All Shadows Fled: The Shadow of the Avatar, Book III by Ed Greenwood

Author:Ed Greenwood [Greenwood, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786961665
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2011-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

The serene radiance of Selune fell upon ravaged Shadowdale as it did on all the rest of Faerûn 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 Syluné 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,” Syluné 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,” Syluné 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.”

Syluné closed her eyes in despair, but forced herself to say on. “I need your guidance, High One. We face another peril: shapeshifters who call themselves Malaugrym, who came into Faerûn when the Sword of Mystra brought three heroes back to us, three who went to the shadow realm of the shapeshifters to do Our Lady’s work.

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