Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [108]
"Revered Lord, I shall do so," Mythanthar replied, bowing low. He turned away again, and high above him, the Srinshee's eyes widened. Had there, or had there not, been a circle of nine sparks around the old mage's head, just for an instant?
Well, there was none to be seen now. Face thoughtful, the Srinshee watched him totter toward one of the tapestries, face thoughtful. Her eyes widened again an instant later-and this time one of the scepters in her hands leapt slightly as it hurled forth magic.
The old mage passed out among the tapestries, and Oluevaera was pleased to note that two of the Coronal's best young armathors fell into place before and behind him, wearing ornamental half-cloaks that her mage-sight could see were generating a metal-warding field between them. Mythanthar's own mantle should take care of any hurled spells, and he should soon stand in his own tower again, unharmed, now that the first opportunistic attack on him had been foiled.
The Srinshee watched grimly as a courtier in a plum-colored tunic, whose name and lineage she did not know, sagged back against a wall, staring down at his hand. His face was white and his mouth was gaping in soundless shock.
Her aim had been good; that hand was now a withered, clawlike thing mottled with age… and too weak to hold the deadly triple-bladed dagger that lay on the floor beneath it.
* * * * *
"I must confess I am still gloating about the success Duilya enjoyed," Alaglossa Tornglara confided, the moment they were out of hearing of their servants. The two parties of uniformed retainers carefully set down the purchases made by their lady masters at the side of the street, and stood patient guard over them.
"They'll not all be that easy, I'm afraid," the Lady Ithrythra Mornmist murmured.
"Indeed; have you seen the Lady Auglamyr? Amaranthae, I mean. She was as still and silent as a statue today; I wonder if the wooing of a certain High Court Mage is troubling her."
"No," Ithrythra said slowly, "it's something else. She's worried for someone, but not herself. She barely notices what she's wearing, and sends Auglamyr pages scurrying on dozens of seeking errands, by the hour. She's lost something… or someone."
"I wonder what can have befallen?" Lady Tornglara breathed, a frown drawing down her beautiful features into solemnity. "This must be something serious, I'll be bound."
"Intrigues in the streets, now, is it?" The voice that hailed them was almost exuberantly arrogant; Elandorr Waelvor, flower of the third elder House of the realm, was gleeful about something.
He was resplendent in a jerkin of black velvet trimmed about with white thunderbolts, and a cloak of rich purple with a magenta lining swirled about his shoulders and gleaming black thigh-high boots as he advanced upon them. His slim, elegant fingers bristled with rings, and the jeweled silver scabbard of his sword of honor was so long that it slapped at his ankles with every step. The two ladies watched him strut, their faces expressionless.
Elandorr seemed to sense their unspoken disapproval; he lowered his brows, clasped his hands behind his back, and started to circle them.
"Though 'tis refreshing to see the younger, more vigorous houses of Cormanthor grow into taking an interest in the doings of the realm," he said airily, "I must caution you ladies that overmuch talk about affairs of import would be a bad, nay, a very bad thing. It has recently been my painful duty to ah, curb the behavioral excesses of the wayward Lady Symrustar, of the fledgling House of Auglamyr. You may have heard something about it, borne on the lamentable winds of gossip with which our fair city seems so intolerably afflicted…?"
The upward, inquisitorial