"Strutting mage," Ahorga snarled, advancing menacingly, "I've heard enough! For the loss of her life, yours is forfeit!" He flung four Malaugrym out of the way as if they were dolls and mounted the steps to where Milhvar stood. "She was worth ten of you!" he roared in anguish, in a voice that shook that vast chamber. "She was the hope for the future of us all! I'll scream her name from every battlement of this castle as I break the bodies of those who wrought this wretched cloak, and every one of them shall die!"
Milhvar nodded to the cowled figure beside him. It stayed motionless for a long moment, as a trembling Ahorga hurled kin after kin out of the way, ascending the guarded steps of the stair, until Milhvar began to fear that a trick was being played on him, and that Ahorga was going to reach him after all while cool eyes watched slaughter through that cowl.
And then the robe fell away, and Huerbara stood revealed, nude in the candlelight so that her father could see the true, twisted form of her birthing and know her for his own. "Father!" she cried, delighted at his vow of revenge and his judgment of her worth. "Father!"
"Huerbara!" the giant Shadowmaster cried in a disbelieving shout of wonder that shook most of the castle. A gigantic tentacle swept her from her feet to his breast, under his searching gaze, and then he cried exultantly, "Yes! My daughter lives!"
Milhvar stood watching with a small smile on his face until a tentacle slithered out of the affectionate embrace of father and daughter, grew a small fanged mouth, and said to him in a soft, menacing rumble, "The cruelty of your tricks impresses even me, Milhvar. Watch your back hereafter, and spend no more Malaugrym lives on this fool's game of hunting down Elminster. Every one of us who dies is someone's son or daughter. You would trade all these lives for that of one old human wizard?
We should all be glad the House of Malaug is not a fruit stall, and you the vendor! How long would the stall survive?"
Milhvar stood very still as the tentacle withdrew, staring after it thoughtfully, and said nothing. When Huerbara looked back at where her mentor had stood with her atop the steps, exulting in the sure knowledge that her father loved her, Milhvar had faded away.
18
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
Shadows swirled around them, blue-green and laced with white, and even Belkram had to admit the spherical room was beautiful.
"I worked on this for years," Amdramnar said proudly, "after I-" Abruptly he fell silent, and his three guests looked at him curiously. Under their gazes, he continued with some embarrassment, "after I saw a similar room in a satrap's pleasure palace in Calimport. Ah, through my scrying stone, of course."
Belkram hooted. "In use, was it?"
The Shadowmaster nodded, the ghost of a smile on his face. "I've not yet found sixteen willing and tattooed ladies to share it with me-with little gold rings and bells set into their skin all over-as the satrap enjoyed, but…"
"Someday," Itharr agreed.
"You're working on it," Belkram offered.
The Malaugrym shook his head slightly and smiled in spite of himself. "I see what you mean," he said to Shar, who smiled ruefully in response.
"They're handy for soaping your back, though," she offered. Amdramnar shrugged. "A man with tentacles has no need…" he said almost sadly, and then added, "I always like to have music when I bathe, and wine. Will you join me?"
"Join you? Ah, in the water?" Itharr asked.
"No, on the ceiling!.. In the water, yes," the Shadow-master said with mock severity. Looking straight into Itharr's eyes, he added quietly, "If you're fearing I'll grow tentacles like an octopus and pull all of you under to drown, fear no more. You are my guests and, I hope, my friends."
"Of course," the Harper answered hastily. Why does this shapeshifter go on with all this? Belkram wondered. He'd forgotten that Sylune was with him, riding his thoughts, until she replied, He plays a deeper game, with patience. Some men do, you know. His derisive reply had no words to it. Sharantyr appeared to have come to a decision. "Is the water ready?" she asked. The Shadowmaster nodded, and waved a hand. "Warmer at this end, colder over there, and the floating pods hold soaps. Smell them until you find a favorite. I'll set out trays with some wines."
"Then let us begin," Sharantyr said, and held her sword up horizontally over her head. She whispered a word to it and let go-and it hummed a bright blue and hung motionless above her. Beneath its glittering edge the lady ranger bent over, put her hands to her leathers, and calmly began to disrobe.
The Shadowmaster looked at the hovering blade expressionlessly for a moment and then turned toward the door.
Itharr was out of his clothes and into the pool in a flash, coming up to rest his elbows on the edge and watch Sharantyr in frank and open admiration. She wrinkled her nose at him and flicked her fingers in a 'so?' expression she'd seen haughty Waterdhavian ladies use at feasts, but he went on staring, with a big grin on his face. She sighed, smiled, shook her head, and continued.
Belkram was also staring at her when a sudden thought struck him. What am I going to do with you? he asked Sylune.
Go to Sharantyr and bind me into her hair, came the reply, quick as a flash. Haste!
He made haste around the pool, and Sharantyr stiffened under his hands for only a moment before Sylune's mindtouch revealed all. A breath later, the deed was done.
Belkram stepped back smoothly and took her clothes as Amdramnar reappeared behind a small forest of floating bottles, but inside he felt suddenly alone-and afraid. Sylune's comforting voice was gone.
Stow it! she said in his mind then, as his fingers momentarily brushed Sharantyr's, came away with her chemise-and dropped it, distracted, as he saw what he was holding.
He made a snatch for it as it fell to the waiting waters, missed the grab, and saw a tentacle snake out over the pool to snatch it inches above immersion. The tentacle held up the garment delicately. Belkram said, "My thanks," and took the garment as if he thanked tentacles every day.
Then he realized what he'd done, and wore a curious expression as he set Sharantyr's clothes neatly aside and straightened up to work on his own.
Shar plunged into the pool with a gasp of pleasure, feeling cool liquid wash away the stickiness that always plagued her under body leathers. When she rolled over onto her back to float and listen to the softly welling music — where had a Malaugrym heard hill flutes and harps together? — she found a wineglass full of smoking blue vintage under her nose. She smiled in thanks and pure pleasure, and asked in her mind, Must we kill them all?
No, Sharantyr. You can keep one or two for… entertainment… but choose carefully, came Sylune's wry and surprising response. Choose very carefully.
Faerun, The Misty Forest, Kythorn 19
Ramtharage, Keeper of the Fastness, almost whimpered in his seething rage and had to gasp out two long, shuddering breaths to calm himself enough to recall the words he'd need. These blasphemers must die!
It had been a day and a night since the Great Evil, and these men could not be allowed to live through this second day. For every moment that passed, the hurt to divine Eldath grew greater. Their sin must be purged before nightfall, that the cleansing of the Fastness could begin.
At about this time yestermorn, the Great Evil had occurred. The night sky had been wracked by the thunders and flashing evocations of mighty spells: showers of lightning lances, great cauldrons of skyfire, and near-blinding clashes of strange radiances. Surely gods had been contesting in the heavens, one with another. Such terrifying outpourings of magic had continued through the dawn. With full light, a smoking star had plunged from the heavens and crashed down like a hurled axe into the heart of the Fastness itself!