'Fair fortune, High Lady.'
'Fair fortune, Chosen of Mystra,' the stone said, sinking swiftly toward the soft pelts on the floor. Storm caught it deftly and tossed it onto the bed, sighing loudly before she turned away.
Berdusk, Twilight Hall, Kythorn 20
The deep emerald eyes of High Lady Cylyria Dragonbreast were troubled as she turned away from her own stone. Storm did hate to use the speaking stone. Something must be very much amiss.
With gods walking Faerun, magic going wild everywhere, and every petty brigand and marauding orc chieftain on the march from here to the Moonshaes, the Harpers-nay, the good folk of all Faerun-couldn't afford to lose Elminster.
Her fine features were grim as she struck the little gong built into the head of her bed, took the speaking stone into her hands to keep it from rolling to the floor and shattering, and got up off the bed. Then she smiled at the sound of pounding feet growing swiftly louder down the passage outside. My, but Harper boys were enthusiastic.
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 20
'It's… impressive,' Shar said softly, and meant it. They stared down together from the circular balcony that ringed the dome. In the open space below, amid endlessly roiling, glowing blue shadows, a circle of black magical flames-blazing away consuming nothing and never burning out-encircled a shrouded, floating human form.
'Forgive me,' Itharr said to the Malaugrym, 'but who was Glyorgh?'
'The closest friend of Malaug, a sorcerer of Faerun who was the first to embrace the way of shadows,' Bheloris replied. 'He has rested here, in magical stasis, for longer than men have dwelt in any of the Dragonreach lands.'
'Where is Malaug's tomb?' Belkram asked quietly.
'No one knows,' the Shadowmaster replied. 'There are even legends among us that he never died but lives on still, on other planes or in hidden guise somewhere nearby, watching us.'
