Amdramnar regarded him expressionlessly. "I did, and do."
"Have you any knowledge of her feelings toward you?"
"She did not know what to make of me. I was not the menacing scaly thing she expected-but she never relaxed, though she did trust me so far as to open herself to attack on several occasions… at least once to see what I'd do, I am certain."
"And what would you do if you met her again?"
"I do not know. I must learn more of her true powers, aims, and loyalties. At present I still desire her as a mate and as part of our house. Although the damage done by her weapon was… unprecedented, she was acting at first to defend herself even as you or I would against treachery from a fellow Malaugrym. That she and her companions came here to do us harm is, I think, likely. That they did not know us is certain, and so I must conclude that they came here on principle, or following the orders of another."
"Elminster? If not the Great Foe, then who?"
"That is one of the things we must learn." The shadow bore them into brighter and more tranquil surroundings, a placid blue pool wreathed in mists, and Amdramnar added, "Yet if the need arises, I would strike to slay her and her two companions without hesitation. The men must die in any case, for the honor of our house. If the woman proves less than I believe her to be, death can come to her whenever her usefulness in breeding the next generation of Shadowmasters is done."
He turned his head to regard Argast. "On the other hand, she is but one of many countless maids who walk Faerun right now… and many of those, I'm given to understand, have a strong talent for sorcery."
"More suitable mates may await both of us?"
"And many of our fellows, perhaps. We shall see. Faerun awaits."
"So many riches… denied to us for so long."
"At the command of the Great Foe, remember-bolstered by craven Shadowmasters High who feared both his magic and the access all of us would have to things not under the control of the Shadow Throne."
"This is truth," Argast said softly. "Even I've seen more in the great scrying portal over the years than Dhalgrave intended, and I am one of those who pays little attention to intrigues and watching over other planes. It is no wonder some of our elders-Milhvar comes to mind-spent much time and effort on covert expeditions into the realms of Faerun, seeking magic."
"And mates," Amdramnar said with the ghost of a smile, "if the rumors are true."
"He has offspring in Faerun?"
"Ignorant of their heritage, and perhaps weak in their shapeshifting, no doubt," Amdramnar replied, "but yes-several, I believe."
Argast frowned. "Unknown offspring aside, how many of our kin walk Faerun right now?"
"Whoever survived battle with Sharantyr and her companions, when the sword took her back to Faerun. Ahorga, I have seen… and two others who took many shapes, but are possibly Atari and Yinthrim. There are others: two working together, and at least one more. I cannot believe all of these fled the battle; some of the kin must have seized upon the emptiness of the Shadow Throne to defy the standing decrees and make their own ways into Faerun."
"Bralatar and Lorgyn have both vanished from their chambers," Argast said quietly, "and have been absent for more than a dozen feastings."
"So," Amdramnar replied, one side of his face lifting into a smile, "let us do likewise, you and I. To Faerun, to take the shapes of others, and watch patiently, and learn before we move against these mortals. In the chaos ruling Faerun right now, we dare not rely on magic. Any foray there now will be very dangerous-but what opportunities for hunting!"
"I feel its attraction more strongly as the years pass and we visit it not," Argast replied. "I begin to understand why so many of our elders defied the Great Foe even when they knew death awaited them."
"Shadowhome and the planes we can readily reach never felt limiting in any way before," Amdramnar said quietly. "Faerun seemed to be no more than some sort of fanciful land of beasts where the restless of our house went to play, and when careless got hurt there. But now…"
"Let us prepare," Argast said, eyes shining. "I want to be in Faerun without delay!"
The shadow glided to the place it always did, and they stepped off it and went on up a dusty stair choked with the skeletal remains of dead and forgotten servants, into an undercrypt several stairs beneath the Hall of Griffons. There they parted, ascending into the castle proper by different ways so as not to be seen together by interested eyes.
The gigantic shadow that had been their steed drifted on to a place the two Malaugrym did not know. There it rose into a different form and called forth four spherical stones of winking blue fire to orbit one of its wrists endlessly.
"And so two more of the restless of our house go to play," it said in amused tones, "one at least formally welcoming the prospect! Interesting times in old Shadowhome, indeed!"
And as it chuckled, it did something else in the darkness, and vanished to other, deeper places. There were many locales in Shadowhome that neither Argast nor Amdramnar had ever visited, or known about. That lack of knowledge, though, didn't seem likely to prove fatal to either of them. Yet. Faerun, Shadowdale, Flamerule 18
The serene radiance of Selune fell upon ravaged Shadowdale as it did on all the rest of Faerun this night. Bright moonlight gleamed on both the armor of weary dale sentries and the bloodied gear of the dead. There was no sound but the howling of wolves and the bawling of cattle whose dead masters would never return to milk them. The two women who stood in a lonely place of scorched stones were as silent as the night breezes.
One was the Bard of Shadowdale, Storm Silverhand, her face grim and smudged with dirt and old, dried blood that was not her own. She still wore her armor, and leaned on a sword that had seen much use this day. Had she not recently drunk of a certain well-hidden decanter in her kitchen, she would be trembling with weariness now.
The other woman had no body left to tire-she was a thing of ghostly radiance, a softly curved bright shadow in the night. She floated upright above the stones of her long-burned hut, face lifted to the stars, and began an invocation to Mystra more ancient than she was… and that was old indeed. No one disturbed them, or came near; such doings at the ruined hut were why the folk of the dale still called her the Witch of Shadowdale, and shunned this place.
"Great Lady of Mysteries, hear me," the ghostly lady said into the night, picturing the dark, star-filled eyes of the goddess. "Your servant Sylune entreats."
She and Storm both knew well that Mystra was no more, but perhaps the one who had taken her place would hear… or steadfast Azuth, the Hand of Sorcery.
Her call fell into silence, and she stood there in the moonlight feeling more lonely than she had for years. "Mystra, hear me," she said at last. "Azuth, hear me."
From out of the darkness of vast distances, a voice echoed. A voice she knew. "Azuth hears, little sister."
"Lord of Spellcraft," Sylune breathed, almost shuddering in relief, "does Elminster live?"
There came a twinkling of lights in the air above her, soft green and blue radiances that sparkled as they spun slowly about each other. From out of the heart of this occurrence came the deep, confident voice of the god Azuth. "I did not feel him pass… but I cannot feel his mind now, either. Much is in chaos; I cannot be sure of his fate."
"I stand in Shadowdale," Sylune told him. "We have resisted the work of Bane here thus far, at great cost."
"Aye, great cost, indeed. Mystra returned to us, and was lost again forever. She and Elminster fought Bane for possession of a Celestial Stair"