Ed Greenwood - All Shadows Fled

Dhalgrave looked at Belkram and Itharr and smiled again. "Your deaths will be slow," he said softly, "very slow." A frown crossed the handsome human face he wore, and he asked the world at large, "I wonder if I can transform them to mushrooms, as that woman did?"

He raised his hands slowly, nodding in sudden satisfaction, and said, "Yes!"

The doomstars hummed, dimmed, and grew still. The Malaugrym began the gestures of a spell-and the two Harper rangers erupted into a last desperate charge, swinging their blades as they came.

The cloak Dhalgrave wore spoke.

"Yes, indeed," it agreed, and two gnarled old hands grew out of it on the shapeshifter's flanks, and dug fingers deep into Dhalgrave-fingers that blazed with spellfire!

The Malaugrym screamed. His hands faltered, the doomstars winking wildly, and the hands literally tore him apart.

Dhalgrave convulsed, struggling to throw out a tentacle here and an eyestalk there amid the spreading spellfire-and as the two Harpers came to hasty halts, blades held ready, the Malaugrym sported the long, jagged jaws of a crocodile for just a moment… before collapsing into a swirling cloud of ash. What remained was a raging, man-high column of spellfire, with the hands that had slain Dhalgrave protruding from it.

The doomstars spun and winked by themselves in midair for a breath, then drifted obediently into one of those old, waiting hands.

As they settled, all of the spellfire seemed to roar down into them-and burst in a flash that made unwary men cry out and clutch at their eyes.

Those stricken did not see the beams that lanced out from the destruction of the doomstars to touch Storm, Laeral, and Khelben, and awaken them to vibrant life.

As the Bard of Shadowdale came unsteadily to her feet and reached down to help her sister up, a familiar voice said disgustedly, "Do I have to do everything myself, look ye?"

"Elminster!" Laeral cried delightedly.

The Old Mage puffed one last time on his pipe before calmly tapping out its coals onto the ash that had been the Shadowmaster High.

"But you-you died!" Mourngrym said, laughing, as he shouldered through the armsmen, Shaerl at his side.

"Reports of my death," the Old Mage said solemnly, "have been-ahem-greatly exaggerated."

The scrying portal shook as Hulurran's rage almost ended his control over it. "No!" he snarled, but the other two who stood in the shadows with him kept silent. One of them laid a silent tentacle against his cheek for a moment.

After they'd stood staring into Faerun for a long time, Gathran stirred.

"If we could get that cloak," he began, "we-"

He fell silent again as, below, Elminster stirred the ashes, held up a tattered scrap-and firmly burned it to nothingness with a jet of spellfire from his finger.

"By the blazing blood of Malaug," Hulurran raged in a voice that trembled with emotion, "I'll never rest un-"

"Hold your wind!" snapped the youngest and smallest of the Malaugrym. "This disaster is born directly of reckless overconfidence… even on my father's part."

Huerbara's eyes blazed with resolve as she scattered the scrying portal with one slim tentacle. "We must not act-we must never act-against folk of Faerun until we are strong, and prepared… even for the unexpected. Revenge can be won, yes… but it may take years. We must rebuild the House of Malaug first. To do it, I'll need your help."

"You?" Hulurran asked, slack-jawed in disbelief.

Gathran, however, said quietly, "Command me, daughter of Ahorga."

Huerbara nodded to him before turning to the elder shapeshifter. "Are you with me also, Hulurran of the Winds?" The query was soft with menace.

After a long silence, Hulurran nodded. "Aye. Aye, you have fire enough to be Shadowmaster High. I am yours." He turned to meet her gaze squarely, and added, "But we must move very carefully, lest our house be torn apart by strife between you and rivals for the throne."

"Teach me, then," Huerbara said to them both, gliding nearer, "how to move very carefully…"

"Lady, we will," they agreed in chorus, and three sets of eager tentacles met and entwined.

The folk in Shadowdale fortunate enough to survive the events of that morning had seen wonder upon wonder… but there were still gasps and mutterings and a shrinking back as a ghostly, silver-haired head came floating over the grass. Gawking dalefolk and weary Cormyreans alike melted out of its path, and stared at the three naked, bedraggled folk who followed it.

"It seems one of the Malaugrym was collecting wizards," Sylune told Elminster. "And as both you and Mystra seem to be back with us, we'd best be using these three to bring Sharantyr back."

The Old Mage stared searchingly at the short, fat man and the two women, and they all nodded their agreement. Jhessail and Illistyl pushed through the crowd, and Sir Tantor was jostled aside by Lord Luthtor, firmly leading a line of war wizards.

"What did you say?" Itharr hissed to Sylune.

Belkram put an arm around his shoulder. Weeping, the rangers watched Khelben, Laeral, and even Storm join the circle of wizards. The mages joined hands around Sharantyr's broken body, then looked to the Old Mage.

Elminster said softly, "Do it."

For a breath or two, it seemed nothing was happening. In silence the wizards stood, unmoving, as warriors craned their necks to look. Next came gasps here and there as folk noticed the radiance silently forming in the air above the circle. Small motes of light twinkled, grew, and shone more brightly. Swiftly the light swelled until a great sphere of white radiance blazed above the wizards.

They heard Elminster and Khelben grunt in unison-and a shaft of light stabbed down from the sphere to strike the still form of Sharantyr.

The wizards trembled, and on the bodies of the three unclad mages the watchers could see sweat streaming. The wizards strained as the beam slowly rose from the ground, taking the lady ranger's body with it.

Through their tears the two Harpers held each other, wild hope leaping within them, and saw the body of their lady disappear into the light.

One of the war wizards cried out, and slumped over, but Luthtor firmly held one of his hands and Irendue clung like grim death to the other, and the circle was not broken. The mages wavered. More than one sagged to his knees, but held fast to the hands of the chain.

Then a great, collective gasp went up from them, the light faded, and out of its heart something sprang.

Something soft and shapely and whole-and alive!

Sharantyr fell from the sky as naked as the day she was born, and something seemed to boost her abruptly sideways-of all the assembly, only Mourngrym saw Elminster's momentary grin-in her fall, so that she landed, heavily, atop Belkram.

He went to the ground with a startled "Whumpf!" A moment later, Itharr, Belkram, and Sharantyr were rolling over and over in a happy embrace, weeping and kissing and laughing for joy.

Khelben looked down at them and frowned. "Must they?" he complained to his lady. "And her without a stitch on, too!"

Laeral grinned happily up at the lord mage of Waterdeep through the sweat glistening on her face-and bowled him over with her own sudden embrace.

"Whumpf!" Khelben said as he hit the ground. "Get off!" he shouted when he had breath enough to speak again. Grinning faces of armsmen and dalefolk surrounded him. "I said get off!" Shadowdale, Midsummer Night

The fire spat sparks in the kitchen hearth, and Sharantyr put her bare feet up on Storm's kitchen table, crossed one shapely ankle over the other, and sighed in satisfaction. A huge tankard of strong home brew was ready at her elbow, and she was leaning back against Belkram. Itharr smiled and reached out a hand to stroke her foot.

"Ahh," Sharantyr said happily, "all this, and we're done with the Malaugrym for now, too!"