Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [140]
He shook his head more than once, on his way back to his watering. Pleasure spells were certainly becoming powerful things these days…
Galan Goadulphyn cursed and felt for his daggers. Just his luck-within sight of the city with all the dwarven gems his boots could hold, and now a patrol was bearing down on him! He looked back at the trees, knowing there was nowhere he could hide, even if he'd been swift enough to outrun them. Gleaming-armored bastards. With weary grace he straightened out of his footsore shuffle and affected a grand manner.
"Ho, guardians! What news?"
"Hold, human," the foremost armathor said sternly. The city will be open to you at highsun tomorrow, if all goes well. Until then, this is as far as you go."
Galan raised an incredulous eyebrow, and then doffed his dirty head scarf. The strips of false, straggly haired sideburns he was wearing came off with it- rather painfully.
"See these?" he said, flicking one of his ears back and forth with a grubby finger. "I'm no human."
"By the looks of you, you're no elf, either," the armathor said, his eyes hard. "We've seen dopplegangers before."
"No wife jokes, now," Galan told him, waggling a finger. That got him a dirty look (from the armathor) and some chuckles (from the rest of the patrol). "You mean they've finally got that mythal thing working? After all these years?"
The guards exchanged looks. "He must be a citizen," one of them said. "None else know about it, after all."
Reluctantly the patrol leader snapped, "Right-you can pass. I suggest you go somewhere you can bathe."
Galan drew himself up. "Why? If you're going to let humans in, what does it matter? Hmmph. You'll be telling me dwarves have the run of the city, next!"
"They do," the armathor said, grinding out every word from between clenched teeth. "Now get going."
Galan gave him a cheery wave. "Thank you, 'my man' " he said airily, and flicked a ruby as big as a good grape out of the top of his right boot, to the startled guard. "That's for your trouble."
As he walked on into the city, Galan whistled happily. The gesture-gods above, the looks on their faces!-had been worth one ruby. Well, half a ruby. Well… was it too late to go and steal it back?
The essence that was Uldreiyn Starym rose up the thin line of flame his careful spell had birthed, touched the web of white fire, and allowed himself to be swept into the growing web of magic. Power surged through him. Yesss…
As he flashed along its strands, he deftly spun himself a cloak of fire from a gout of flame here, a strand shaved there, and a node robbed of a flicker of force as he flashed past.
He was just possibly the most powerful worker of magic in all Cormanthor-and if doddering Mythanthar could weave this, then the senior Lord Starym could ride it, and cloak himself in it, and conceal who he was as he rode the glistening white strands across the city and down, down to the gaping hole in the roof of the Court.
His body was still slumped in his chair, at the heart of his dragon-guarded speculum in the tallest tower of House Starym, the one that stood a little apart. Leaving it behind made him vulnerable-not that these rapture-mazed weavers would notice him until he did something drastic. Which, of course, is what he was here for.
A child could ride a spun spell, once shown how, but he wanted to do more than just ride. Much more. In a world where such as Ildilyntra Starym died and foolish puppies like Maeraddyth had to be kept alive, one had to make one's own justice.
He was plunging down, now, moving as fast as he dared. They were all standing together, and he had to strike the right one without any delay, or risk being sensed by that little shrew the Srinshee or perhaps one of the others he did not know.
Ride the white flames-an exhilarating sensation, he admitted-down, down to… yes! Farewell, Aulauthar!
His passing saddens us greatly, Uldreiyn thought savagely, as he hurled the full force of his will, bolstered by a burst of the white fire, against the timid, carefully perfectionist mind