Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [134]
Lord Eltargrim was happy. At last, after twenty long years of whisperings and elf-slaying 'accidents' and rumors of the Coronal's corruption and setbacks in the mythal-work, at last he could find and see a foe. The spells in his blade and shielding the court were both beginning to fail, but if they kept off the worst of the magics these Starym were hurling just a few breaths longer…
"Hold him, you fools!" Llombaerth Starym snarled, striking angrily at the backs and shoulders of the retainers who were being driven back against him. The stormsword in his hand whistled as he plied it, using its flat to slap and spank elves who were failing him.
And when the time came, he had one magic no Cormanthan could stop, a dark secret he'd held for years now. He shook it down into his free hand and waited. One clear throw at Eltargrim's face, and the realm would belong to the House of Starym at last.
Then something slapped across his mind, as brutally as he was striking his retainers. The surging scene of the battling Coronal in front of his eyes was blotted out by a scene in his mind-two dark, arresting stars that swam and flowed into the bleak, merciless old face of the mage Mythanthar, wrinkled and spotted with age, but with eyes that held his like two dark flames.
Going somewhere, young traitor?
The mocking words rang louder in his head than the clangor of the Coronal's blade, and Llombaerth Starym found that he could not move, could not look away from the grim old mage who stood facing him in the heart of the chamber, with Starym warriors raging all around and elven blood staining the once-gleaming pave under the old sorcerer's boots.
"Get… out … of my head!" The Masked snarled, thrusting desperately with his will.
He might as well have been trying to push an old duskwood tree aside. Mythanthar held him in an unyielding grip, and gave a smile that promised death.
Go down and feed the worms, worthless Starym. Go down to your doom, and trouble fair Cormanthor no more.
That grim curse was still ringing through Llombaerth Starym's head as Eltargrim Irithyl, Coronal of Cormanthor, burst past the last reeling Starym warrior and thrust his glowing blade over the snarling stormsword. The two blades were outlined in fire as they struck the mantle of The Masked together, and breached it. With a sudden wet fire more terrible than anything he had ever felt before, the Lord Speaker of the Starym felt the blade of the Coronal slide into his left side, and up through his heart, and on through to strike his right arm upwards as it burst out of his body. The last thing he felt, as darkness reached up claws to spin him down into its cold and waiting grip, was an irritating itching washing out from where the hilt of the Fang of Cormanthor was nudging against his ribs.
He had to scratch it, he had to… the damned old mage was still watching and smiling… take him away, sweep him off, let him be…
And then Llombaerth Starym left Faerun without even time for a proper farewell.
* * * * *
"He's dead," Flardryn said bitterly, watching the masked elf slump down out of sight. He turned away from the scrying sphere, not even bothering to watch as a spell of bright streaking stars rained down from the Srinshee to fell the Starym army, where they struggled to win past the human and the half-elf-too few, too feeble, and too late to win the day, whatever befell now.
Other Starym stared in white-faced, trembling disbelief at the glowing sphere, where it hovered above the pool of enchanted water. Tears ran down some of their chins, but they were older than Flardryn, and so did not think of turning away. The least one could do for those who wore the Starym dragons was watch them until the end. and mark what happened, to avenge them in time to come. It was simple duty.
"Killed-the Lord Speaker killed by the Coronal in his own court! The throne of the realm slapping the face of all Starym, that's what it is!" one of the elder Starym hissed, nose and ears quivering in rage.
The eyes of another senior Starym, this one a lady so old that