Neleyd eyed the scorpion tail, licked his lips once involuntarily, and replied, 'Ah… without delay, elder kin, though I feel it even more pressing to offer you a warning, an immediate warning of-'
Huerbara shot Neleyd a look of pure hatred, hissing loudly, but Bheloris waved a lazily dismissive paw. 'I thank you for your regard for my welfare. Would that all younglings valued the resources of their kin so highly. Yet there is no need. The peril you seek to warn me of has the passion but lacks the daring. Observe her. She knows I am older, wiser in the ways of violence, and am expecting her attack. Thinking to awe me, she delayed action for a time… time in which she has inevitably begun to consider the consequences, and probable outcome, of any aggressive action. So it is that she has found she dare not attack, for swallowing an insult is a far less painful thing to do than dying-slowly, and in slavery to the pain and humiliations I can easily visit upon her. However reluctantly, she knows it and thereby takes another slow, unwilling step toward the self-discipline that marks the mature Malaugrym. Perhaps someday she'll have added enough steps along that path for her to finally acknowledge that self-control is necessary for those of our blood, and further, that she lacks it.'
The elder shapeshifter spoke mildly, his words almost lost in the ever-louder hissing of the scorpion. Bheloris did not once look at Huerbara, however, but stood at ease, talking to Neleyd.
'Now, as to the matter of Elminster, any schemes you might foster are best hatched in private, lest the less prudent among us leap to the same ends and attempt unauthorized assistance-aid which inevitably will lead to the ruin of your plans and defeat for all kin involved. I speak now from rueful experience.'
As the old shapeshifter continued, Neleyd saw Huerbara's fury abate. She backed up hesitantly, tail still wavering, then hissed again deafeningly.
Bheloris continued to ignore her, and she retreated again, dwindling suddenly into a woman's torso on a serpentine body. Neleyd tried not to look at her as she shot him once last venomous glance and glided away into the mists.
Several deep chuckles accompanied her withdrawal, and Neleyd saw her tail switch angrily before it disappeared from view.
'Shall we repair to another part of the castle?' Bheloris asked mildly. 'The Great Hall lacks… privacy.'
As if his words had been a cue, the scrying portal flashed once and brightened. Malaugrym all over the vast chamber glided or strode closer to afford themselves a better look.
Within the upright oval, it was bright morning, somewhere on a narrow, seldom-used trail through a forest. Four humans were riding horses along the path. In the forefront was an old, white-bearded man whose likeness had been shown to them all.
'Elminster!' came the snarl from a dozen throats. Several younger Malaugrym, who'd never seen the hated human mage properly before, moved right up to the portal to get a good look.
One of them gazed, smiled grimly, and moved one long-taloned hand in two intricate gestures. Then he strode past the portal, heading for a certain archway. 'What are all of you waiting for?' he asked the chamber at large as he went. 'Destroy him and be done with it!'
A Malaugrym who stood watching, in the shape of a darkly handsome man whose right forearm was a sword blade, turned to face the younger shapeshifter and frowned. 'This we have seen before,' he observed thoughtfully. 'Have you given no thought to the possibility that this may be a ruse to lure us into attack? Is that truly Elminster or another, perhaps an empty husk, set up to lure us to our destruction?'
'Another craven elder?' From the shadows came a high, scornful voice that might have been Huerbara's. 'Are you all cowards? How did you muster the courage to approach a human maid close enough to sire any of us?'
There was a stir around the hall, as if some listeners were stifling laughter or exclamations of approval, and others gasps or growls of outrage.
The Malaugrym with the sword arm only smiled coldly. 'I've heard such words from several generations of kin before yours, rash one. Some of those who spoke thus still live… but no longer speak so foolishly.' He turned and addressed his next words to the young Malaugrym by the archway. 'Are you of the same mind as she?'
The young Malaugrym stared at him defiantly for a moment and then said boldly, 'I am!'
'Come, then. You attack the human mage, and I'll watch. If you need aid, I'll pluck you to safety, so you at least will live to learn this lesson and not join our fallen too swiftly to think on it all.'
'Trust you, Kostil?' the young Malaugrym sneered.
Kostil raised an eyebrow. 'Trust, among us? Just how naive are you younglings?'
There was another stir, and at least one clear and deep chuckle from Bheloris. The young Malaugrym mage by the archway stiffened, eyes blazing, but said nothing.
Silence stretched for a breath, and then another, before Kostil added lazily, 'Of course, if you're too afraid to strike at a mortal mage, I'll just have to find another of your contemporaries more willing to do so.'
Almost spitting the words in his rage, the Malaugrym at the archway snarled, 'Taernil son of Oracla fears nothing! Watch me, then, and render whatever aid you see fit-if you can find any way to aid me. I've not seen many elders wield spells that impress me.'
Kostil smiled slightly and indicated the archway with a grand, leisurely gesture. Taernil gave him a wordless snarl of defiance, spun around, and charged through the archway.
Neleyd glanced quickly about the Great Hall and saw many older Malaugrym wearing smiles like the one on Kostil's face and shaking their heads. He turned away among the shifting shadowsmokes thoughtfully, seeking his own chambers and a scrying spell of his own. He must see this Elminster fight, if he or any of the blood of Malaug were ever to prevail against the wizard. As he left the open hall through an old tunnel that seldom changed its winding way, he passed two of the elders, standing in the shapes of griffon-headed giants, quietly wagering on the outcome of Taernil's foray. The bets were on how much magic he'd manage to loose at Elminster before being destroyed. Neither granted any chance that he'd survive.
Milhvar nodded. 'The payment is accepted.' He waved a hand behind him and the mists parted, swirling open in a softly widening whirlpool until Issaran could see the spell-stones that were going to cost him so much, winking and sparkling with their stored power. As he'd expected, they hung in a field of guardian magic. It would have been the sheerest folly to try any treachery upon the older Malaugrym who had hired him.
'I am ready,' Issaran said, striving for calm, level tones. 'Let it be now.'
Milhvar nodded and waved his hand again. Another hole opened in the mists, revealing an empty, flickering upright oval of light. In size and radiance it seemed very like the scrying portal in the Great Hall.
Issaran strode toward the hole without hesitation.
'You recall the word for return?' Milhvar asked from behind him.
'Arthithrae,' Issaran replied, not turning or slowing.
'Good. May you have Malaug's own luck,' Milhvar said as the younger Malaugrym stepped through the magical gate — and vanished.
White sparks chased briefly up and down the portal's radiance. They were joined by others dancing in the emptiness within the oval, lights that grew swiftly into a glowing window on a scene of four familiar humans riding along a forest trail. The lights flickered once and then settled into silent immobility, identical to the scrying portal that many of the kin were now watching in the Great Hall.
Milhvar watched the scene within the portal shift as Issaran — no doubt walking on air for stealth — moved through the trees, following the four riders. Even if the bold youngling's Art-which Milhvar granted was stronger than most older kin expected or would readily believe-discovered Milhvar's conjured eye, Issaran could not destroy it without shattering the gate and stranding himself in Faerun. Stranding him away from his spells, his kin, the protection of the castle-and the Shadow Throne he so obviously sought. One side of Milhvar's mouth crooked into a mirthless, twisted smile.
He would have been less confident had he been able to see Issaran's face. At that moment, in the woods of Daggerdale on a chilly morning, it wore the same ruthlessly assured expression.
Daggerdale, Kythorn 15
The sun was descending in the west when Elminster turned in his saddle. His pipe floated obediently out of his mouth. 'We'll spend the night up ahead, in what's left of Irythkeep.'
His companions nodded in silent acceptance and they rode on, as they had all day, through the ravaged wilder-lands that had once been a proud and prosperous dale.
