"Do we dare let him go?" Belkram muttered, sword in hand.
Itharr shrugged. "I don't think it pr-watch out!" The Malaugrym sank down swiftly into an octopuslike sprawl on the stairs, shooting out a small forest of tentacles that snatched at the ankles of all three rangers. Belkram fell helplessly and heavily, hacking at whatever he could reach, and found tentacles slapping over his mouth, striving to suffocate him.
Itharr went to one knee but caught hold of a stair post for balance, sawing at the tentacles wrapped around Belkram.
Sharantyr plunged into the heart of their foe, hacking and slashing. Although tentacles rose up all around her in an effort to snatch or twist the blade from her hands and bear her down, she kept hold of her weapon with both hands and cut glowing blue lines of death through ever-thicker smoke.
Where Belkram and Itharr cut the Malaugrym, its cuts flowed together again and healed, but the wounds made by Sharantyr's humming blade gaped open and smoked.
Other Malaugrym had come upon the struggle. One even descended the stairs past them all by the simple expedient of shifting its body up onto the rail for the few paces it needed to stay clear of the fray. Few of the observers seemed interested or tarried to watch, save one.
He took up a relaxed position against the stair rail lower down and watched calmly as the blazing Malaugrym began to shrink away from the two Harpers, concentrating all of its energies on slashing Sharantyr with barbs it had grown on the ends of its tentacles. As she chopped and slashed those rubbery appendages down to a few, the Malaugrym dwindled and suddenly rolled away from her, down a few steps, to lie asprawl, gape mouthed and very human.
"Impressive," said the new arrival, levering himself up from his elbow to stand facing them. He looked like a youngish, handsome man with wavy brown hair that threatened to fall right over one eye. The only sign that he was a shapeshifter was an extra arm, half-hidden in the folds of his loose, open-necked shirt. A third hand could be seen at his belt, fingers endlessly stroking the pommels of the ranked throwing knives there. Silver-bladed throwing knives.
This Shadowmaster spread his other hands in an "I mean no harm" gesture and came up a step.
"Keep your distance," Sharantyr told him, breathing heavily, her eyes afire. The sword in her hand pulsed once, warningly.
"Of course," the Shadowmaster said. "But please believe me, all of you. I mean you no harm. I see that you're mortals and may be unaware of our ways here in the Castle of Shadows. Be advised: This kin you slew- Phenanjar by name, if you're interested-was long a foe of mine. You have done me great good by his removal, and I regard you as friends." He advanced another step. "I would be pleased if you looked upon me as a friend, too."
Shar moved her blade menacingly, and the Malaugrym sighed. "Lady, please! Have I threatened you? Do you look upon every man you meet on a stair, here or in fair Waterdeep or in any inn of the Dalelands, as a foe to be cut down rather than spoken to? This place"-he waved at the mists around-"is, after all, my home. May I not walk its halls freely? I was, in fact, returning to my own chambers, and I'd be happy if you'd accompany me there as honored guests."
"Guests?" Itharr asked quietly, his voice neutral. The young man smiled pleasantly. "Guests. Here in the castle, that means you are free to come and go as you please, but are under my protection and not to be mistreated by"-his gaze fell to the still-burning Phenanjar at his feet-"those of us with, ah, careless tempers." "Are you adept in magic?" Belkram asked. The Malaugrym smiled. "Hardly. That has been my undoing, thus far. Yes, I work at magic and can hold my own in most company, but not here in the castle. You three need not fear my spells. They are not suited for smiting enemies low or hurling stones about in battle. Come. Be my guests. Learn what one of the blood of Malaug is truly like."
He met Sharantyr's hard gaze and shrugged. "You are suspicious of me, of course. Well, then, accompany me for as long as you like, and we'll part when you choose. Of course, thereafter I cannot speak for your presence and purposes in the castle, and some of my kin will seek to slay you on sight."
"We shall accompany you, sir," Sharantyr said with a smile that touched her lips but not her eyes. "Walk ahead of me, if you will, but my blade will stay in my hand."
"I would not have it put anywhere else, good lady!" he joked, and stepped smoothly past her, inviting the wary Harpers to fall in beside him with a gesture. "I am Amdramnar, son of Chasra, by the way. And you are-?"
"Hungry," Itharr said with a beatific smile. "And he's"-he indicated Belkram, striding along on the Shadowmaster's other flank-"very hungry."
The Malaugrym chuckled. "I… see." He looked over his shoulder at Sharantyr, who was walking warily just behind him. "Are they always like this, good lady?"
"No," she replied calmly, a twinkle deep in her watchful eyes, "they're on their best behavior just now."
"Alja! Did you hear?"
"Something about Phenanjar being killed, aye? So who finally got tired of him?"
"Mortals did it, they're saying. Folk from Faerun!"
"What? How did they get into the castle?"
"Talk is it's some plot of Amdramnar's. He's parading around the halls with them now, three of them, and the wench has a blade that burns when it cuts. That's what killed Phenanjar… he couldn't heal."
"Really? I'll bet there's more than a few kin Amdramnar would like to see her put that sword through. He gathers enemies the way you and I collect good gossip!"
"Aye, that's for-whaaaa?"
A startled, wordless exclamation followed, and then all that could be heard in that lonely hallway was the hissing of burnt flesh and a chuckle as Old Elminster's head passed over two blazing bodies and flew on, deeper into the shadows.
16
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
The Malaugrym led them a long and winding way through the castle, through rooms that swam with shadows and rooms where the air was as clear-and as dank — as any they'd seen in a Faerunian keep. After a time, their route led down and down again, into a many-galleried chamber thick with shadows. As they walked its muffled gloom, Belkram ventured to ask, "What room is this?"
"Some call it the Well of Shadows," the Malaugrym told him without hesitation, "but to most of us-I don't know why-it's Deep-pool. There's no actual pool of water here, just shadows, always as thick as you see. Some elders call this the heart of all Shadowhome."
The three rangers could well believe it. They moved in close around Amdramnar to ensure they wouldn't get separated. It would be a terrible thing to wander here, lost and alone.
It was an eerie place. Night dark and tinged with purple, the tattered shadows slid past, shaping eyeless faces, prancing unicorns, and trees whose whispering leaves were human hands, all grasping and grabbing.
Sharantyr shuddered, shifted the saddlebag on her shoulder, and hefted the comforting weight of the blade Mystra had given her. Its glow was dull here, and moisture clouded its steely length. More than once she turned it sharply behind her to menace the unseen source of some half-heard sound-a slithering or the thuds of monstrous footfalls-but there was never anything visible through the endlessly boiling mists.
Shadows. Just what were they, anyway?
"Amdramnar," she said carefully, almost stumbling over the unfamiliar name, "what are these shadows? You speak of them almost with reverence."
"Not here," the Shadowmaster replied quickly. "We'll talk of this in my chambers. It's no secret that some of my kin believe that only two sorts of beings should know the ways of shadow-those of the blood of Malaug… and the dead."