Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [127]
When the Master spoke like that, one didn't hesitate or argue. Elminster scrambled down onto his face in the dirt.
Once he was there, he felt the icy touch of the Master's fingertips on the back of his head. They only felt so cold when a spell was being slipped into his mind, stealing in without need for studying or instruction or…
Gods! This magic would fuel any spell you already possessed, doubling its effects or making a twin of it. To do so, it drained life-force-from a tree.
Or a sentient being.
And it was so simple. Powerful, aye, one had to be a very capable mage to wield it, but the actual doing was so hideously easy. It left utter lifelessness in its wake. And elves had wrought this?
"When," El asked the moss under his nose, "would I ever dare to use this?"
"In an emergency," the Master said calmly, "when your life-or the realm or holding you were defending-was in the most dire peril. When all else is lost, the only immoral act is to avoid doing something you know can aid your cause. This is such a spell."
El almost turned his head to glance up at the masked elf. His voice, for the first time in twenty years, had sounded eager, almost hungry.
Mystra, El thought, he loves the thought of utterly smashing a foe, regardless of the cost!
"I can't think, Master, that I'll ever trust my own judgment enough to be comfortable using this spell," El said slowly.
"Comfortable, no; not one thinking, caring being would be, knowing what this magic can do. Yet capable you can become. That's why we're here. Up, now."
El rose. "I'm going to practice?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. You'll be unleashing the spell in earnest against an enemy of Cormanthor. By decree of the Coronal, this spell is only to be used in direct defense of the realm or of an imperiled elven elder."
El stared at the ever-present enchanted mask his master wore, wondering for perhaps the ten thousandth time what its true powers were-and just what he'd find beneath it, if he ever dared snatch it away.
As if that thought had crossed the elf s mind, the masked mage stepped back hastily and said, "You've just seen our spell web destroy a high house. It was an abode used by certain conspirators in the realm who desire that we trade with the drow. They are so hungry for the wealth and importance the dark ones have promised will flow to them personally that they'll betray us all into becoming vassals of some matron of Down Below."
"But surely-" Elminster began, and then fell silent. Nothing was sure about this tale beyond the fact that his masked Master was lying. That much Mystra had given him in the meadow. He could now tell when the thin, cold voice of the elven sorcerer was straying from the truth.
It was doing so with almost every word.
"Soon," the Masked went on, "I'll transport us to a place that is specifically warded against me. It is a place I can enter only by blasting my way through its shields, alerting everyone within to my arrival and wasting much magic besides."
The elven sorcerer's pointing finger shot out to indicate El. "You, however, can step right in. My magic will bring a chained orc to your side-a vicious despoiler of human and elven villages whom we captured while he was roasting elven babies on spits for his evening meal. You'll drain him to power your spell, and then hurl your antimagic shell-augmented by this magic in both area and efficacy, of course-into the house you'll be facing. I can then summon a few loyal armathors with ready swords, and the deed will be done. The traitors will lie dead, and Cormanthor will stand safe for a while longer. With that deed under your belt, you should be ready for presentation to the Coronal at last."
"The Coronal?" Elminster felt almost as much excitement as he put into that gasp. 'Twould be good, indeed, to see old Lord Eltargrim again. Still, that did nothing to