Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [85]
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Elminster's Safehold, Kythorn 19
The softly glowing globe that usually hung above the table in the center of the octagonal room had drifted over to one side, to hang helpfully over the shoulder of the white-bearded man lounging in Elminster's best chair, his feet up on the edge of one of the many crammed bookshelves that lined the room. A small array of wine bottles and half-empty tallglasses hung in the air around him, his rarest and best wines.
Elminster hated uninvited guests, but his expression did not change as his eyes flickered over the scene. He stepped forward with a twinkle in the depths of his old blue-gray eyes.
"You wanted this dealt with, sir?" the Old Mage asked in the calm, cultured tones of a servant as he set the scepter in his hand gently on the table in front of the Overgod. His tone was innocent, but the words hung in the air as firmly as any challenge.
Ao raised calm eyes to meet his but said nothing. Challenge answered.
Elminster met those dark, star-filled eyes steadily and laid the torn remnants of his undervest and clout beside the scepter. "See? Clean," he announced calmly, and waved a hand.
A second chair melted out of the air in silent obedience, and El sat down, swinging his own feet up to the table.
Ao glanced at the scepter, and it disappeared. His eyes flickered for a moment as he considered the implications of the powers he'd just absorbed. Then he raised his eyebrows and his glass together. "Perhaps you should be the god of all magic in Faerun."
El put his hands behind his head and frowned. "What? Would ye ruin my life and my usefulness both at once?"
Ao regarded him thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. "You're right… all too often, Elminster Aumar. Try to stay out of the grievous sort of trouble that beset the gods of your world. I'd not want to have to return here to destroy you."
He held out a hand, and after a long moment Elminster took it-to find himself shaking only empty air.
The Old Mage collapsed into a chair, noticing his wines were all back on their shelf, stoppered and arranged as he'd last left them. "Foosh!" he said in shocked tones. "A 'be a good boy' lecture and half my wine gone! I don't think I can afford to entertain Overgods!"
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The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
Deep green and serpentine were the shadows coiling around them as three rangers in leather blinked at each other and at their surroundings. It was cool and damp and smelled… strange, as if the smells of an old and deep forest were mingled with sharp scents of burning. It was some sort of high-ceilinged chamber or hall, longer than it was wide and built of stone, the massive blocks smooth with age and unadorned.
They were alone, though small things seemed to be alive in the ever-swirling shadows. A sudden flurry of fogs made Sharantyr look down quickly at the blade she held, to find it cloaked in a quickening spiral of concealing shadows. An attack?
"Gentle sirs," she said warningly, "we may have a problem. I-"
Belkram leaned in close. "Sylune's doing it, to hide the blade. Ah, don't put it away."
Shar nodded and looked around again.
"Well," she said, wriggling her shoulder blades to loosen some of the tension, "it certainly feels… strange.
Whither now?"
"My arm," Itharr said quietly. "It's… changing." Shar heard the tightly chained fear in his voice. His left arm seemed to be growing a row of barbs and shifting from patched and seamed leathers to a bluish fur, rising over bones that should not be there.
"Is it happening to any other part of you?" Shar asked, glancing involuntarily down at herself. Nothing looked or felt strange, but…
"It's-I'm changing, too," Belkram said grimly, and they all saw that the booted foot he