Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [130]
"Hold!" The Masked said quickly. "Revered Lord, that is less than wise! This human could not have made contact with the drow without the aid of citizens of Cormanthor, and all here know of the long series of reverses Mythanthar suffered in his work to craft a mythal. One of the traitors powerful enough to work against that wise old mage undetected, and to traffic with the dark ones and survive, is the Lady Oluevaera Estelda!"
His voice rose dramatically. "If you summon her here, not only will her testimony be tainted, but she could well strike out at you and other loyal Cormanthans, seeking to bring the realm down!"
The Coronal's face was pale, and his eyes glittered with anger at the masked mage's accusation, but his voice was level and almost gentle as he asked, "Who, then, Lord Speaker, would you trust to examine the minds of the dead? And of the one you have accused?"
Llombaerth Starym frowned. "Now that the Great Lady, Ildilyntra Starym, is no longer with us," he said slowly, carefully not watching the Coronal's face turn utterly white as all blood drained out of it, "I find myself at a loss to find a mage to turn to; any or all of them could be tainted, you see."
He turned, walking on air, to stride thoughtfully along the edge of the courtiers. Many of them drew back from him, as if he bore a disease. He paid them no heed.
"How, Lord Speaker, would you view the testimony of the mage Mythanthar?" The rolling tones of the Lady Herald, who still stood by the doors at the end of the chamber, startled everyone. The heads of both the Coronal and The Masked jerked up to stare down the long, open Chamber at Aubaudameira Dree.
"He's dead, Lady," The Masked said severely, "and anyone who questions him can by their spells conjure up false answers. Do you not see the problem we face?"
"Ah, Starym stripling," said a slight figure, placing his hand on the shoulder of the Lady Herald to gain the use of her voice-throwing magic, "behold your problem solved: I live. No thanks to you."
The Masked stiffened and gaped, just for a moment. Then his voice rang out in anger. "What imposture is this? I saw the human cast the lifequench. I saw the drow, hastening into the house of Mythanthar! He could not have lived!"
"So you planned," said the old mage, striding forward on the silent air, the Lady Herald at his side. "So you hoped. The problem with you younglings is that you're all so lazy, so impatient. You neglect to check every last detail of your spells, and so earn nasty surprises from their side effects. You don't bother to ensure that your victims-even foolish old mages-are truly dead. Like all Starym, young Llombaerth, you assume too much."
As he'd spoken, the old elf mage had been walking the length of the Chamber of the Court. He came to a stop beside Elminster, and reached out with his foot toward the body of Nacacia.
"You would blame me for the murder of my apprentice?" The Masked shouted, sudden lightnings crawling up and down his arms. "You accuse me of trying to work your death? You dare?"
"I do," the old mage replied, as he touched the body of the half-elven lady in its chains.
The Lady Herald said formally, "Lord Starym, you stand in violation of the rules of the Court. Stand down your magic. We duel with words and ideas here, not spells."
As she spoke those words, and the Coronal stirred, as if to add something more, the body in the chains vanished. In its place, a moment later, another form melted into view: a half-elven girl with long auburn hair who stood straight, angry, and very much alive.
The Masked recoiled, his face going white. Mythanthar said in dry tones, "A lifequench spell is a potent thing, Starym, but no antimagic shell, however strengthened, can prevail against a spell shear. You need more schooling before you can call yourself any sort of wizard, whether you wear Andrathath's Mask or not."
"Peace, all!" the Coronal thundered. As heads snapped around to him, and the armathors began to gather by the Pool, he turned his head to regard Nacacia, who