Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [72]
And the world changed again. Ao, Midnight, and the Flame Void were gone, and Elminster found himself falling through the night sky of Faerun, somewhere east of the Sea of Fallen Stars, where a wall of mountains rose around vast plateaus, and… Thay!
"Thay?" Elminster said in disgust. "The Land of Mad Mages? If Ao's sent me here, it must be to deal with some idiot mage who's trying to make himself a god, or set up some particularly nasty doom for all of us under cover of all these Troubles. Ah, blast all gods and their Overgods, too!"
And then something rose up through the clouds and stretched out shadowy arms to claim him.
Elminster saw how many miles its arms spanned, and swallowed. As he felt for his least powerful means of flight, he said through his teeth, "Allfather Ao, if I live through this little affray, ye and I will be having words!"
And then the shadowy figure howled, and from its mouth leapt ravening magics to claim him. Ah. Of course. Two spells at once, to his one. Just another little job for Elminster.
The Old Mage snarled and selected the best spells he could think of, under the circumstances. And then the shadowy hands closed in around him.
* * * * *
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 18
Another three Malaugrym stood waiting impatiently, striking dramatic poses, hefting their forearms, and patting at where their weapons rode, as Milhvar delivered his little speech.
"The Shadowmaster High had great hopes for this project. Try not to let him down, but above all else we want you back safely. If anything goes awry-anything-touch your belt buckles and will yourselves back to us. Even if the foe is within your reach, or you're just a blow away from a victorious finish, break off rather than be taken or slain. There will be other forays, other chances."
The three kin nodded curtly and went on with their restless posturings. Milhvar smiled bleakly. If nothing else, testing this cloak of spells would temper some of the untried blades among the blood of Malaug, and break off others before they wasted much more of the time and attention of their betters.
Out of this lot? They were all so arrogant, they just might make it. Or considering the way they swaggered through things, they might all perish at the hand of some half-asleep mortal guard with a rusty halberd. Taernil was a lean, dangerous type, and knew it. If he lived, if he stayed Huerbara's partner, they could be trouble together… or the best pair of Shadowmasters to rise in a long time.
Balatar was simply a bad, wild one, who loved cruelty and killing too much and taking orders too little. He was the only one, so far, who'd openly sneered when Milhvar invoked the memory of Dhalgrave. Hmmph. To the waiting grave with him!
Jarthree was a cold, controlled one. She always looked through you as if she knew just what you were about, and had already planned your doom, but it was all manner and nothing behind it. Yet.
Keeping his face bland and his voice calm, Milhvar instructed them to willingly draw at least a drop of their own blood with some sharp part of the shape they wore, and signaled the Shadowmaster mages to weave the cloaks.
The lengthy chanting and gesturing began. Milhvar watched the three carefully, wondering who'd perish-or prevail-on this foray. They were off to Blackstaff Tower this time, a far stiffer challenge than the first three had faced. The cloak of spells hadn't helped a whit against simple guards and servants who happened to have luck-the luck of a little silver weapon-on their side. This time, it'd be more magic against magic.
The cloak of interwoven spells was more complex than it needed to be, and far from stable. But then, no Malaugrym had ever worn invulnerable armor into battle, and these three arrogant younglings had no right to be the first.
The shimmering and dark singing of the completed cloaks mounted into the air, and Milhvar was pleased to see that