Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [113]
The Harpers exchanged uneasy glances at the news they had been bespelled without their knowledge, but shrugged, and smiled again.
"Who heads your family?" Sharantyr asked casually, chewing strong-seasoned buttered rolls, and being surprised at how marvelous they tasted.
"The Shadowmaster High, who sits on the Shadow Throne," Amdramnar replied calmly, perching himself on the edge of a seat as the three rangers ate. What he'd made was very good, and they told him so. He grinned with pride, and Sharantyr found herself warming to their host. He was just like Belkram and Itharr, at heart.
No, lass, Sylune said quietly, in the depths of her mind. That's what he wants you to think, but that's not what he is. Watch him always.
"What's he like?" Belkram asked. "I mean, how'll he react if someone complains that three humans are wandering around his halls?"
"He'll do nothing," Amdramnar replied, "because he's dead. The Shadow Throne sits empty."
"Empty?"
"Yes, and don't even approach it when you reach the Great Hall. It's guarded, and an attempt to sit on it will bring swift death upon you."
"I'll try to remember that," Belkram said dryly. "Help me, will you Itharr?"
"Great Hall… don't sit on throne," Itharr murmured. "Yes, I think I've got it."
"Good," Belkram said. "Anything else?"
"Don't mind them," Sharantyr said. "They mean no offense by this flippancy. It's just their foolish way."
"Oh, I realized that early on," the Malaugrym told her, "but I must warn you that some of my kin won't understand it so, or will consider the insult all the greater if they do. Friends, be very careful."
Belkram sighed. "Everyone tells me that… aunts, mother, tutors, passing rangers and merchants… even you and you and you. Doesn't anyone want me to have any fun?"
"During your execution, or after?" Itharr inquired, running a finger around his plate to catch the last of the butter.
Shar sighed. "Just do as Amdramnar says, will you?"
"Heroes never do as they're told," Belkram informed her proudly.
Shar looked at him. "Has it never occurred to you," she asked dryly, "that such stone-headed habits might be why the term 'dead' usually goes in front of the title 'hero'?"
"I thought it was just to make tombstones look grander," the Harper replied.
Itharr sighed heavily. "I'll start work on yours straight away."
* * * * *
Not far away in the castle, a lean and lithe woman embraced a long gray saurian neck. It stretched up from a body as large as twenty of her, but it ended in a tiny head that sported a huge underslung jaw lined with hooked teeth, opening up to well back down the massive neck. The jaw opened now.
"Daughter," the voice came out, as deep and as rough as always, "I must go. Milhvar's schemes run on while we wait and debate and do nothing."
"Be careful, father," Huerbara whispered, so their servitor creatures could not hear. "I don't want to lose you."
"I'm always careful," Ahorga told her gruffly, his stout forelimbs growing long, dexterous claws.
"Be… very careful," his daughter replied gravely, and he turned away quickly as he saw tears glimmering in her eyes. Malaugrym should not weep.
He waved a jaunty farewell with his tail as he plunged into deep shadows, and in so doing failed to see the small, dark shape that peeled itself off the wall outside his door and drifted after him, flitting from thick shadow to thick shadow.
But then, he'd been a Shadowmaster elder for long centuries. He'd probably have done no differently had the shadow spy walked along right under his nose. Fear's cold iron taste was something he'd almost forgotten.
* * * * *
"This place still makes me feel… uneasy," Shar murmured as they passed the stair post of chained maidens and set foot on a stone floor hidden beneath knee-deep swirling shadows. Close together and warily they began their cautious walk across the chamber known as the Well of Shadows.
"Is this the heart of their power, d'you think?"