Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [19]
Manshoon stood impassively and dispassionately regarding it as Sarhthor made his own way across the gleaming marble to stand behind and to one side of the high lord. As he came to a halt, the window began to slide aside.
Their arrival had been watched, as usual.
Still glowing with false sunlight, the window slid open, revealing a dark hole behind it, like the eyesocket of a gigantic skull. Out of that darkness floated two spherical creatures, their dark bodies surrounded by sinuously coiling tentacles that turned restlessly to point in one direction and then another. From the end of each stalk, a cold, fell eye looked out at the world.
Each beholder slowly turned on end to gather all ten of its eyestalks in a sinister, watchful cluster: a forest of eyes stared at the two Zhentarim wizards as the beholders drifted into the room.
The eye tyrants floated on in silence until they hung above the wizards, well out of reach and comfortably separated from each other. Then they rolled slowly upright, revealing their many-toothed mouths and large, central eyes. One was slightly larger than the other.
"Something is amiss here," the larger one hissed in its deep, echoing voice. "Strange magic is present."
Manshoon turned wordlessly to Sarhthor, who frowned, shook his head doubtfully, and said, "If you'll allow me a few breaths and a spell, Lords…"
"Proceed," three cold voices said together, and the archmage had to hide a smile at how like the eye tyrants Manshoon sounded… how like an eye tyrant he had truly become.
Slowly and carefully, Sarhthor made the gestures and mutterings of a powerful and thorough detection spell. Thousands of tiny motes of light erupted from his robes, swirling around the chamber like a school of startled fish, prying into every corner. The conspirators waited patiently as the lights swooped, darted, hung in corners, and finally faded away.
Sarhthor shook his head again. "Many enchantments adorn the tapestries, walls, ceiling, and floor-as always, and some of them have been laid so as to shift and change, over time-but as Mystra is my witness, I can find no trace of scrying, spies, or magical traps in this place. There are, however, two spiders alive here, and a scuttlebug-by your leave?"
Manshoon nodded, and the beholders blinked all their eyes, once. Sarhthor strode across the floor to crush the three intruders underfoot. "Done," he said simply, then walked back to stand with his lord.
"You called for me with some secrecy," Manshoon said flatly, looking up at the beholders, "and I have come. Speak."
Eyestalks curled, and many glances flickered silently back and forth high above the two men; an unspoken agreement was swiftly reached. The smaller beholder drifted slightly lower. "We have become increasingly mistrustful of the loyalty of Fzoul and his underlings to any causes and authority but their own. Prying priests are everywhere in Zhentil Keep; we dared not meet with you there."
The other, larger beholder spoke. "We have also," it rumbled coldly, "begun to despair over the ineptitude of the current crop of magelings. Many of us would like to see wizards firmly in Control of our Brotherhood again, wielding spellfire so as to rule or destroy the priests. But most of the lesser wizards lack the self-control to govern themselves, let alone control anything else."
"Aye, this spellfire is the key," said the smaller eye tyrant eagerly. "If you are to keep our support, Manshoon, your hand must come to wield it, or hold a firm grip on whoever does."
The High Lord of Zhentil Keep shrugged. "Tell me how, with the losses we've suffered so far trying to seize spellfire, I am to ensure