Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [132]
Shalheira Talandren, High Elven Bard of Summerstar
from Silver Blades And Summer Nights:
An Informal But True History of Cormanthor
published in The Year of the Harp
Sudden light kindled in the darkness and the dust. Golden motes of light, drifting up from the open hand of a sorceress who seemed no more than an elf-child. Suddenly the Chamber of the Court was no longer lit only by the flashes of spells, the flickering steel of the Coronal's sweeping blade, and the leaping flames of small fires blazing up tapestries here and there.
Like a sunrise in the morning, light returned to the battlefield.
And battlefield the grand Chamber of the Court had become. Bodies lay strewn everywhere, and amid the risen dust, the sky could be seen faintly through the rent in the vaulted roof of the hall. Huge fragments of the toppled pillar lay tumbled behind the floating throne, with dark rivers of blood creeping out from beneath some of them.
Elves still battled each other all over the Court. armathors struggled with courtiers and Starym mages here, there, and everywhere, in a tangle of flashing blades, curses, winking rings, and small bursting spells.
The Srinshee was floating in front of the throne, conjured light still streaming up from her tiny body. Lightnings played along the fingertips of her other hand, and stabbed out to intercept spells she deemed too deadly, as they howled and snarled above the littered floor of the Court.
As Nacacia and El found their feet and staggered back into each other's arms, they saw something flicker in the hands of their former master. Suddenly The Masked was holding a stormsword conjured from elsewhere, purple lightnings of its own playing up and down its blade. His face no longer looked so desperate as he watched the Coronal hewing slowly through the Starym retainers gathered in front of their lord speaker.
Llombaerth Starym looked over at the human and the half-elf standing in each other's arms then, and his eyes narrowed.
He crooked a hand, and El felt a sudden stirring in his muscles. "No!" he cried desperately, as The Masked jerked him out of Nacacia's grasp, and lifted his hands to work a spell.
As his eyes were dragged up to focus on the Srinshee, El cried out, "Nacacia! Help me! Stop me!"
His mind was flashing through magics as The Masked rummaged his spell roster, seeking one particular spell and, with a warm surge of satisfaction, found it.
It was the spell that snatched blades from elsewhere and transported them, flashing in point-first, to where one desired.
Where the Masked desired the points to go was the eyes and the throat and breast and belly of the Srinshee, as she stood on emptiness deflecting the worst magics of the warring elves.
All over the hall fresh spells flared. Elves who'd hated rivals for years took advantage of the fray to settle old scores. One elf so old that the skin of his ears was nearly transparent clubbed another of like age to the ground with a footstool.
The falling elder's body spread its brains over the slippers of a haughty lady in a blue gown, who didn't even notice. She was too busy struggling against another proud lady in an amber dress. The two swayed back and forth, pulling hair, scratching, and spitting. There was blood on their nails as they slapped, kicked, and nailed at each other in panting fury. The lady in amber slashed open one cheek of the lady in blue; her foe responded by trying to throttle her.
As similar battles raged in front of him, El raised his hands and set his gaze upon the Srinshee.
Nacacia screamed as she realized what was happening, and El felt the thudding blows of her small fists. She jostled him, shoved him, and beat at his head, trying to ruin his spell but not hurt him.
Slowly, fighting his own body but unmoved by the pain she was causing, El gathered his will, took out