Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [28]
"Who?" Neleyd asked, frowning. He thought he'd heard that name once before, but…
"Rahorgha the Brawler, we called him," Kostil said briefly, as they mounted the lift-spiral. "He was slain well before Dhalgrave came to the throne."
Neleyd swallowed. "You remember those times?"
Kostil gave him a despairing look. "Younglings," he muttered, a comment almost lost in the sound of Yabrant, Eldargh, and Bheloris chuckling in unison.
And then the orange and purple radiances flashed on their faces, and the gigantic spindle of the Shadow Throne was floating before them, a many-headed hydra the hue of shore mists seated in it. Several heads of dark, glistening eyes met Neleyd's wondering gaze, and he shivered despite himself. He didn't need to see the Shadowcrown or the Doomstars to know he was facing Dhalgrave.
Other kin were ascending swiftly to join them, more than Neleyd had ever seen gathered together before. He recognized Taernil and realized that the many-tentacled thing slithering along beside him must be Huerbara. When it glared at him, he was sure.
A tall, crimson-skinned biped covered with warts and questing tentacles of loose flesh oozed past, leaving acrid fumes in its wake. As it went, it rumbled to a lazily drifting fish with a snakelike tail that floated beside it, "There've been more assemblies these past few days than in the last few years. What's gotten up Dhalgrave's orifice now, I wonder?"
Bheloris grew a smile on his back, where Dhalgrave couldn't see it, but in front of Neleyd's face. Neleyd found his view blocked not only by Bheloris but by several increasingly bulky arrivals, and grew eyestalks to look over them. He wasn't the only kin to do so, he discovered, locking gazes with several other peering stalks bobbing above the crowd.
Then movement and noise ceased together as the Shadow Throne pulsed with a vivid amethyst radiance, and out of its heart Dhalgrave thundered, "Hear me, blood of Malaug!"
"Speak, O Shadowmaster High," came the ritual chorus, the gathered kin sounding a little resentful at the interruption of their various affairs.
Dhalgrave leaned forward, almost bellowing in his excitement. "At last-at long last!-magic seems to be weakening in Faerun, and when most spells are cast, the magic goes wild. All is in chaos. Beyond the wildness of Art, avatars of all the gods walk Faerun, sent there unwillingly and much hampered in their powers. Their magic overmatches us but is no longer absolute."
The Shadowmaster High leaned forward. "To some of us, sorcery is a strong weapon, but to most folk of Faerun, it's their only weapon. Without it, they cannot stand against us in open strife. If we move more deftly, slaying certain rulers and taking their shapes, entire kingdoms of Toril can be ours without a battle!"
Excited murmurings were swelling. Dhalgrave quelled them with sudden thunder. "I know some of you hunger to play in Faerun. Let me remind you that it is a resource for the use of all, under the protection of the Shadow Throne. Wanton destruction will not be tolerated, except against the person and allies of the foe Elminster. Treat Faerun as our private garden, to be nurtured for later use."
The Shadowmaster High's many heads-Neleyd counted a dozen, but some of them seemed to be slumping down and shifting shape, as others rose elsewhere- looked around at the gathered blood of Malaug, and Dhalgrave added, "I have urged you to seize this bright chance to strike down Elminster, and further suggested that this could be our best opportunity to seize as much of Faerun as we can, but as always, Shadowmasters are free to act as they see fit."
The Shadowmaster High rose from his throne and stood on empty air to look around at the assembled shapeshifters as he said forcefully, "Against our traditional freedom, I lay this sole commandment upon all: No one is to bring beings of Faerun to the Castle of Shadows, or leave an easy route by which Faerunians