"We don't know how many of them exist," Sylune replied. "As you can appreciate, it's difficult to do any sort of body count on secretive shapeshifters who're engaged in intrigues against each other as well as battles with folk of the Realms… except for, of course, a literal body count."
"Hoo-hah," Belkram agreed. "So what's Elminster's best guess?"
"He thought there were about seventy of any consequence," Sylune answered, chuckling at the calmly pressed question, "but that's before the Simbul had her little disagreement with them back at Irythkeep."
"Killing them," Itharr said. "Get back to killing them."
"Well, they're physically very strong-hardy is perhaps a better word; they'd have to be, to change shape so often-and so fare well in falls and the like, though it seems Malaugrym who've taken another shape can be slain by whatever would usually be fatal to the shape they're using. Cut off the head of a Malaugrym horse"- one of the horses lifted its head to give her a hard stare, and Sylune darted over to mindtouch and be sure it was a horse and not something more, before proceeding- "and you'll slay the Malaugrym, unless it's moved its vital functions somewhere else by starting to shift into another shape. Apparently they're suspicious enough of each other to shift body shape all the time, and go about their castle in forms that have several heads, tentacles all over the place, and so on."
"Definitely charming," Itharr said. "Go on."
"They like to take human shape but tend to put their vital functions in unusual body areas, so stabbing one in the eye might not blind it, and there may be no brain behind the eye to harm. Malaugrym who have magic can, of course, hurl spells if need be, in any body shape, and can cast protections on themselves before venturing out, just as human wizards do. They're also, as far as we've been able to learn, immune to all poisons fatal to men."
"So what is poisonous to a Malaugrym, I wonder?" Belkram asked softly. "There must be something."
"There is," Sylune confirmed. "The touch of silver in their blood-so on a blade, for instance-is corrosive to all of their tissues it reaches."
"It would have been useful," Itharr said quietly, "to have known this a little earlier."
"My apologies," Sylune said. "You are right, and right to be angry. We-Elminster, of course-didn't want you to alert the Malaugrym to a possible deception when we rode out, by demonstrating that you knew all about them. He's… he can be ruthless too, in his own way."
"We know that," Sharantyr said with feeling. "Believe me, we know that." The two Harpers laughed easily.
"Ah, Shar, 'twas a grand adventure that befell us in the High Dale!"
"You had each other," Sharantyr pointed out. "I was paired with Elminster."
"There're ladies across Faerun who'd swoon for a chance to be where you were," Belkram reminded her.
"Right, you can call some of them in next time… but enough," Shar said briskly. "We'll trade salacious stories another time. Correct me, please, if I err in the following admittedly brief analysis. We have a handful of half-spent magic items and Sylune's wisdom and watchfulness to use against an unknown number of powerful shapeshifting wizards who come from another plane… and presumably can flee back there, out of our reach, whenever they desire."
"No, I think you've said it pretty well," Belkram agreed. "Despite our cause being heroic and our hearts pure, we've been very lucky to survive thus far. Sooner or later, if they bother with us, we'll be caught and overwhelmed… as we almost were before the Simbul showed up."
"As we were, I must remind everyone, by nothing more than hobgoblins," Itharr put in soberly. Then he laughed, a sudden light dancing in his eyes. "Why not take the battle to this mysterious castle hideaway of the Malaugrym? If we're dead anyway, what's to be lost? Why not take some of them with us?"
"Spoken like a true Harper," Belkram agreed.
"Spoken like a true idiot," Sharantyr retorted.
"There is often a great similarity, yes," Sylune said diplomatically, and they all chuckled. After a moment of silence, an owl hooted somewhere off in the woods, and Itharr asked, "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Who's for attacking this castle on the morrow?''
"Are you crazy?"
"Why don't you sleep on it until morning, all of you?" Sylune suggested. "We can talk again then, when there isn't food spoiling."
"Itharr!"
"Sorry!" Itharr promptly burned his fingers at the fire, nearly dropped most of the food into the flames, and gave vent to almost as many colorful suggestions as were offered to him.
The scorched rabbit was, surprisingly, very good.
Hawkgauntlet, Kythorn 18
Across the gloomy taproom of the Hawkgauntlet Arms, the balding bartender stared at Elminster and slowly grew pale. "Burn them alive?" he gasped. "Right… here?"
"Would ye prefer I did the deed?"
Galdus gulped. "I'd prefer… it didn't happen at all."
Elminster nodded at him. "I hear ye," he said softly. "I'll take them far away instead. If I leave them nearby- believe me-ye'll have them back here soon, carving up thy folk, looting thy tavern, and then going on to the next place."
Galdus nodded. "No doubt. Yet if you burn them here, I'd have to move on myself. I couldn't walk past their ashes every morn… I just couldn't."
The Old Mage nodded. "I understand," he said quietly. "So be it." He murmured something and waved a hand, and the struggling brigands were suddenly gone.
"Are they… dead?"
"Not yet. If they behave, not for many years yet. But I'm afraid I don't expect them to behave."
The bartender gulped. "I… ah… you have my thanks, friend."
"Fair fortune follow thee and thine," Elminster said in formal reply. Then he smiled, went to the bar, and extended his hand.
Galdus took it. "Thanks for saving our lives-myself and the wife and the three lasses the other side o' that door, my two daughters and one I hire in. Thanks for the magic, too."
"Oh, aye," Elminster said, and leaned forward to touch the old man's shoulder.
Galdus stiffened. "What did you do?"
"You have a year, now, of taking no harm from slung stones and fired arrows and cutting blades of iron and steel. A year, mind. Use it well to make the folk who're going to be fleeing here from Westgate in the months ahead respect ye."
Galdus tried to smile. "Those brigands… You have to slay like that often?"
"All the time," Elminster said simply. "Today's been quite a busy day for it, but yestereve was worse." He turned toward the door.
"Is all this slaying the price of becoming an arch-mage?" Galdus asked from behind him, almost whispering.
"Nay," Elminster said, fixing him with tired eyes. "This is the price of keeping the Realms alive. I've been paying it for more than a thousand years."
Galdus paled again but held up a hand to stop Elminster's departure. He drew two tankards of bitter from a keg and wordlessly slid one across the bar. Elminster took it, and from his empty hand a stack of gold coins slid onto the polished wood.
" 'Tis free, El!" Galdus said almost angrily, looking down at the coins, then up at the Old Mage, and then down at the coins again, mouth dropping open.
"Ye have two daughters to raise, and maybe three, if the year ahead is cruel to the parents of the other," El said. "Put those away-bury 'em in a pot nearby-and ye'll have what ye need, later on." He grinned suddenly. "Perhaps even enough to rebuild that outhouse."
Galdus turned very red and then, a long moment later, grinned back.
"Right, then," he said, carefully taking up the coins. His hands trembled slightly as he put them in a sack and tied it at his belt. Then he took a pull at his tankard and looked at Elminster with almost pleading eyes.