Cloak of Shadows: The Shadow of the Avatar, Book II by Ed Greenwood

Author:Ed Greenwood [Greenwood, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786961672
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2011-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

12

Marshaling the Madfolk for Battle

Daggerdale, Kythorn 18

Sharantyr held up the blade admiringly. Its blue outshone the moonlight and turned the center of the meadow into a ring of eerie beauty. Syluné flew out of the tree-gloom toward her, and Shar smiled in welcome and said, “Look what the Lady Mystra gave me!”

Syluné danced around her in the air—the first time Sharantyr had ever seen her do so, rather than drifting or walking along upright—and then smiled and said, “I’m proud of you, Shar. Yet perhaps it’d better be sheathed instead of waved about, here in the wilds by night. What say you?”

Sharantyr sighed and shook her head. “Foolish Shar. Back down to the everyday with a crash.”

Syluné chuckled. “Be not so downfallen, Shar. Have I called you ‘child’ yet?”

“No.”

“Nor will I again,” the Witch of Shadowdale told her, “now that you’ve faced a goddess and held your bladder.”

Shar grinned and shook her head but slid her new blade obediently into the scabbard at her side. Though it seemed far too large to fit there, it went in. Syluné shook her head.

“No. Better back in its own sheath. Don’t forget your own blade, either. It’s served you well for years, and will again.”

Shar looked back at the blade she’d driven into the turf, standing forgotten in the moonlight, and blushed. “How could I—?”

“Relax, lass,” Syluné told her gently. “You’ve faced divinity and are apt to be mazed in the wits for a while yet. Recover your blade and draw the new one again. There’s something I want you to see.”

Shar did as she was bid, and as she held the blue blade up again, she became aware of a flickering white ring in the trees that she was sure hadn’t been there before. She pointed at it with the blade, which immediately gave off a satisfied-sounding little hum. “Is that what you wanted me to see?”

“It is,” Syluné said. “Use the blade to work it. Don’t fear, for it will not take you far.”

Wondering, Shar approached the ring. It flickered, and the blue radiance of her blade pulsed as if in reply. As she stepped into the ring, white motes of light circled her, making her skin tingle. The blade pulsed again, as if asking her if she wanted to call on it.

She willed the gate to take her wherever it went, and the sword flared a bright blue before her eyes.

When the light faded, Shar looked hastily around. It was warmer—much warmer—but she seemed to be standing under the same moon, at night in an open ruin. The manor!

She looked down and found herself standing in the midst of the campfire, which had been banked over with turf for the night. She sprang back hastily, boots scraping on the stone, and saw Syluné floating into view around a wall.

“Some folk,” Shar said sternly, waving her blade, “have a very strange thing where I carry a sense of humor.”

Syluné’s light laughter tinkled on a night breeze, and a sleepy male voice

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