The Shadowmaster chuckled. "Oh, that's something I've never thought of. How do they mate, I wonder?" He set aside his glass again. "Can you find this end of the gate again, to get back home?"
Sharantyr shook her head. "No," she said simply. "We don't even know for sure if they work in both directions." "Well, some do, and some…," their host replied, tilting his head from side to side in a gesture of resignation. Then he leaned forward again. "Some of my kin certainly know sorcery enough to get you back to Faerun, though just where you'd emerge is another matter. I must warn you, however, that such powerful spells are regarded as valuable, and the caster will expect payment"-he eyed the sword Sharantyr held-"in the form of a service, if you have nothing more tangible that you're willing to part with." He smiled and leaned back again, waving a dismissive hand. "However, that can be a problem for another day."
The Shadowmaster spread his hands to indicate the room around them. "Now that you're here, however accidental your journey, what are your plans?"
"Uh, to get home again safely," Belkram said with a tentative smile. The shapeshifter nodded approvingly.
"A wise ambition," he said. "I must warn you that, were you to wander freely about the castle, you might well be attacked by those of my kin who fear you're spies for an army of mages from Thay or elsewhere. Or you just might talk too loosely of what you've seen when you get back home, and spur someone more greedy than prudent into trying to take magic from us."
He held up a gentle hand to indicate he suspected them of no such failings, and added, "Moreover, shadows are strange things, as you've seen. There are some among us whose wits have… shall we say, been changed by their experiences with shadow. They aren't safe to themselves or to the rest of us. For some of these unfortunates, the sight of mortals is a goad that enrages them into attacking in beast shape or hurling the most damaging spells they know, or… similar behavior. You'll readily see why wandering about the castle with no good plan is asking for trouble."
Amdramnar stood up. "Please don't misunderstand me," he continued, walking slowly to a sideboard, "if I say that it might be safest for you if you remained here in my chambers. In fact, I'd like you to stay here tonight, if you will. I've room enough to spare to afford you private rooms, all three, and your own bathing and cooking facilities. I must confess I find you entertaining, and welcome a chance to talk more with you about life in Faerun and, I suppose, tell you more of things in Shadowhome."
He turned, a platter in his hands, and smiled. "On the other hand, I know you're curious about the castle-who wouldn't be? — and I'll quite understand if you'd like to explore it. It would be cruelly remiss of me, however, to let you walk out that door without providing you with my protection, or some small magical defense, or something to keep you from another distressing encounter such as the one during which I first met you. And I must stress that not all of my kin would be as easily defeated as Phenanjar."
"Well," Belkram began, "w-"
"We'd be happy to stay with you this night," Sharantyr said firmly, giving the Shadowmaster her first real smile in some time, "and talk further. Is there a place we could… ah, refresh ourselves? And is there anything we could do to help with a meal? We don't want to be a hindrance to you in your living, or in your affairs."
The Shadowmaster waved a dismissive hand. "As to the first, go through that door, though I fear you'll find the facilities somewhat… different. We usually leave wastes behind us through changing shape, you see, and let the shadows take away what we don't want." He smiled broadly and went on. "As to the second, be at ease. We can prepare food together if you'd like, or you can leave things to me, as you prefer. It's no hindrance, and I'm delighted to have you."
He set down the platter and turned to the door. "Here," he said, "let me show you. You might find that your sword-"
"Feels best if it stays with me," Sharantyr murmured softly, and he gave her a surprised look.
"Ah, yes, of course," Amdramnar replied, and opened the door by holding his palm up in front of it. He indicated a dim passage beyond. "You see," he said. "Now, if you'd feel more comfortable venturing down it together, by all means. Your travel arrangements are your own."
"That won't be necessary," Sharantyr said, whirling about to stare hard into Belkram's eager face. The ranger had already opened his mouth to offer. Staring at her eyeball to eyeball, he shut it again, blinked, gave her a weak smile, and sank back into his seat.
The Shadowmaster turned quickly back to the platter with what sounded suspiciously like a snort, and announced, "I'll just get the meat and bring it back here. I won't be much time at all."
And he strode away through the mists, another door opening for him in what had seemed to be a dark and solid wall. Belkram promptly leaned over to Itharr and said in his ear, "If I hear much more of this smooth-as-silk politeness, I may spew! Have you ever heard the like? Not a word wrong. He's worse than a Waterdhavian courtier!"
"Better than a Waterdhavian courtier, Belk," Sharantyr told him severely, bending over them both. "Better, do you hear me? I'm rather enjoying it, for a change. Heed ye, gentle sirs!"
"Ye gods, he hasn't got you believing him, has he?"
"He's probably listening," Shar hissed, shaking her head to indicate "no." She straightened, strode quickly across the room, paused in the doorway their host had shown her, and looked uncertainly back at them. "Itharr!" she hissed, and beckoned. He came.
"Stand in this doorway," she said, "as if you have to… go, you know… and don't let the door close. I don't want to be trapped on the other side of a stone wall that won't open for me, fighting to the death, while you two sit in here with him swapping 'and then I changed shape and she swooned' stories!"
Itharr looked hurt. "I don't know any such stories to trade. You'll have to tell me some."
"Itharr!" she wailed under her breath.
"Go," he whispered, nodding as he took up his position in the doorway. "And… be quick!"
"I intend to," they heard her soft voice floating back to them. "I certainly intend to."
Sharantyr was as good as her word. She arrived back through the door, panting and with the sword pulsing sullenly in her hands, a scant instant before their host returned, his platter piled high with what looked like slabs of pork cooked in a variety of green herbs.
"Boar?" Belkram asked, sniffing the unfamiliar, faintly lemony scent.
"Ah, no," Amdramnar replied, looking a little uneasy. "Actually it's… roast shadowslug." He watched them draw back and added, "Er… from an earlier meal, too."
He took up a fork and speared a piece, saw them all watching, and muttered, "Excuse me," as one of his hands grew into a needle-sharp knife of bone. Sawing off a long strip of meat, he fed it delicately into his mouth, put forth a shockingly long tongue to lap some of the herbed sauce from his chin, and murmured in appreciation.
"It's very good," he said, "and it's not harmful to you… really. Try a little." He offered it to Itharr, who held up a warding hand wordlessly. Then he offered it to Belkram, who leaned forward with a smile, astonishing his companions, and said, "Yes, I think I'd like to try. It looks wonderful!"
The Shadowmaster gave him a genuine smile, and Belkram realized something. Taking the proffered small piece, he sat back, turning his head slightly so Amdramnar couldn't see the wink of reassurance he gave Shar, and bit into the shadowslug with gusto.
The stone that was Sylune vibrated soundlessly, telling him that-so far as she could tell-the meat was safe. He chewed, aware that their host was watching his face almost anxiously. It was good.