Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [103]
Amdramnar leaned over. "Worms in sauce," he explained eagerly. "Tombworms, they're called. They live in the castle foundations. Taste like roast almonds, only better. You'll love them!"
The look Itharr gave him then almost made Shar choke forth all the wine she'd just sipped, but it was obvious that the Shadowmaster wasn't jesting with them. He genuinely loved good food and wanted to share his enthusiasms with someone. Three someones… even if they were rather wary guests.
If we live through this, Belkram thought silently, I'm going to get you for this, Elminster, I really am!
Sylune laughed lightly in his mind. Do you know how many folk have said that, down the years'?
No, and I care not, Belkram told her sourly. With what I'm planning to do to him, only one of us has to succeed. "… And this," Amdramnar was saying enthusiastically, waving a platter, "is a special delicacy. Netherbird brains in shadowdark wine!"
Remember, Belkram reminded her darkly, it takes only one.
Sharantyr shuddered delicately, but when she looked to Belkram, he gave her a very slight reassuring nod. He'd better not be enjoying this, she thought to herself, and gingerly took a spoonful.
It was good, and Shar told herself, for perhaps the hundredth time that night, to relax. Her ribs and shoulders ached with tension, and yet the smiling young Malaugrym that she knew they could not trust was being a charming host, plying them with food and wine, and partaking just as heavily himself as he kept up a smooth and witty flow of conversation, deftly slipping in sly digs when talking to Belkram and Itharr until he had them insulting each other with the easy grace of yore. The seat was comfortable, the room warm, and… suddenly Shar stiffened and sat up once more, slapping a hand to the comforting hard length of Mystra's sword, where she'd propped it against the inside of her right thigh. Had that been a stealthy tug on the blade? She leaned forward to look, but found no tendril or tentacle. When she looked up sharply at Amdramnar, she found herself looking at the Shadowmaster's back, as he pointed out to Itharr a particular scene etched on the wall.
Not Amdramnar, then. What could have jolted her so? Did the Castle of Shadows have… shadow rats? Shar sighed and set down her glass. Stop doing this to yourself, lass, she told herself sternly, hunching forward in her seat and laying a hand on the hilt of her blade.
And then she felt it again, a gentle probing near her ankle. She kicked back sharply and got up, whirling to see what could have touched her, and bumped Amdramnar solidly, thigh to thigh.
Their Malaugrym host looked at her, startled, and Sharantyr had to catch her breath. Gods, but he's beautiful, she thought. And then a tiny voice within her replied: Of course. He can make himself look like whatever you most want. It's how they catch their prey.
"What's wrong, Lady Sharantyr?" Amdramnar asked, real concern in his stormy gray eyes.
They hadn't been that hue before. They'd been blazing red when he fought Olorn. Enough of this! Sharantyr shook herself mentally, wondering if she was falling under some sort of spell, and said firmly, "I'm sorry. I was startled. The seat… it started… to touch my leg."
"Wise seat," Belkram told his plate, and Itharr chuckled.
The Malaugrym shook his head at them. "Are they always like this?" he asked, mild amusement in his eyes.
Sharantyr nodded serenely. "Yes," she said. "I pay them no mind. They're my swordbrothers."
The Shadowmaster seemed to freeze for a moment, then said, "You'll have to explain that to me sometime, after we deal with your seat." He leaned forward and pushed on the fabric. "All of this is shadowstuff," he explained to them, "and it responds to magic. Some shadows flee strong magic, and others try to merge with it. This seat is of the latter sort. Your blade is powerful magic indeed. May I ask where you got it?"
He straightened, holding her eyes with his own, his deep and somehow hungry gaze locked with hers. So this was it,