Ed Greenwood - Cloak of Shadows

"Such as?" Yabrant asked, snaking out a tentacle that sported a mouth and a trumpetlike ear to better converse.

"A Red Wizard of Thay, I intended."

"If the risk is to be taken anyway," Neleyd blurted, "why not bring in this Elminster?"

He was astonished and embarrassed by the respect he saw in the looks that all the nearby kin gave him-except one.

A gray, withered elder Shadowmaster in hobgoblin form thrust a belligerent face forward until his protruding lower lip almost touched Neleyd's own and snarled, "Have you seen Malator, Dhalgrave's bodyguard?" Neleyd nodded; who had not seen the battered giant Malaugrym who served as the Shadow Throne's champion? He was reckoned the mightiest Shadowmaster in combat, and often wrestled the worst of the marauding night-worms of the shadows.

"I am his older brother, Dlagim. I was always the larger and stronger of us two," the old Malaugrym continued, and smiled bitterly at Neleyd's obvious disbelief. "Aye, you can scarce believe it. Well, this is all that Elminster left of me, the last time he visited the Castle of Shadows. He just strolled in and started telling us what we must not do, and what we'd best stop on the instant- and all of us within earshot must have attacked him. He slew over forty of us before he left; only three survived. Let's hear no more talk of bringing Elminster to the Castle of Shadows."

"It was but a suggestion," Kostil said smoothly.

"A foolish one!" Dlagim said heatedly, but Kostil spread his hands and half-smiled.

"Ah, but that's all the younglings among us know how to make. And if all who make plots or suggestions that seem foolish were sent away from the castle, the place would soon be empty. Only you, I, and Dhalgrave himself would still be here… sitting staring at each other in the echoing emptiness."

"Look upon it as entertainment," Yabrant offered.

The old Shadowmaster's eyes blazed in sudden anger, but he took one look at the large and capable antler-adorned Shadowmaster and recalled that he had urgent business elsewhere that required immediate attention- after a last snarl of, "Bah! Fools and irresponsible rascals, all of you!"

"What'll befall now?" Neleyd asked Bheloris curiously. The elder waved at the groups of talking, gesticulating Malaugrym around them and smiled. "The cautious and the bold will make war on each other with their tongues, each seeking to prevail. In the end, most of us will go our own ways, unconvinced by whatever we've heard. 'Tis always thus. Dhalgrave will be sitting up there listening, mark you, and noting just who says what."

"The cautious being those who want to stay out of Faerun until we know what's going to happen with the gods and magic and all?"

"No, youngling," Kostil corrected him, "we are Malaug's offspring, after all. The cautious are those who favor manipulation of Faerunians, and goading or driving beasts and others to serve as our agents, so that our hand remains unseen. The bold are those who want to rush down there at once and attack everything they see, except that they all want someone else to attack Elminster."

"And the Red Wizards, and Khelben Blackstaff, and the Simbul of Aglarond, and a few others," Yabrant added with a grin.

"Precisely." The word had scarce left Kostil's mouth when angry voices shouted icily from the sneering, snarling mouths of two young and handsome Malaugrym who stood in human form, pointing and gesturing rudely at each other.

Neleyd stared from one to the other. "I've seen that one before, but never heard such words from him…"

"That's Olorn," Eldargh rumbled. "He fancies himself the next occupant of the Shadow Throne and is fool enough to think he can manipulate all of us into giving it freely to him."

"And his rival is Amdramnar-the wiser, I think, and smooth as oiled wine. A loner, where Olorn surrounds himself with the weakest witted among us, forming little whispering societies to make the nothings of the kin feel important."

"Olorn favors bringing human captives in, then?" Neleyd asked hesitantly, looking from one shouting shape-shifter to the other.

"Aye, but he might change his views several times before this day is done."

Neleyd looked at him in astonishment. "Why all the fury, then?"

"Those two?" Bheloris chuckled. "They'd disagree over what their own names are, just to be on opposite sides of something. They'll slay each other one day, for sure, if someone else doesn't get one of them first."

Kostil shrugged. "If they hold to their purposes behind Olorn there-see them storming off, all showy gestures? — that someone bids fair to be Elminster, and soon."

Neleyd suppressed a shudder. "Have you seen many of us-of the kin-die?"

"Down the years?" Bheloris looked thoughtful. "Yes. A good threescore."

Kostil nodded. "More than that, before these eyes."

Neleyd looked from one of them to the other. "So what do you think we should do with human mages?"

"Destroy them," Kostil said calmly. "Once and for all."

Daggerdale, Kythorn 15

The rabbit stew that Storm had packed for them was all gone, and the fire out. Sharantyr and Itharr were licking their fingers for the last of the butter that had dripped from their hardbread, as Belkram scrubbed the pot clean with handfuls of sand. Elminster lay on his back, unlit pipe in mouth, and stared up at the circling stars overhead.

"Nnmm," Itharr said, licking his lips and wiping his hands on the turf beside him. "So how long are the gods likely to walk in the Realms and chaos reign?"

Elminster shrugged. "Too long." He lowered one elbow to peer past it at the young ranger. "If ye want a count of days, I know not."

"And we have to wander the wilderlands until then, playing nursem-ah, escorts-to a certain old wizard whom the shapeshifters regard as their Great Foe? Is this… prudent? Is this likely to end in anything else save disaster? Is-"

Shar put a playful hand on Itharr's chest and shoved him flat on the ground. "Stop sniveling, you thing you!" she said affectionately.

Itharr's reply was forestalled by Elminster's sharp warning: "No foolplay, ye two. We must be ready for them, always. Now is when they're most likely to attack!"

His words came too late. The Harper had tugged, twisted, and hauled all at once, and the helplessly overbalanced Sharantyr went over him, to her own landing. In the same movement he was atop her, tickling, as children tumble at play in muddy yards.

"Itharr!" Elminster roared over Sharantyr's breathless giggles and sobs of protest. The ranger turned a face of injured innocence to him.

"They'd have the good taste not to attack, surely," he asked, "when we are seriously engaged in wallowing in the heights of depravity?"

"They'll probably do exactly that," Elminster replied grimly, sitting up to give the Harper the full benefit of his forbidding glare.

"Wallowing in depravity?" Belkram asked in hurt tones, returning from the stream with the rinsed pot gleaming in his hands. "Without me?"

Elminster's snort awoke echoes from the stones around. "Truly the gods retain their curious ideas of humor," he observed, "giving me three jesters to ride around the Realms with."

Without hesitation, Belkram removed the lid and swept the upended pot deftly down over the Old Mage's head. Then he sprang back-just in time.

The pot shot up into the air, flashing end over end in the moonlight. It overtopped the stony needles of the ruined towers and fell again to earth, well clear of the flickering nimbus of light surrounding a furious old man who stood on air about four feet off the ground. "Enough!" the Old Mage roared. "Belkram, I'm astonished! Ye, of all here!"

Belkram spread unapologetic hands. "You can trust me to be loyal," he murmured, "but not predictable. Never predictable."