Ed Greenwood - Cloak of Shadows

"Enough, Neleyd," the Shadowmaster said quickly. "You can tell me as we go to him." He turned. "My deep regrets, friends," he said, leaving his mouth behind on a tentacle as he rushed to the door. "If you follow me out this door and take the first stair down on the right, the third door on the left opens into the Lute Gallery."

"Thanks!" Sharantyr said hurriedly as the mouth sped away from them. "Itharr-the door!"

"Aye," the Harper said, diving for it. He got there before it could close and leaned against the door frame, looking swiftly ahead and then back at Shar and Belkram. "Well?" he asked.

Shar was looking at Belkram, and Belkram was leaning forward over the rail, looking down at the floating body of Glyorgh. "No, Belkram," Shar said firmly. "Come on."

Belkram looked at her, eyes bright. "But…"

"No, Belkram," Shar said, taking him by the arm and towing him toward the door. He sighed once as they went out and down the stairs. "What's the appeal of this Lute Gallery, anyway?"

"Enchantments are supposed to play soothing music there all the time," Sharantyr told him. "Many Malaugrym go there to relax… strolling about, thinking. Didn't you listen to Amdramnar?"

"Yes, and I didn't hear anything about traps waiting for me in the Red Chamber," Belkram replied, "so I wouldn't place overmuch credence in what he said, if I were hurrying along through the castle."

"My, Belkram, that's the wisest thing you've said in days!" a voice said unexpectedly from Sharantyr's breast.

"Sylune!" they chorused, coming to a halt. "Where have you been?"

"Here all along. I've only just managed to break a spying spell our kind host Amdramnar sent along with us. I didn't dare speak before. Don't get into the habit of talking to me, though. You're going to need a secret ally against these Malaugrym. This place is full of treachery and fey spells."

"Can you stay hidden," Shar asked in low tones, "in a place where so many mages dwell?"

Sylune sniffed. "Of course. Weaving shadows is so easy that they're all lazy and careless."

"Easy?"

"Like commanding an endless supply of fresh, loyal warriors that surround you eagerly wherever you go, waiting to jump at your bidding. To these shapeshifters, spell weaving's more idle thought and whimsy than work."

"So they don't have to work hard to destroy us," Belkram said. "Heartening news." He looked up and down the passage. "So what should we do now?"

"Start looking for gates out of here," Sylune said, "so you have an escape route when things come to battle — and they soon will!"

"Just open doors and look around for gates?" Belkram asked.

"Just go back to Amdramnar's quarters. The passage that leads to the Jakes also leads on to a gate, if you go far enough."

"I'm going to have a few words with our friend Amdramnar," Belkram said grimly. "Let's go!" He strode off down the passage, and then slowed to a halt. "Uh… which way?"

Itharr chuckled. "Sylune?"

"Turn left as soon as you find something that looks major. You've a fair distance back that way to cover," the Witch of Shadowdale directed, one ghostly hand appearing for a moment to point in the proper direction. They set off without delay.

In a room spun of shadow, six Malaugrym sat around a table, gambling. Gems and lumps of gold floated lazily around each of them as they bent forward over the table, studying the intricate pattern of cards laid out there.

Small plumes of colored flame flickered above the cards, dancing here and there as Olorn studied them, his face an expressionless mask. Between two fingers he held the card he must place this turn, tapping it gently on the tabletop.

"If you're trying to win by waiting until we all die off, Olorn," an eagle-headed Malaugrym said sourly, "just remember that I'm younger than you."

"Hold," another of the players said softly. "See who comes."

Something in his tone made everyone turn and look down through the floor of shadow-transparent to them but opaque to eyes below-in time to see three rangers approaching down the length of the long room below.

Olorn cast aside his cards with a joyous snarl and dropped through the floor in a single bound, plunging down to bar the path of the three humans.

"Going somewhere, cattle?" he sneered. "I think not."

"You would be the one called Olorn?" Sharantyr asked softly.

"I am, breeding maiden. We can discuss such things later, when these two lumps of meat with you are dead!" the Malaugrym snapped. As the two Harpers charged him, swords flashing, he brought his hands together. From where his palms met leapt a beam of white-hot, crackling flame.

As it rushed to meet them, Sharantyr didn't even have time to scream.

The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 20

Without thinking, the Knight of Myth Drannor swung her sword. There was a flash of blue radiance, a moment of roaring brightness around her, and the flames were gone.

Olorn glared at her, eyes flat with fear and hatred. "How dare you?" he snarled, raising his hands again.

"What, stay alive?" Sharantyr replied. "I dare it every day. I'm even getting good at it. What is your quarrel with us, anyway?" As she spoke, she felt the stone that held Sylune vibrate once… and then again.

"Dung! You defile our castle by your insolent presence!" Olorn hissed, his hands moving in the gestures of a spell.

"He sounds like a priest of Bane in full rant!" Belkram commented, drawing in close behind Sharantyr on one side. "Aye," Itharr agreed, taking the corresponding position on her other flank, shielded behind the swing of the blue blade.

Olorn's next attack was a spell to pluck them from their feet and hurl them against the ceiling high above, but it did no more than thrust them a few feet up into the air, wavering, before the sword's magic broke its effects.

The three rangers advanced together, swords raised. The room suddenly seemed to be full of watching Malaugrym standing around the walls. Their eyes were alive with interest, and none of them lifted a hand to help Olorn.

Flames suddenly flared up in a wall before the three Faerunians, blistering heat rolling out from its roaring to sear and singe. But Sharantyr snarled and flailed about with her sword, and where it cut and slashed, the fire flickered and faded.

Then the air around them was suddenly full of other blades, whirling and flashing, ringing off the Harper's hasty parries in a constant din. Sharantyr cried out as one blade spun across her arm, shearing through the worn leathers. A moment later, another carried away most of her right ear in a burst of blood, along with the hair around it.

Olorn laughed at the sight, then choked and caught at his throat, tearing out the dagger Itharr had hurled. The Malaugrym flung it down in a fury and swept both his hands together, pointing at the burly Harper, and all the flying blades came whirling out of the air around them to hurtle toward Itharr.

The deadly converging rain of leaping points met the sweep of Sharantyr's blazing blue blade, shimmered, and was gone. Only a few weapons glanced aside enough to escape, missing Itharr entirely.

Sharantyr strode another pace closer to their foe, but a table, flaming cards, and chairs suddenly rained down from above as Olorn spun all the shadows of the gaming room into a cloaking spiral, trying to smother the powers of the blade that seemed able to slay all his spells. Shadow would not fail him. It never had.

The table smashed Belkram to the floor. Itharr was flung aside, face bleeding, under the blows of two chairs, leaving Sharantyr standing alone, struggling to keep hold of her blade as shadows roared and wheeled around her, clawing and tugging.

Olorn smiled triumphantly at the lady ranger, a smile that slowly grew fangs. Shar's eyes fell from the glistening teeth to the Shadowmaster's hands, and saw that they'd become tentacles. As she gasped at the terrible, ever-growing power of the shadows mounting against her, he reached forward. He'd tear one man limb from limb, and then the other. By then the maid should be disarmed and he could have some fun.