Ed Greenwood - All Shadows Fled

Out of the eye burst Amdramnar's face, pleading: "Stay your blade, Sharantyr! Know that I love you-"

Shar gazed at the Malaugrym in astonished horror, blade raised. She never saw the scorpionlike tail that rose behind her, lifting from a broken thing that had once been a dragon.

The bony spur stabbed down-and burst out through the lady ranger's breast in a rain of blood.

Itharr and Belkram shrieked in horror and went mad with their blades, screaming and stabbing in all directions.

The lady ranger stiffened, and blood sprayed from her sagging lips.

A great roar of anguish rose over the fray as the monster that was Amdramnar cried, "No! Lorgyn, you fool! She was to be my mate! Sharantyr!"

Storm Silverhand was almost home from patrol now, and contentment welled up within her. The familiar woods rose green and deep around her. She did not hurry. Her boots followed trails she hadn't walked in a while, and chances to relax were few enough, these days.

A roaring sound rose into the air ahead, muffled by the trees. Storm frowned and stopped to listen. Were those shouts? Yes!

Shadowdale must be under attack! With a soft curse, the Bard of Shadowdale drew her blade and broke into a trot, weaving through the trees as quickly as she could.

Laeral darted through a dancing chaos of tentacles, desperately stammering a healing spell. Too late.

The rearing tail of the Malaugrym thrust the limp lady ranger high into the air, then smashed her into the dust of the road. Again it rose, Sharantyr dangling, and again flung her down.

Itharr and Belkram all but clawed their way through a forest of writhing tentacles to get at that tail.

A tentacle struck Laeral. She rolled in the dust herself, slashing her way free and scrambling up-to find the air in front of her shimmering! She drew back her hand to hurl a spell of searing destruction…

But two white-faced women in robes appeared-Knights of Myth Drannor. They raised their hands and snapped out incantations. Their magic twisted wild as they hurled it, and the tentacles swept down at them, too…

"Here!" Laeral called. She tossed two of her silver-bladed daggers to the Knights-who fielded them expertly, waved in thanks, and set to work.

The Malaugrym Amdramnar was writhing under the blades of the two furious Harper rangers, and the other one-the one he'd called Argast-was shrinking into a xornlike beast with many massive clawed arms instead of tentacles. The shifting body of Argast was flickering with strange magics as Khelben Blackstaff struggled to control spell after spell hurled at the shapeshifter.

Itharr was weeping incoherently now. He stood hip-deep in a gory hole he'd hacked in Amdramnar, and stabbed down endlessly.

None of the armsmen of Cormyr saw Storm Silverhand burst out of the trees, running hard, but they all saw her swarm up the scorpionlike third Malaugrym and plunge her sword deep into one of its eyes. It shuddered and convulsed madly under her, and she grimly clung to it as she tumbled to the ground, one arm around Sharantyr's broken body.

"Burn it! Burn the things with oil!" she bellowed at the armsmen. She found her feet amid writhing ropes of shapeshifting flesh-ropes that rose to fling Khelben and Belkram together in a helpless tangle into the gathered armsmen.

The soldiers stared at Storm; who was this woman? An old woman staring at the fray from the door of the Old Skull suddenly tossed away her tankard, plucked down one of the lanterns from beside the inn door, and flung it.

It shattered, spilling oil down the tentacled bulk of Amdramnar-and Illistyl murmured the simplest fire spell she knew.

Flames flared. The oil caught, boiling up with a roar. The Malaugrym convulsed and reared, shrieking, and the air was suddenly full of oil as every armsman scrambled to find and fling any lamps they could.

The Malaugrym shrieked as flames rose around them, and through the growing roar of the flames, Belkram cried, "Khelben! Can't you do something for Shar?"

He practically dragged the lord mage of Waterdeep to his feet. Khelben blinked at him, then said grimly, "Er-eh-well, I'll try."

The archwizard looked at Sharantyr's sprawled body and raised his hands to cast a spell-only to pitch forward, falling on his face in the dirt.

Belkram stared at the man whose pike had struck Khelben down from behind: a warrior of Cormyr, who smiled coldly, shivered slightly for an instant… and became someone else.

Someone who wore doomstars at his wrist, and answered to the name of Dhalgrave.

Blue stones flashed and pulsed, spitting out beams that cut the air to strike Laeral and Storm. The two silver-haired women stiffened as blue fire raged around them-and then fell limply to the ground, their eyes dark.

"With the Chosen out of the way," Dhalgrave said almost pleasantly, "I can really enjoy what I came for."

The Shadowmaster High ignored an armsman's sword that thrust through him, and when another warrior thrust a torch in his face, he grew a bone spur and casually stabbed the man through the face. All the while wearing that deadly smile, the senior Malaugrym advanced leisurely toward the weary, panting rangers.

Belkram and Itharr watched him come; they grimly stood their ground, leaning on battered blades. The three Malaugrym burned behind them, and from the flickering flames a weak voice called, "Shadowmaster High! Aid, please, in the name of Malaug! I'm burning! Great Dhalgrave, aid me!"

Dhalgrave never took his eyes from the two rangers, and never paused in his slow, menacing advance. Argast soon fell silent… and joined Amdramnar and Lorgyn in death.

Deep in the Castle of Shadows, in a place where thinking shadows glided, was a grotto. At its heart were two stone seats that faced each other in the bone-white glow. On one of them, something blazed briefly, then burst.

A hand promptly reached down out of darkness to pick up the largest of the fragments and sweep the seat clean… and a soft chuckle echoed through the grotto.

Dhalgrave stopped just beyond the reach of the two weary rangers and smiled a gloating smile at the fearful warriors, noting many Purple Dragon surcoats. "All the way from Cormyr, just to die?" he asked in mock sorrow, shaking his head.

From among the warriors, lightning lashed at the Malaugrym, and on his other flank something that looked like a white mist driven by churning human bones rose and drifted speedily toward him.

Dhalgrave simply watched those deaths come for him. The spells faded away as they reached him, and he sketched a mocking bow.

"My thanks, Ladies," he said. "Jhessail and Illistyl, isn't it?" He gestured lazily down at himself. "Unfortunately for your valiant endeavors, I wear a cloak of shadows that wards all your spells… and hides me even from the Chosen. I had to 'die' for a time to get it, but watching my underlings scramble to try to take my throne was richly entertaining compensation."

The doomstars lashed out again, and four armsmen were hurled back against their fellows, their bodies trailing blue fire. Blades fell from their hands… blades that shone with silver. Sir Tantor Dauntinghorn peered at the dead and trembled with anger, reaching for his own blade.

"No, envoy, keep your life," the Malaugrym told him. "I shall need your services to inform Azoun that the Purple Dragon throne is mine now. My realm will take in Sembia, too, of course… but you won't be bored. I'll be sending all the brave warriors of both lands against Zhentil Keep-and none of you shall rest, nor fail me, until that city and all its folk are eradicated."

He took another slow pace forward. "Before all of that, however, I must attend to the business that brought all of the blood of Malaug lately to Faerun… a little matter of revenge."