Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [129]
Nineteen
More Anger At Court
Among the tales and accounts of men, the Court of Cormanthor is portrayed as a glittering, gigantic hall of enchanted wonders, in which richly robed elves drifted quietly to and fro in the ultimate hauteur and decorum. It was so, most of the time, but a certain day in the Year of Soaring Stars was a decidedly noticeable-and notable-exception.
Antarn the Sage
from The High History of Faerunian Archmages Mighty
published circa The Year of the Staff
"Hold!" The Masked cried, and there was a hubbub of shocked voices from all around. "I bring a criminal to justice!"
"Really," someone said, severely, "is there any-"
"Peace, Lady Aelieyeeva," broke in a grave but stern voice that El knew. "We shall resume our business later. The human is one I named armathor of the realm; this affair demands my justice."
El blinked up at the throne of the Coronal, where it floated above the glowing Pool of Remembrance. Lord Eltargrim was leaning forward in its high-arched splendor in interest, and elves in splendid robes were hurriedly gliding aside to clear the glassy-smooth floor between El and the ruler of Cormanthor.
"Do you recognize the human, Revered Lord?" The Masked asked, his cold voice echoing to every corner of the vast Chamber of the Court in the sudden stillness.
"I do," the Coronal said slowly, a trace of sadness in his tone. He turned his head from Elminster to regard the masked elf, and added, "but I do not recognize you."
The Masked reached up, slowly and deliberately, and removed the mask from his face. He did not have to untie it or slip off any browband, but merely peeled it off as if it was a skin. El stared up at him, seeing that coldly handsome face for the first time in over twenty years… a face he'd seen once before.
"Llombaerth Starym am I, Lord Speaker of my house," the elf who'd been Elminster's master said. "I charge this human-my apprentice, Elminster Aumar, named armathor of the realm by yourself here in this chamber, twenty years ago-murderer and traitor."
"How so?"
"Revered Lord, I thought to teach him the life-quench spell, to make him capable of defending Cormanthor, so he could be presented to you as a full mage of the realm. Having learned it, he made use of it without delay both to slay my other apprentice-the half-blood who lies beside him now, still in the chains in which he trapped her-and to doom one of the foremost mages of the realm: Mythanthar, whom he cloaked in a death-of-magic, so that our wise old sorcerer could not avoid the swords of the drow this human is in league with."
"Drow?" Among the courtiers who lined both sides of the long, glassy-smooth floor of the hall that cry was almost a shriek.
Llombaerth Starym nodded sadly. "They fear the creation of a mythal will hamper their plans to storm us from Below. Later this summer, I suspect."
There was a moment of shocked silence, and then excited voices rose everywhere; through the tears he was fighting to master, El saw the Coronal look down the hall and make a certain gesture.
There came a skirling, as of many harpstrings struck in unison, and the insistent, magically amplified voice of the Lady Herald rolled down the long, open Chamber of the Court. "Peace and order, lords and ladies all. Let us have silence once more."
The hush was slow in coming, but as armathors left the doors of the court and started purposefully down the ranks of the courtiers, silence returned. A tense, hanging silence.
The Starym mage put on his mask again; it clung to his face as he raised it into place.
The Coronal rose from his throne, his white robes gleaming, and stood on empty air, looking down at Elminster. "Justice has been demanded; the realm will have it. Yet in matters between mages there has always been much strife, and I would know the truth before I pass judgment. Does the half-elven yet live?"
El opened his mouth to speak, but the Masked said, "No."
"Then I must call upon the Srinshee, who can speak with the departed,"