Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [30]
"And the Red Wizards, and Khelben Blackstaff, and the Simbul of Aglarond, and a few others," Yabrant added with a grin.
"Precisely." The word had scarce left Kostil's mouth when angry voices shouted icily from the sneering, snarling mouths of two young and handsome Malaugrym who stood in human form, pointing and gesturing rudely at each other.
Neleyd stared from one to the other. "I've seen that one before, but never heard such words from him…"
"That's Olorn," Eldargh rumbled. "He fancies himself the next occupant of the Shadow Throne and is fool enough to think he can manipulate all of us into giving it freely to him."
"And his rival is Amdramnar-the wiser, I think, and smooth as oiled wine. A loner, where Olorn surrounds himself with the weakest witted among us, forming little whispering societies to make the nothings of the kin feel important."
"Olorn favors bringing human captives in, then?" Neleyd asked hesitantly, looking from one shouting shape-shifter to the other.
"Aye, but he might change his views several times before this day is done."
Neleyd looked at him in astonishment. "Why all the fury, then?"
"Those two?" Bheloris chuckled. "They'd disagree over what their own names are, just to be on opposite sides of something. They'll slay each other one day, for sure, if someone else doesn't get one of them first."
Kostil shrugged. "If they hold to their purposes behind Olorn there-see them storming off, all showy gestures? – that someone bids fair to be Elminster, and soon."
Neleyd suppressed a shudder. "Have you seen many of us-of the kin-die?"
"Down the years?" Bheloris looked thoughtful. "Yes. A good threescore."
Kostil nodded. "More than that, before these eyes."
Neleyd looked from one of them to the other. "So what do you think we should do with human mages?"
"Destroy them," Kostil said calmly. "Once and for all."
6
Fire in the Night
Daggerdale, Kythorn 15
The rabbit stew that Storm had packed for them was all gone, and the fire out. Sharantyr and Itharr were licking their fingers for the last of the butter that had dripped from their hardbread, as Belkram scrubbed the pot clean with handfuls of sand. Elminster lay on his back, unlit pipe in mouth, and stared up at the circling stars overhead.
"Nnmm," Itharr said, licking his lips and wiping his hands on the turf beside him. "So how long are the gods likely to walk in the Realms and chaos reign?"
Elminster shrugged. "Too long." He lowered one elbow to peer past it at the young ranger. "If ye want a count of days, I know not."
"And we have to wander the wilderlands until then, playing nursem-ah, escorts-to a certain old wizard whom the shapeshifters regard as their Great Foe? Is this… prudent? Is this likely to end in anything else save disaster? Is-"
Shar put a playful hand on Itharr's chest and shoved him flat on the ground. "Stop sniveling, you thing you!" she said affectionately.
Itharr's reply was forestalled by Elminster's sharp warning: "No foolplay, ye two. We must be ready for them, always. Now is when they're most likely to attack!"
His words came too late. The Harper had tugged, twisted, and hauled all at once, and the helplessly overbalanced Sharantyr went over him, to her own landing. In the same movement he was atop her, tickling, as children tumble at play in muddy yards.
"Itharr!" Elminster roared over Sharantyr's breathless giggles and sobs of protest. The ranger turned a face of injured innocence to him.
"They'd have the good taste not to attack, surely," he asked, "when we are seriously engaged in wallowing in the heights of depravity?"
"They'll probably do exactly that," Elminster replied grimly, sitting up to give the Harper the full benefit of his forbidding glare.
"Wallowing in depravity?" Belkram