Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [136]
Maeraddyth drew back in astonishment, and Uldreiyn smiled at him. The shocked young warrior saw tears to match his own glimmering in the giant elf s eyes. "Now heed, young Maeraddyth, and make me proud of you," the archmage growled.
'You-all of us-"The warrior on his knees was suddenly aware that he knelt in the center of a ring of watching faces, and that tears were falling around him like raindrops in a storm. "-must put this dark day behind us. Never speak of it, save in the innermost rooms of this abode, when no servants are about. We must work to rebuild the family honor, pledge our fealty anew to the Coronal as soon as is safely possible, and swallow whatever punishments he deems fitting. If we are to pay wealth, or give up our young to the Coronal's raising, or see retainers who fought today put to death, so be it. We must distance our House from the actions of those Starym who have defied the Coronal's wishes. We must show shame, not proud defiance… or there may soon be no House Starym, to rise to greatness again."
He rose, his firm grip dragging Maeraddyth to his feet also, and looked around at the ring of silent faces. "Do we have understanding?"
There were silent nods.
"Do we have disagreement? I would know now, so that I can slay or mind-meld as necessary." He looked around, eyes hard, but no one, not even the trembling Maeraddyth, said him nay.
"Good. Disturb me not, but dress in your best and wait my return. The Starym who flees this abode is no longer one of us."
Without another word Uldreiyn Starym, senior archmage of the House, strode out from them and marched across the room, face set.
Servants fled at the sight of his face, on the long walk through the halls to his own spell tower. When its door closed quietly behind them, he laid a hand on it and said the word that released the two ghost dragons from the splendid wyrms of the Starym arms emblazoned on the outer surface of the door.
They prowled up and down the last little stretch of corridor all night, ready to keep even those of House Starym out, but no one came to try to win a way past them. Which was just as well, for ghost dragons are always hungry.
* * * * *
The Pool of Remembrance shone white again, and the Coronal, looking weary, raised his hand to the Srinshee where she stood on air beside the throne. "None of them understand," he said quietly. He touched the gleaming blade that hung at his side. "For twenty years and more the foolish younglings of the great houses struggled to seize the throne. But even had they triumphed, the victor would have gained no more than the opportunity to submit to the blade-right ritual." He looked at Elmara, now Elminster again, standing with Nacacia and the Lady Herald. "Many may try that ritual, but only one will be chosen, surviving tests of talent, head, and heart." He sighed. "They are so young, so foolish." Mythanthar stood listening, a little smile on his face, and said nothing. His eyes were on the elves busily cleaning the Chamber of the Court of blood and bodies.
The Coronal said quietly to the Srinshee, "Do it now. Please."
Above them, the aged child-sorceress touched the floating Throne of Cormanthor, cast a spell, and then stood trembling, her eyes closed, as the great sound of the Calling rolled out through her.
Light lanced from every part of her body. From where those beams touched its walls and ceiling and pillars, the whole vast chamber hummed into a great rising chord.
It built to a soaring height, and then died away as slowly. When it was done, the leaders of all the Houses of Cormanthor stood before the throne, and lesser elves were crowding in the doors.
Eltargrim sheathed his sword and rose slowly through the air until