Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [116]
Shar shrugged.
"So I thought," the Shadowmaster said mildly. "You'd be carrion in short order." He spread his hands. "Go where you please. No place is forbidden except the seat of the Shadow Throne itself."
Shar had a sudden vision of herself hacking at a grand black throne with her blade, a throne that twisted and tried to wriggle away from her blows as she struck showers of sparks from it. Then it was exploding, and she was being hurled helplessly away, whirled to her death against hard, hard walls and pillars…
"I'd like to see that throne," she said firmly, lifting her head.
"Soon enough," the Shadowmaster replied. His eyes were on Belkram, who was strolling toward him, looking around. Tall-backed chairs were drawn up around a circular table at the heart of the room, as if for solemn conclaves, all dark wood and gleaming, mirror-smooth polish. "What do you think of this room?" he asked the Harper.
"I don't think I should be impressed," Belkram answered him honestly, "but I am. It's so… overblown."
"Your first key to understanding us," Bheloris answered him lightly. Sharantyr's eyes narrowed.
"Do you know why we're here?" she challenged him quietly.
The Malaugrym spread his hands to indicate bewilderment. "You've come a long way, into much danger. Not the act of most idle tourists, nor the achievement of most lost wayfarers. So you must have come for a good purpose, and I'd prefer that whomever you're reporting to have a clear picture of the power you're dealing with, here in Shadowhome. It might steady judgments and save much bloodshed."
"Consider this in turn," Sharantyr replied. "You may be mistaken as to our presumed status as scouts for some invading force."
Bheloris bowed. "I hope I am, Lady of Shadowdale. I merely seek to anticipate the worst and deny it any chance at becoming reality."
Sharantyr stood very still. She'd not told this mild-voiced Malaugrym her Shadowdale title. He knew far more about her-about them all-than he should.
Sylune? Sharantyr asked in her mind, but if the Witch of Shadowdale was still resident in her head, she gave no sign.
"Of course," she replied, striding forward to stand beside Belkram. Behind her, she could see that Itharr had noted the little circle she'd made with her sword tip, and was closing ranks too.
The Shadowmaster smiled. "I don't wish to sound menacing," he remarked, "but standing close together is very poor tactics against anyone wielding magic. One spell can so easily harm all."
He shrugged and turned to face the table, calmly turning his back on them. "But enough talk of battle and strife. This is where our council met, in the days before… our last Shadowmaster High, Dhalgrave, dissolved it."
"A council of elders? Were you on the council?" Itharr asked.
The Malaugrym smiled. "You are swift, friend. I was."
"Who rules now that the Shadowmaster High is dead?" Shar asked.
Bheloris smiled. "No one-yet. The more daring among us have begun to act as they please, and things may end in kinstrife. You have come at a most dangerous time, for there is no authority to appeal to if one is wronged. There are many chances for ambitious Malaugrym to enhance their reputations by outdoing each other in acts of aggression, confidence, and efficient violence… and here you are, strolling our passageways, easy meat."
"I appreciate your candor," Belkram told the Shadow-master, "but-"
And then the floor beneath his feet gave way. "Whoa!" he cried, grabbing at Sharantyr's arm for support.
Her sword arm. As her elbow was dragged down, a startled Sharantyr thought, / must keep my feet. My sword may be all that is keeping this Malaugrym from striking us down.
As she set herself, determined not to be pulled over, the sword in her hands hummed and drifted firmly upward, straightening her and taking Belkram's weight.
He got one boot up on the floor again and sprang back. The punishing weight was suddenly gone from Sharantyr's arm. Together they looked at the octagonal opening in the floor. A trapdoor had fallen to one side, opening