'I'd guess he's taken with some scrying spell and we won't see him until dusk,' the younger and louder of the two men said.
'Peering at wenches in the brothels of Ordulin, most likely,' the older man grunted. He ran a finger down the script in a thick and dusty book.
'Turnold!' the third apprentice in the library said sharply. She scowled. 'You know I don't like to hear talk like that!'
The older man sighed. He replied without bothering to look up from his book, 'You've got to learn about human nature and the ways of the world sometime, Irendue. You must notice how he looks at you.'
'That's a private matter between the master and myself,' was the even sharper response, 'and no concern of yours!'
'Oh, I'm not concerned,' Turnold said easily. 'If I were in your place I would be, but he's not interested in me.'
'For your information, Master Prentice Turnold, he's not interested in me in the manner you so crudely allude to, either!'
'Oh? And just when I thought I'd got right the scrying spell the master taught me ten years ago! I particularly like the black-and-gold gown, by the way…'
'You worm!' Irendue shrieked, leaping to her feet, her face white to the lips. 'You utter… spying snake!'
'Oh, I was following the master's instructions… as was Lareth here. The master told us we might learn something…'
The door banged furiously as Irendue left, and Lareth, who'd blushed as red as his scarlet robe, coughed uneasily. 'You shouldn't bait her like that. You know she'll just run to the master and there'll be trouble.'
'We have to pay for our training,' Turnold said calmly, 'and pay dearly. She pays in another way. I don't mind that; I'd just like her to be honest about it and not play the prim and prissy high lady with us.'
'Why should she be honest?' Lareth asked, amused. 'She's training to be a mage, not a hermit priest!'
'I could probably tell you things about hermit priests,' Turnold replied calmly, turning a page.
'My, you have been busy with that scrying spell,' Lareth returned. He held the grimoire he'd been frowning at under Turnold's nose and pointed at a notation in one margin of a battle spell. 'Oparl's hand, do you think?'
Turnold shook his head. 'Too spidery. Jamryth's, for a gold lion.'
'I'll not wager with you, Turnold,' Lareth said ruefully. 'You're too often right!'
'That has always been my trouble,' Turnold agreed calmly, eyes on his own book again.
'Thirsty work, this,' Lareth said. He set down his book and flipping its spine ribbon to mark the page with Jamryth's notes. 'I'm for a flagon. Join me?'
'Plenty of time left to get drunk today,' Turnold replied. 'I'll be along later.'
'Right,' Lareth said with a grin, and swept out.
Only a moment later, he added a scream.
By the time Turnold got out into the passage, wand in hand, Lareth had joined Irendue-and the master! — in a web of cold white fire that seemed to fill the privy chamber. Two women he'd never seen before-no, men wearing the faces of wenches-were standing in the passage facing him, with wide and ruthless smiles on their faces.
As he swept the wand up, Turnold felt the horrible strength of the tentacles that were falling on him from all around the door frame… tentacles that trailed back along the floor to join up with the men-women's bodies!
The wand was slapped from his hand, but a horrified Turnold scarcely noticed. He was trying desperately to scream, but discovering, as tentacles crowded into his mouth and slid coldly up his nostrils, that it was much too late… Daggerdale, Flamerule 23
'I begin to think Lunquar's approach is the right one,' Argast said as his exhausted horse collapsed under him. 'Hide as much as possible. Keep to crow shape and the like, take human form only when another shape will win suspicion. Lie low and learn.'
'We'll have to lie low for a bit to heal fully,' Amdramnar grunted. 'Kill these now and eat?'
'Why not? They're too weak to be of any other use!'
The Malaugrym had ridden across half Daggerdale without a break; Argast's mount had collapsed on a steep slope in the rolling hills of the southeastern dale, hard by the woods that stretched to Shadowdale.
'I think the most important thing is to hide ourselves from the common folk,' Amdramnar said slowly. 'They seem very swift to call on adventurers when they see something amiss, and this world does have crude shapeshifters…'
'Doppelgangers, yes, I remember all the tales about how Malaug must have bedded one and thus given us the power.'
'It matters little now. I just want to hunt down this Sharantyr woman and the two men who came to Shadowhome with her.'
'And kill them, slowly and painfully?'
'The two men, yes. The woman's fate depends on what she agrees to…'
Argast shook his head and mouthed the words: then I'll kill her. He was careful to turn his head so that Amdramnar had no chance to see his lips.
Then he felt a tentacle brush his leg. He was about to strike it away angrily when he saw that Amdramnar was sinking down into the shape of a horse, and lying as if dead in the grass… and that his lone tentacle was pointing urgently across the valley.
Argast crouched down. He had already begun to take horse shape when he saw them: a dozen or so men and women in drab leather armor. Dirt-caked weapons hung in their hands, and they crept cautiously through the trees. A patrol.
Someone's patrol, Argast made himself as much like the real horse beside him as possible and lay still.
It seemed a very long time before a voice said, low-pitched and near, 'They're still warm… this one, at least, still lives. Ridden to death.'
'So their riders must be close by… hiding from us, no doubt.'
'Zhent troops, for a gold lion.'
'That's a wager I'll never take, Yheldon. If we find them and they have arrows, we'll end up just as dead as the mighty Elminster-and the Zhents'll be picking the gold coins out of both our purses!'
Argast twitched in excitement. The Great Foe dead!
It was dark before the two Malaugrym dared move again, coming up to clutch each other and hiss excitedly, 'Elminster, dead!'
'We must confirm this,' Amdramnar muttered. 'I've heard tell men have thought him dead many times before.'
'Of course,' Argast agreed, 'but if it be true, we can hunt freely!'
'Don't forget that woman back at the keep who turned our kin to mushrooms and slaughtered us like cattle! He's not the only one in Faerun we must beware of.'
'Aye, but he was the one who watched and waited for us. Moreover, with magic gone wild and gods walking Faerun and everything in confusion…'
'You're right,' Amdramnar acknowledged with a sigh, turning to look east.
'You sound disappointed that he's dead.'
'I am, a little. I was dreading having to face him… but to strike him down myself! The honor of our house demands it! Someone has robbed me of the chance to fell the Great Foe.' Amdramnar shook his head, and chuckled. 'With Elminster gone, whatever will the elder kin blame their failures on now, I wonder?'
'They'll find something,' Argast said. 'They always do. I think skill at finding targets for blame is part of the wisdom of being an elder.' Near the Standing Stone, the Dales, Flamerule 24
'There's a large party on the road south of the Stone,' Sharantyr said. She leapt lightly down from the lowest bough of the tree. The others were already loosening weapons in sheaths and taking up their gauntlets.
'Did you see lots of armor?' Belkram asked eagerly.
Sharantyr shook her head as she unlooped the reins of her mount. 'No, bold warrior. I saw horses, men's heads above them, and dust. At least twenty horses, and probably more.' She vaulted into the saddle and looked to Storm.
The Bard of Shadowdale smiled. 'It's always good to have a look at the Stone before one rides there. It
