Cloak of Shadows

20

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.

Then the whirling blades were back, making bloody ruin of the tips of his tentacles. Olorn recoiled, hissing in pain. Could the sword drink spells and then spew them back? He'd b-by the blood of Malaug!

A shimmering barrier of swirling rainbow hue had appeared in front of him, spanning the entire breadth and height of the Hall of Stars, walling him away from the three humans. How could they have such power?

The rainbow wall bulged, and out of the bulge stepped Amdramnar, smiling tightly at him. "Fingers burned, Olorn?" he asked. "That's what happens when you pick fights with innocent folk who've no quarrel with you."

"And just what are they to you?" Olorn snarled, growing tentacles at a furious rate.

They are guests of mine, idiot kin," Amdramnar said meaningfully. "I observe the rules and courtesies of our family, if you do not. They remain under my protection." Many glances were exchanged among the watching Malaugrym.

"And you let them wander the castle freely, to poke and pry where they may?" Olorn raged, drawing his tentacles up before him like a nettled giant spider, ready to strike.

"What can they see, Olorn, but shadows, doors, chambers, and walls? What is there to learn that can hurt any of us?" Amdramnar answered, adding lightly, "What cards you still held in your hand, perhaps?"

There were chuckles from several Malaugrym, and Olorn's eyes turned flat, dark, and dangerous. "You've gone too far," he said softly, "and have become a traitor to our people. I must do what Dhalgrave no longer can. Die, traitor!"

A forest of tentacles shot forward, only to vanish in a welter of gore about halfway to Amdramnar, writhing and disintegrating in a mist of blood. Olorn screamed and staggered back, hauling away what was left of his rubbery arms. They left a trail of glistening gore to where he whimpered against a wall.

"You don't learn, do you?" Amdramnar asked incredulously. "Did you not see my blades? Did you actually think me so weak or careless a mage that I'd have to dispel them in order to raise a barrier against you? Nay, I just made them invisible, you dolt. I should finish you."

He gestured as if to move the invisible blades closer to Olorn, but that worthy Malaugrym was dwindling and flattening, air whistling out of him from twenty places in his haste to flow out the door at the back of the hall. Amdramnar took a pace forward as if to pursue him, but other Malaugrym shook their heads and closed ranks to block his route.

"No, Amdramnar," one elder said. "I care nothing for your quarrel, but I'll see no kin slain in the very halls of our castle, fighting over custody of mortals! Keep better watch over your humans in future. If they wander, troubles are bound to befall."

"I bow to your wisdom, Cortar," the young Malaugrym replied, "and I'll see to their whereabouts." He withdrew a few paces, and the rainbow barrier fell away around him.

Several Malaugrym started forward from the walls, but Amdramnar said merrily. " 'Ware the blades-remember?"

They came to abrupt halts and glared at him, and he recognized at least two of Olorn's cronies among their ranks. He gave them soft smiles that held deadly promise as he put an arm around Sharantyr's shoulders-she gave him a glare almost as black as Olorn's had been, evoking more chuckles from the watchers around the walls-and nudged Belkram with his foot.

The Harper rolled over with a groan. "Ye gods and little ground-snails," he gasped, "I think something in my shoulder's broken. It burns like fire!"

"Crawl over to Itharr for me, will you?" Amdramnar asked him. "We'd best get gone speedily. You somehow wandered into the Hall of Stars, where our mages practice spell-hurling!"

"We're going to talk, later," Belkram promised him grimly, wobbling to his feet. Shar laid a hand on his arm, and through it he heard Sylune say, There's a ring to heal you in her boot, remember. Hang on and do as the shape-shifter bids.

By your command, Belkram told her mockingly, and began the painful journey to where Itharr knelt, clutching at his forehead, blood still streaming down his fingers. "How are we, old blade?" Belkram asked, collapsing beside him.

'Chairs… chairs are beating the soft stuff out of me," Itharr grunted. "The head on the left hurts the most."

"Up, lad. We can stagger off to the graveyard together," Belkram said tenderly, rising and hauling Itharr to his feet by main strength.

"Where's a quiet place we can go?" Sharantyr asked Amdramnar.

"My chambers, of course."

"No, Amdramnar," she said quietly. "Not now."

The Shadowmaster's head swung around, and their eyes met for a long moment. Then he looked away.

"Out this door," he said, "and then through here."

He led them quickly out into a passage and through the first door they saw into a staircase. They went up a flight to another door, across a hall, and through a dusty room full of shrouded human skeletons. They passed through another door into a dank, dark corridor choked with rubble, thence into some sort of storeroom full of huge casks. Amdramnar led them right through the last, false, cask into a small chamber that he lit by making the end of one finger flame until he found a dusty candle lamp. The room was crowded with small, cobwebbed tables, and Belkram promptly rolled Itharr onto one of them.

"Rest here," the Shadowmaster said. "I'll come back for you." He turned to go, then turned back. "Would you like me to work any healing magic before I go? Itharr's head looks pretty bad… and your ear."

Take his healing, Sylune said in Shar's mind, for yourself only, no matter how selfish it makes you look. Act aroused.

"Heal me," Sharantyr said in low tones, putting out her hand. "Then I can tend my companions with a clear head. Later, when you come back, they'll probably be in need of sleep. And then…"

Quite deliberately she reached behind her and set Mystra's sword on a table. Then she put her freed hand to her lips, and licked one finger while she looked steadily at him.

Their eyes met again… and slowly, very slowly, Amdramnar smiled. In spite of herself, Shar felt a stirring within her.

He nodded and turned away, murmuring something and making an intricate series of gestures and passes in the air with his fingertips. Then he turned back, extending one finger to touch her ear as gently as possible.

He's added a glamer to make you want him, Sylune told her, a moment before warmth flooded through her and the pain melted away.

"Ohhh, yes," she murmured, and melted against him, turning her cheek to rub against the arm that had healed her. His skin had a strange acrid, spicy scent, but she licked at his fingers avidly, purring deep in her throat.

When she looked hungrily up at him again, she saw laughter and triumph in his eyes. "I'll be back," he said "Soon."

"If you're quite finished sticking your tongue in his ear, Shar," Belkram roared, "I need you to hold the other end of this. Itharr's still bleeding!"

"I'll have spells that bring slumber," Amdramnar murmured, and was gone out the door.

Sharantyr leaned against it and trembled. I hope you can do something about that glamer, she told Sylune, or I'm going to be a breeding maiden for shapeshifters… and love it!

I already have, little kitten, Sylune's voice told her mockingly. You did most of the warm and caressing play all by yourself.

Sharantyr growled as she reached for her boot.

"Now what're you playing at?" Belkram snarled. "I'm sure yon Malaugrym'll like you just fine with your boots on!"

Through a wild web of disheveled hair, Sharantyr gave him her best glare-and overbalanced. She fell over helplessly, boot half off, to land hard on her behind. Belkram hooted with laughter as she rolled angrily onto her back to remove the boot.

"He cast a lust-glamer on me, if you must know," she hissed, shaking her boot at him. Then she lifted the sole and snatched the ring she needed, holding it up into his face. "Put this on Itharr. Then when he feels right, wear it yourself."

"This the one that regenerates?"

"Yes," Shar told him, stamping her boot back on, "and hurry! I want to be gone from here before ardent Amdramnar gets back!"

"He'll have put some sort of locking spell on the door, you know," Belkram said warningly.

"Then our secret weapon'll blast a hole through the wall!" Sharantyr hissed.

That won't be necessary. Sylune sounded amused. There's a secret door at the back of this room that opens into the castle library.

"The Malaugrym have a library? I'll bet Elminster would give his beard to sit down at leisure and read his way through it," Shar said aloud.

Belkram snorted. "Read it? He probably wrote most of it!" He watched Itharr's bleeding stop, and the gash on the burly Harper's forehead begin to fade. "Sylune's looked around for us?"

"Hush!" Shar told him severely. Touch and hold him, Sylune told her. So Sharantyr walked to Belkram, put her arms around him, and kissed him.

He stiffened with a grunt of pain as she embraced his injured shoulder, but as their lips met Sylune said through them, Well done. Now I can speak to you both at once. Be very careful. Beyond this door is one of the most powerful Shadowmasters, waiting for you to come through. He's too strong to fight but will leave you alone as tools to be used later, if you impress him. Act fearless and mysterious… and no clowning, Belkram. If you do this, you just might live. Leave the secret door open behind you-wedge it with that table leg over there-so Amdramnar can come to the rescue if you need rescuing.

"If he tries what he intends with me," Shar told her darkly, letting go of Belkram, "he'll need the rescuing."

"Come back, lass," Belkram said pleadingly, and puckered his lips. "I was getting used to it!"

"Later," Sharantyr told him briskly, taking up her blade and cutting the air with it a few times. "We've got a castle full of Malaugrym to deal with first!"

"Couldn't I just buy you a nice meal," Belkram offered, "and a little too much wine? No?" He looked mournful. "It used to work," he told Itharr wearily. "What went wrong?"

Itharr started to laugh, then clutched at his temples in pain, wincing. A few breaths later, the ring's magic had repaired him enough to sigh, swing himself off the table, and hand the ring to Belkram.

"Heal thyself, dolt," he said, "and hurry, or we'll have a lust-crazed Malaugrym all over her, and that'll sure slow her down when we start running through this place trying to escape."

Belkram put on the ring and looked at Shar. "Ready?"

She lifted her sword in response, and the two Harpers drew their blades again. Shar stepped between them and did as Sylune directed. A part of the wall that looked as solid as the rest grated suddenly aside. Belkram was ready with the table leg.

The room beyond was crowded with ornate bookshelves. The narrow aisle between them ran to the right, and the three rangers followed it cautiously, peering around a corner to look straight into the politely smiling face of a handsome man in a maroon monk's cassock, who sat at a table with several books open in front of him.

"Please be seated and take your ease," the man said, closing a book. It immediately lifted itself off the table and drifted over his shoulder, heading for a gap on one shelf. "No danger awaits you here."

A book floated out of the smooth ranks of tomes in another bookcase, heading for the table. As the volume opened itself for the Malaugrym's scrutiny, the three Faerunians saw that another book was also on the way. All over the library, volumes were drifting unhurriedly about in a continuous, graceful dance.

"And your name, sir, would be?" Sharantyr asked softly, sitting down. The sword in her hand flashed once.

With smooth effort, the man avoided looking at the blade-beware, this one is very dangerous, Sharantyr told herself-and said, "Milhvar of the Malaugrym. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"Sharantyr of Shadowdale, in Faerun," Shar told him, "and these are my… companions, Belkram and Itharr." "Adventurers come to explore the demiplane of Shadow?" Milhvar asked. "Or do you pursue a private purpose?"

"We came here by accident." Belkram replied, "but have become friends of Amdramnar. Others in this castle have not been so friendly."

"I've just heard talk of a duel or some such unpleasantness in the Hall of Stars," Milhvar said, briefly glancing at the contents of the tome in three places and then sending the book on its way again, "and you do seem to travel with cutting edges in plenty, ready for use. Have you any plans here in Shadowhome that I can help you with?"

"To get home again," Itharr offered. Milhvar raised his eyebrows.

That's all? Just to leave, before you've seen more than a handful of rooms and a few warring kin? It seems a poor return for the dangers you've faced, surely?"

"I-" Shar began, but broke off, half-rising from her seat, when two other Malaugrym came hastily around a bookshelf.

Milhvar looked at her raised sword, then over his shoulder at the approaching pair, and said to her, "You can safely put that down. We rarely brawl on sight here in the castle, and never in the library. There is too much of lasting value here." He closed another book and let it rise gently over his shoulder.

"Oh," he added, "be known, Sharantyr, Belkram, and Itharr of Shadowdale-a most favorably named place, I must say-to Indyl and Thaune of the blood of Malaug. Have you business with our guests, you two?"

"We do," Thaune said excitedly. "Or at least, we hope so." He sat down on a corner of the table, ignoring Milhvar's pained look. "Olorn's got it in for you. He's raging around the Great Hall vowing revenge and trying to whelm armies of us against you right now. Would you be willing to use that sword on him, if a couple of us cornered him and held his magic in check?"

"It's the only way you'll be safe from him," Indyl put in, lifting burning eyes from a steady scrutiny of the sword to fix Shar with disconcertingly bright golden irises. As if aware of how menacing his blazing gaze seemed, he hastily muted his eye color to a milky brown. "We've been waiting a long time for a chance to deal with him."

"How," Milhvar asked smoothly, before any of the rangers could reply, "will that sword be of any particular use against Olorn? Is it some sort of special blade?"

"It cut through every spell Olorn threw at them," Thaune said.

"Bheloris said it held them both up, when they triggered a trap-chute in the Red Chamber," Indyl added, news that made Milhvar's eyebrows leap upward. He turned his head to watch a third Malaugrym come around the bookshelf.

"Ah, Drelorr," Milhvar greeted him, "we have visitors from Toril."

"Aye," the newcomer said, leaning a leonine body forward to regard the sword Sharantyr was holding. Its tip pulsed with sudden radiance as he drew near. "This is the blade that burns flesh and makes wounds that won't heal."

"Won't heal?" The other two young Malaugrym drew back from the table with almost comical haste.

"Not at all?" Milhvar asked calmly.

Drelorr shrugged. "They can be spell-healed, right enough, but won't knit of themselves just by shifting shape." He looked at Sharantyr. "You wouldn't want to sell this sword to me, would you?"

Sharantyr shook her head.

"Could we borrow it, then? Or rent it for half a day?"

"Sorry," Shar said. "No."

"Or will you work with us," Thaune suggested, "as we suggested before Drelorr arrived? We don't want to part you from your weapon, just bring its powers against Olorn."

"We've no interest in becoming any more entangled in the feuds of the House of Malaug than we have already become," Shar said carefully, "and so I must decline."

She stiffened as the blade flashed, then she relaxed. 'Nor will spells dupe or force me into relinquishing it," she added dryly. The next probe was more intense, and she felt the faint vibrations of Sylune working spells of her own.

Sharantyr rose smoothly to her feet, and the Harpers rose with her. "If you're all through trying spells on me as if I were some sort of passing beetle, we'd like to pass on out of the library…"

Behind her, Belkram snarled, "Shar!"

She whirled around to see his sword inches from her, his face twisted with strain as he fought against the magic compelling him.

And then she felt the terrible cold of Itharr's blade sliding into her flank.

"Mystra!" she cried, and slashed out behind her blindly. One of the Malaugrym screamed, and she saw fingers flying as she kept turning, striking Itharr's blade out of his hand as she came.

Fire was spreading from the ice in her side, and Shar wondered if this was to be her dying day. Easy, lass, Sylune said inside her, and she felt the pain suddenly lessen.

Milhvar was watching her calmly as she staggered, put all the contempt and disgust she felt into the look she gave him, lurched around, and went back through the door into the dusty room full of tables.

Belkram and a weeping Itharr came after her. The Malaugrym were right behind them, flinging out tentacles that Sylune smashed aside with a spell Shar never saw.

The next spell sent a ball of fire crashing through the door into Milhvar's precious library, and they heard his startled shout.

He must have raised some sort of hasty spell-barrier, because the fiery blast came back into the dusty little room, flinging three tortured young Malaugrym with it. Their ashen bodies thudded off the walls amid blazing tables as the three rangers staggered out into the room of casks.

The pain in her side had subsided into a dull ache, now, but Shar didn't resist when Belkram seized her hand and thrust a ring onto one of her fingers. "Your turn," he grunted, and shook Itharr like a frilly lounge cushion. "Stop wailing-she's fine!"

Itharr sobbed, blinked, hiccuped, and fell silent.

And deep within her Sharantyr heard Sylune say, Trust me, and felt the sword twitched from her fingers.

There was a momentary flicker of blue light. Then the sword was back, humming and glowing as before but with a subtly different weight to it. Shar cut at the air experimentally as they crossed the room, heading for the door through which Amdramnar had brought them here. No, the sword was somehow different.

And then fire snatched it from her fingers, and shadows howled around her wrist. She grabbed for it in vain and saw it spinning away from her, globed in shadows, to hang near the ceiling.

Light was growing all around them now as Olorn stepped out from behind a cask and waved his hand. Belkram and Itharr froze in midcurse, immobile. Sharantyr grabbed at her belt dagger, but shadows were sliding around her wrists and ankles, thrusting them inexorably apart.

Olorn laughed again and strolled toward her. Behind him, many Malaugrym were entering the room, cruel excitement in their faces.

"I've stood more than enough insolence from mortal wenches in the past," he said to Shar, "and you're just one more. I had breeding plans for you, but you're not good enough to sully myself with." His right hand wriggled then, becoming a tentacle-a long, thin, dark tentacle with eel-like jaws. "So instead," he announced brightly, "I've decided to make a meal of you!" The tentacle rose, like a swaying cobra, then bent and came straight across the room at her, gliding horizontally through the air.

Shar was spread-eagled on thin air by then, floating off the floor in the grip of shadows that had become as hard as iron. Her face was closest to the tentacle, and as it approached her, snakelike, she felt shadows tugging at her lips and the corners of her mouth.

She fought against the steely strength of the shadows, teeth clenched, but the tentacle slid lazily closer and her jaws were being forced apart. No!

A long moment passed, the eager Malaugrym audience silently watching her struggle. She fought in vain. In the end, her mouth was open wide and held that way, jaw quivering with the strain.

The tentacle slid between her teeth, probing ahead with a tip to hold her tongue down. Then it expanded, filling her mouth with its foulness… and began to get warmer.

"A little roast tongue to start with," Olorn said jovially, and the Malaugrym laughed in cruel chorus. As the pain began to build, Sharantyr discovered that she could still breathe-but she could no longer scream.