"And how often was my concern justified?"
"Umm… twenty times or so."
"Well?"
"But if we strike out the times we were looking at known Zhentarim holds, brigand camps, and undead holds, Itharr… four times."
"Perhaps this'll be five," Itharr offered, almost hopefully.
"You don't really have too much doubt, do you?"
"No. The backs of my hands itch," the burly Harper said, as if that explained everything.
"The backs of his hands itch," Belkram told the sky. "Shar, you're closer. Scratch them for him, will you?"
"I go out riding with a pair of hairily handsome men," Shar told her horse conversationally, "and what do they want me to do? Scratch the backs of their hands. You certainly meet some crazed-wits in the ranks of the Harpers, don't you?"
"Enough levity," Itharr said in quite a different voice, and drew his sword. A moment later he was riding down a green tunnel beneath the interlaced branches of the trees, slowing his mount abruptly and looking warily at the trees ahead. "Lady of the Forest, be with us," he breathed, knowing an arrow could take him in the face or throat before he even saw it.
He glanced back once. Sharantyr was catching up to him swiftly, her beautiful brown hair flowing free around her shoulders and her blade naked in her hand. Far behind he could see Belkram, head turning from side to side and then twisting to look back the way they'd come, in a steady, watchful cycle.
Knowing just what reckless fools they were, Itharr sighed as he faced the woods and rode on. Ahead, the road dipped to ford a small stream. No-a sagging bridge, gray with age and neglect, sloped across the bright ribbon of water. Past the bridge, the road climbed out into daylight, up the hill.
He expected an attack where prudence forced him to dismount and lead the horse through the shallow waters just above the ruined bridge, but none came. He thought he saw a small dark figure turn and scuttle away through the trees well downstream, but brownies and halflings could almost always be found in country like this, and might well leave a few humans alone.
Or might not, as their inclinations took them. Itharr's shoulders felt very exposed as he rode up the hill and circled the ruin at a careful trot, seeing his companions come up the hill in turn.
Someone had burned the manor house a long time ago. Roofless walls were all that was left of two barns and the house itself, which had a semicircular flagstone terrace commanding a very pleasant view from the hilltop. Anything with eyes had seen them approach, but the ruins looked safe enough in themselves. Sharantyr was already dismounting to check the corners.
"Human bones here," she said almost immediately, "and orcs, too. Long dead, and scattered by something that came along later, something hungry that had big teeth."
"Ah, the expertise of the trained ranger," Belkram said jovially. "Have you decided on the best place for the horses?"
"Indeed," Shar told him pleasantly, "but I'm not sure if all three of them'll fit there; you'd probably struggle and squirm."
Itharr's barked laughter spilled out his relief that no attack had come, and it was Sylune's turn to sigh. "Crude, children… very crude. I'd best come out and look about. I can see undeath and things invisible where you can't."
"Please do," Belkram replied. "Teasing aside, I've just as odd a feeling about this too-pleasant place as Itharr."
The stone seemed to turn over in his pocket, and Belkram felt the softest of breezes against his cheek. "Try to behave while I'm gone," came a whisper in his ear, and he frowned in puzzlement at the word "gone" until he recalled her first act as Elminster, when coming to a camp: checking the trees all around for spies, brigands, game trails, and the like. He stretched, trying to relax shoulders tight with tension, and looked around the ruin.
The place must have been a cozy house when it was whole, not a grand residence. There were no halls, fore-chambers, or defensive ring walls, just a stout building of rooms opening into rooms. They chose one for the horses and another for themselves, and built a fire as soon as Sylune drifted back unseen to tell them the woods around were safe for as far as she'd cared to look.
Belkram had bent his ear her way in suspicion at something subdued in her tone, but Sylune saw him and said firmly, "Nothing is amiss that need concern you, Belkram. Relax, and have that debate you were so looking forward to. I'll stand watch the night through, if you'll all sleep clothed-or at least with your boots on-and with weapons to hand."
"That's hardly fair to you," Shar objected, and was rewarded with light laughter.
"Child, I don't need to sleep anymore… remember?"
"True enough," Sharantyr conceded. "Well, then, let's have our tongue-wag now, and stow it all when the food's ready."
"Aye, I've noticed that works with these two," Sylune agreed. "Speak."
"The question," Sharantyr said promptly, looking to her companions for confirmation, "is whether we're better off out here in the wilds or back home in Shadowdale, now that the Malaugrym have slain Old Elminster."
"It's safer for us back in the dale, surely," Itharr told the food he was preparing.
"Yes, but if we return there, we'll bring danger to Shadowdale at the hands of any Malaugrym who show up to attack us," Belkram put in from where he was seeing to the horses.
"Well, then, what about going to another defensible place?" Sharantyr replied. "One we don't care about, but which shelters us from brigands, hungry beasts, and other wandering perils-including marauding avatars, I suppose."
"Umm… got any such place in mind?" Itharr asked, looking up.
Shar shrugged. "My experience of these lands is limited," she reminded them. "I'm merely suggesting a strategy."
"What I'd like to know more about is our foes," Belkram grunted, checking the hooves of a horse who saw no reason for staying in a stony pen when there was a lovely grassy hill out there under the setting sun, and was firmly telling the nearest human its views. "Sylune?"
"The Malaugrym-a race of shapeshifters descended from the sorcerer Malaug, who have traditionally kidnapped women of Faerun and taken them as mates- dwell in a vast, ever-changing Castle of Shadows on the demiplane of Shadow," the disembodied voice told them. "Some of them are powerful mages, but none dare to walk Faerun openly because of Elminster, whom they call the Great Foe."
"Because he once foiled one of their kidnappings or slayings?" Itharr asked.
"Precisely. Centuries ago, they stole spells and enchanted items from all over Faerun-competing with each other, I've been told-and quite often killed wizards so as to have a free hand in plundering their magic. When they tried to do the same to Elminster, he slew one of them and warned the others present to stay out of our world, but that just made them determined to eliminate him. It's been a running battle between the Malaugrym and the Chosen down the long years since, especially a year back when spellfire appeared in the Realms, in the hands of Shandril Shessair. Elminster and the Simbul between them kept her alive and out of Malaugrym hands, more than anyone else."
Sharantyr nodded slowly. "I know, now, why the Knights decided to let Narm and Shandril go unescorted, but for Torm and Rathan riding after them."
"Yes," Sylune said. "Elminster didn't want any of you slain by the Malaugrym because you got in their way. The Shadowmasters, as they call their eldest and most powerful, think themselves superior to all folk of Faerun. We're cattle, to be slaughtered or stolen from at whim."
"Charming," Shar commented, lifting her lips in a sneer. "Remind me, dahlings, to slaughter the cattle out of hand tonight…"
"Now, now," Belkram said, "don't give them any ideas. They may well be listening to us now."
"They probably are," Sylune confirmed calmly.
"What puzzles me," Itharr said, "is why they haven't taken to ruling the Realms long ago. How many of them are there, that a few diligent archmages can stop them? And what else do we know of their powers? What can slay them?"