Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [120]
The three rangers advanced together, swords raised. The room suddenly seemed to be full of watching Malaugrym standing around the walls. Their eyes were alive with interest, and none of them lifted a hand to help Olorn.
Flames suddenly flared up in a wall before the three Faerunians, blistering heat rolling out from its roaring to sear and singe. But Sharantyr snarled and flailed about with her sword, and where it cut and slashed, the fire flickered and faded.
Then the air around them was suddenly full of other blades, whirling and flashing, ringing off the Harper's hasty parries in a constant din. Sharantyr cried out as one blade spun across her arm, shearing through the worn leathers. A moment later, another carried away most of her right ear in a burst of blood, along with the hair around it.
Olorn laughed at the sight, then choked and caught at his throat, tearing out the dagger Itharr had hurled. The Malaugrym flung it down in a fury and swept both his hands together, pointing at the burly Harper, and all the flying blades came whirling out of the air around them to hurtle toward Itharr.
The deadly converging rain of leaping points met the sweep of Sharantyr's blazing blue blade, shimmered, and was gone. Only a few weapons glanced aside enough to escape, missing Itharr entirely.
Sharantyr strode another pace closer to their foe, but a table, flaming cards, and chairs suddenly rained down from above as Olorn spun all the shadows of the gaming room into a cloaking spiral, trying to smother the powers of the blade that seemed able to slay all his spells. Shadow would not fail him. It never had.
The table smashed Belkram to the floor. Itharr was flung aside, face bleeding, under the blows of two chairs, leaving Sharantyr standing alone, struggling to keep hold of her blade as shadows roared and wheeled around her, clawing and tugging.
Olorn smiled triumphantly at the lady ranger, a smile that slowly grew fangs. Shar's eyes fell from the glistening teeth to the Shadowmaster's hands, and saw that they'd become tentacles. As she gasped at the terrible, ever-growing power of the shadows mounting against her, he reached forward. He'd tear one man limb from limb, and then the other. By then the maid should be disarmed and he could have some fun.
Then the whirling blades were back, making bloody ruin of the tips of his tentacles. Olorn recoiled, hissing in pain. Could the sword drink spells and then spew them back? He'd b-by the blood of Malaug!
A shimmering barrier of swirling rainbow hue had appeared in front of him, spanning the entire breadth and height of the Hall of Stars, walling him away from the three humans. How could they have such power?
The rainbow wall bulged, and out of the bulge stepped Amdramnar, smiling tightly at him. "Fingers burned, Olorn?" he asked. "That's what happens when you pick fights with innocent folk who've no quarrel with you."
"And just what are they to you?" Olorn snarled, growing tentacles at a furious rate.
They are guests of mine, idiot kin," Amdramnar said meaningfully. "I observe the rules and courtesies of our family, if you do not. They remain under my protection." Many glances were exchanged among the watching Malaugrym.
"And you let them wander the castle freely, to poke and pry where they may?" Olorn raged, drawing his tentacles up before him like a nettled giant spider, ready to strike.
"What can they see, Olorn, but shadows, doors, chambers, and walls? What is there to learn that can hurt any of us?" Amdramnar answered, adding lightly, "What cards you still held in your hand, perhaps?"
There were chuckles from several Malaugrym, and Olorn's eyes turned flat, dark, and dangerous. "You've gone too far," he said softly, "and have become a traitor to our people. I must do what Dhalgrave no longer can. Die, traitor!"
A forest of tentacles shot forward, only to vanish