Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [111]
Elandorr must be an even more vicious rival than
Symrustar had thought. El felt sick. He had done this, by whisking Elandorr past her defenses and letting him see into her mind. It was his to undo, if he could. Lady, he said, or tried to. Symrustar Auglamyr, he called softly, knowing that he was making no sound. Perhaps if he drifted right into her head… or would that do more harm?
She half-fell on her face then, as she blundered into the top of a gully, and El shrugged. How could she be made any worse? The danger of a predator was very real, and would grow worse as darkness came. He drifted in past her eyes, into the confusing darkness beyond, trying to perceive anything around him as he called her name again. Nothing.
El drifted through the tortured elven lady, and looked sadly at her backside as she lurched away from him, drooling and making confused, wordless noises. He could do nothing.
In his present state, he couldn't even stroke her with a soothing touch, or speak to her. He was truly a phantom… and she was possibly dying, and probably mad. The Srinshee might be able to help her, but he knew not where the Lady Oluevaera might be found. Mystra, he cried again, aid me! Please! He waited, drifting, looking anxiously into Symrus-tar's unseeing eyes from time to time as she waddled onwards, but no matter how long or often he called, there was no apparent reply. Uncertainly El floated along beside the crawling, moaning elven sorceress, as she made her slow and painful way through the forest. Once she panted, "Elandorr, no!" and El hoped other lucid words would follow, but she growled, made some yipping sounds, and then burst into tears… tears that in the end became the murmuring sound again.
Perhaps even Mystra couldn't hear him now. No, that was foolish; it must have been she who restored him after his folly at the ruined castle. It seemed she wanted him to learn a lesson now, though.
If he flew back across the mountains and desert to that temple of Mystra beyond Athalantar, or one of the other holy places of the goddess he'd heard of, perhaps the priests could give him his body back.
If they could even sense him, that is. Who was to say they could, where the spell-hurling elves of Corman-thor could not?
Perhaps he'd be noticed if he passed through an unfolding spell, or blundered into the chambers of a mage trying to craft a new magic. Yet if he left Symrustar…
He whirled in the air in exasperation, coming to a wrenching decision. He could do nothing but watch if she got hurt or attacked or killed right now. If he regained his body, surely he could use spells to find her, or at least send someone else to rescue her; the Srinshee, perhaps. He didn't give much for his chances of convincing House Auglamyr that he, the hated human armathor, somehow knew that Elandorr Waelvor had left their dearest daughter and heir crawling through the forest like a mad-witted animal.
No, he could do nothing for Symrustar. If she died out here, it wasn't as though she was an innocent who'd done nothing to bring this on herself. No, gods above, she'd earned it many times over before the blundering human Elminster had happened along and she'd seen him as a good fit for her clutches.
And yet he was almost as guilty of her present state as if he'd broken her mind and body himself.
He had to get back to the city, and hope that he could communicate with someone. At that thought, El hurled himself through the trees, not caring if he went around or through, racing back to the streets and grand homes of Cormanthor. He thrust himself right through the glowing armor of a patrol leader who was just directing his warriors into the formation he favored for leaving the city.
Dusk was falling. El swooped through a line of glowing globes of air that hung above the second street he came upon, illuminating an impromptu party. Though one of them seemed to bob and