Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [11]
Two sighs answered him. "Why is it always us?" Torm asked the rock beside him. Wisely, it chose not to answer. As the light of Elminster's last spell faded in the spell chamber high in the Twisted Tower, Rathan sniffed at a burnt smell that seemed to cling to him. The gaze that he turned on Elminster was rather sour. "What have ye done to us this time, Old Mage?"
"Cast a fog of forgetfulness on ye; it'll make folk forget they've seen ye. It will also slightly alter thy looks from time to time, while it lasts."
Torm sighed. "Will I look human most of the time? Male? As handsome as usual?"
"As usual," Elminster agreed in dry tones. "I can't trace the Malaugrym herself, but I can find Shandril.
I'll send ye to her-but mind ye keep back from the lass; if ye stand guard with her, she'll relax, and ye'll have no hope against the Malaugrym. Thy only hope of besting this menace in battle is to strike when she's already battling spellfire and those who stand with Shandril to defend her."
"This Malaugrym is that powerful, eh?" Rathan asked quietly, out of habit touching the silver pendant of his goddess. Tymora was said to grant luck to her faithful when it was truly needed-and Elminster was nodding his head rather grimly.
"Her name is Magusta, and she's one of a powerful clan who walk many worlds, shifting their forms to whatever best aids them in seizing all the power they can. We are very old enemies, they and I"
"If these folk are so old and powerful, how is it that we've heard nothing of them before?" Torm demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you sure this isn't another of your little plots?"
Rathan turned his head patiently to look at his longtime friend. "Would ye like me to tell ye what an idiot ye are, or shall I save the breath?"
At the same time, Elminster said with a dry smile, "Of course this is one of my little plots." He snorted.
"My mastery of diplomacy forbids me from involving ye in any of my big ones."
Where she sat in the dimness against one wall of the chamber, Storm Silverhand smiled and spoke up for the first time. "It is another `little plot,' to be sure – but these Malaugrym are old indeed, Torm. Most folk in the Heartlands, if they've heard of them at all, know them as 'the Shadowmasters' Individually, their mastery of magic is about as powerful as that of an experienced mage. They are ruled by venom and pride, and practice at magic-or anything else-is foreign to their nature." She stretched, and added soberly, "It may be your only advantage against them."
Rathan had nodded in recognition at the name 'Shadowmaster.' Now he rumbled, "We two are poor weapons indeed to use against such a foe. I know that Those Who Harp are even busier than the Knights of Myth Drannor… but will we have no aid from thee?"
Storm spread her hands. "The Malaugrym-for there may be others in Faerun, mind-know us, whatever guise we take; someone not known to them will fare better, seeking to strike at them unexpectedly."
Elminster nodded. "Look into the eyes of any creature ye meet, from squirrel to horse, and every man.
If ye see a golden light there-or the blue glow of my spell ye're facing a Malaugrym. Strike then to slay, speedily, and stop not until all has been burned away." He waved his hands, and an oval of flickering blue light appeared in the air before the two knights-a magical gate that would transport them to the region where Shandril Shessair toiled on.
Torm sighed. "You make it sound simple enough… but simple orders have found their ways onto tombstone carvings often enough before. What if it happens that we really need you-will you come?"
"Soon enough to save thy life, if ye are beset?" Elminster's eyes were sad. "Ye're old enough to know that no answer I give ye will serve as a sure shield. Death watches always,