Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [27]
Trembling, Arashta put her lips to the dagger and found it cold. After a moment Bane took it gently away, and one cold black hand-he had long, pointed black fingernails like talons, she noticed-took hold of her left wrist.
He drew the dagger down her forearm gently, slicing a short line so deftly that only a few drops welled out. A finger wiped them away, and finger and dagger both vanished into that black mouth, to emerge clean again.
He handed her the dagger. It tingled in her fingers, cold and deadly, and the sorceress felt the chill force racing through her. "Always worship me thus," he commanded. "If I am not present to take the blood from you, consign it to a flame."
Arashta swallowed. "Y-yes, Lord," she managed to say. "Always." One of his hands suddenly flowed, widened, and became a mirror that showed her the face of Arashta Tharbrow strangely changed. In her reflection, at least, her eyes glowed with black-and-purple fire. She gasped, and looked up at him in wonder.
Bane gave her a wintry smile. "The mark of my power," he said. "It will soon fade." He raised a staying hand, turned away, and strode toward the trees. "Seek not to follow me," his voice came back to her, as soft and as clear as if his lips were by her ear, "but do as I have charged, without delay. The dagger you may keep."
Arashta bowed her head. As she'd expected, when she straightened up again, he was gone.
She stared down at the wickedly curved dagger in her hands. It was one piece of polished obsidian, like no other she'd seen before, its edges razor sharp. Wonderingly, she brought it to her lips again, and then held it up to the moon, panting in excitement. "Elminster shall die!" she told it fiercely, her vow echoing back from the ruins around her.
And then she was up from her knees and running southeast, across the grassy hills, the dagger clutched in her hands.
Moonlight shone back from it, and a tall tree saw the flash, smiled a crooked smile, and shrank back down to man shape. The longer he walked Faerun, the more comfortable this form seemed. This must be why most elder Shadowmasters preferred it, after all.
Issaran of the Malaugrym smiled, shrugged, and twisted into the form of a giant barb-tailed bat. He took wing north into the night, and for greater speed shaped a second set of wings to beat in alternation with the first pair, cleaving the air with a soft moan. A little shifting, a few minor glamers… and a servant was his, to hurl her life away trying to work his ends.
Ruling Faerun-save for dealing with his own kin- would be all too easy. His teeth flashed in a smile as he went. A moment later, a real bat shied away from him, squeaking in terror, and his smile grew broader.
* * * * *
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 15
"Issaran certainly makes it look easy," a pillar murmured, but no one was close enough to hear it. By the time the bell tolled again and other kin drew near, the scrying portal was once more showing Elminster's camp.
"Things seemed to have settled down, I see," Kostil remarked to Neleyd, as they came out of the Shaft of Many Stairs together and entered the vast Great Hall once more. "We're back to just one scrying portal."
"Why do away with the others, I wonder?" Neleyd asked, as the deep booming of the bell rolled over them again. Kostil gave him an amused look.
"After a surge of wild magic like that, youngling, every second portal could be the eyes and ears of some foe-or a maw waiting to spit out whatever death they choose to send us. Or to suck in whoever passes. Then again, the places they show may not be what you'd like to look at, or think you're seeing. There were a lot of such things in this castle, before Dhalgrave came to power. In those days, folk of our blood were concerned with ruling other planes. We saw Toril simply as a place to snatch up human and elven maids for breeding…"
"I saw old Rahorgha die that way," Bheloris confirmed, coming up beside them. "A manyjaws took off