Ed Greenwood - Cloak of Shadows

She stared down at the wickedly curved dagger in her hands. It was one piece of polished obsidian, like no other she'd seen before, its edges razor sharp. Wonderingly, she brought it to her lips again, and then held it up to the moon, panting in excitement. "Elminster shall die!" she told it fiercely, her vow echoing back from the ruins around her.

And then she was up from her knees and running southeast, across the grassy hills, the dagger clutched in her hands.

Moonlight shone back from it, and a tall tree saw the flash, smiled a crooked smile, and shrank back down to man shape. The longer he walked Faerun, the more comfortable this form seemed. This must be why most elder Shadowmasters preferred it, after all.

Issaran of the Malaugrym smiled, shrugged, and twisted into the form of a giant barb-tailed bat. He took wing north into the night, and for greater speed shaped a second set of wings to beat in alternation with the first pair, cleaving the air with a soft moan. A little shifting, a few minor glamers… and a servant was his, to hurl her life away trying to work his ends.

Ruling Faerun-save for dealing with his own kin- would be all too easy. His teeth flashed in a smile as he went. A moment later, a real bat shied away from him, squeaking in terror, and his smile grew broader.

The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 15

"Issaran certainly makes it look easy," a pillar murmured, but no one was close enough to hear it. By the time the bell tolled again and other kin drew near, the scrying portal was once more showing Elminster's camp.

"Things seemed to have settled down, I see," Kostil remarked to Neleyd, as they came out of the Shaft of Many Stairs together and entered the vast Great Hall once more. "We're back to just one scrying portal."

"Why do away with the others, I wonder?" Neleyd asked, as the deep booming of the bell rolled over them again. Kostil gave him an amused look.

"After a surge of wild magic like that, youngling, every second portal could be the eyes and ears of some foe-or a maw waiting to spit out whatever death they choose to send us. Or to suck in whoever passes. Then again, the places they show may not be what you'd like to look at, or think you're seeing. There were a lot of such things in this castle, before Dhalgrave came to power. In those days, folk of our blood were concerned with ruling other planes. We saw Toril simply as a place to snatch up human and elven maids for breeding…"

"I saw old Rahorgha die that way," Bheloris confirmed, coming up beside them. "A manyjaws took off his head- down to the arms-when he looked too closely at a scene in a portal it was using as a lure… a friendly quartet of nude mermaids, as I recall."

"Who?" Neleyd asked, frowning. He thought he'd heard that name once before, but…

"Rahorgha the Brawler, we called him," Kostil said briefly, as they mounted the lift-spiral. "He was slain well before Dhalgrave came to the throne."

Neleyd swallowed. "You remember those times?"

Kostil gave him a despairing look. "Younglings," he muttered, a comment almost lost in the sound of Yabrant, Eldargh, and Bheloris chuckling in unison.

And then the orange and purple radiances flashed on their faces, and the gigantic spindle of the Shadow Throne was floating before them, a many-headed hydra the hue of shore mists seated in it. Several heads of dark, glistening eyes met Neleyd's wondering gaze, and he shivered despite himself. He didn't need to see the Shadowcrown or the Doomstars to know he was facing Dhalgrave.

Other kin were ascending swiftly to join them, more than Neleyd had ever seen gathered together before. He recognized Taernil and realized that the many-tentacled thing slithering along beside him must be Huerbara. When it glared at him, he was sure.

A tall, crimson-skinned biped covered with warts and questing tentacles of loose flesh oozed past, leaving acrid fumes in its wake. As it went, it rumbled to a lazily drifting fish with a snakelike tail that floated beside it, "There've been more assemblies these past few days than in the last few years. What's gotten up Dhalgrave's orifice now, I wonder?"

Bheloris grew a smile on his back, where Dhalgrave couldn't see it, but in front of Neleyd's face. Neleyd found his view blocked not only by Bheloris but by several increasingly bulky arrivals, and grew eyestalks to look over them. He wasn't the only kin to do so, he discovered, locking gazes with several other peering stalks bobbing above the crowd.

Then movement and noise ceased together as the Shadow Throne pulsed with a vivid amethyst radiance, and out of its heart Dhalgrave thundered, "Hear me, blood of Malaug!"

"Speak, O Shadowmaster High," came the ritual chorus, the gathered kin sounding a little resentful at the interruption of their various affairs.

Dhalgrave leaned forward, almost bellowing in his excitement. "At last-at long last! — magic seems to be weakening in Faerun, and when most spells are cast, the magic goes wild. All is in chaos. Beyond the wildness of Art, avatars of all the gods walk Faerun, sent there unwillingly and much hampered in their powers. Their magic overmatches us but is no longer absolute."

The Shadowmaster High leaned forward. "To some of us, sorcery is a strong weapon, but to most folk of Faerun, it's their only weapon. Without it, they cannot stand against us in open strife. If we move more deftly, slaying certain rulers and taking their shapes, entire kingdoms of Toril can be ours without a battle!"

Excited murmurings were swelling. Dhalgrave quelled them with sudden thunder. "I know some of you hunger to play in Faerun. Let me remind you that it is a resource for the use of all, under the protection of the Shadow Throne. Wanton destruction will not be tolerated, except against the person and allies of the foe Elminster. Treat Faerun as our private garden, to be nurtured for later use."

The Shadowmaster High's many heads-Neleyd counted a dozen, but some of them seemed to be slumping down and shifting shape, as others rose elsewhere- looked around at the gathered blood of Malaug, and Dhalgrave added, "I have urged you to seize this bright chance to strike down Elminster, and further suggested that this could be our best opportunity to seize as much of Faerun as we can, but as always, Shadowmasters are free to act as they see fit."

The Shadowmaster High rose from his throne and stood on empty air to look around at the assembled shapeshifters as he said forcefully, "Against our traditional freedom, I lay this sole commandment upon all: No one is to bring beings of Faerun to the Castle of Shadows, or leave an easy route by which Faerunians can find our home by following any of the blood of Malaug, without my prior permission. And be advised that such permission shall be forthcoming only in the case of approved breeding stock or captives who've been demonstrably rendered helpless, but who possess valuable knowledge-such as magic-you deem worth acquiring. I want this clearly understood. The supreme penalty shall apply for transgressions if I deem it appropriate-and I will deem it appropriate."

The Shadowmaster High raised his hands, and the assembled Malaugrym suddenly found themselves sinking, as the unseen floor beneath their feet dropped smoothly down into the swirling shadows toward the black marble floor of the Great Hall far below. The Shadow Throne and the floating figure of Dhalgrave were soon lost to view in the mists above them, and all the shapeshifters began speaking at once.

"He must be furious," Bheloris told no one in particular, "to dismiss us so. Word must have reached him of Olorn's plan to bring in all the Zhentarim, to pluck their spells from them."

"Hah," Kostil said, turning. "The last thing I want is several score of ambitious, ruthless little human mages scurrying about the place trying to slay us all. If such a risk is to be taken, let it be for one mage of real power, so we can learn magic of some worth."