Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [142]
He saw his attacker for the first time. Uldreiyn Starym, senior lord and archmage of that House, sneering at him in serene triumph as he yielded that identification to the tortured mind he was sundering…
Mystra! Elminster cried, writhing in agony. Mystra, aid me! For Cormanthor, come to me now!
The human worm was dying, thrashing, weeping for his god. Now was the time; the others would sense something amiss soon enough. Uldreiyn Starym lashed out at Elminster one more time, and then drew back long enough to work the magic that would call his body to himself, to cloak the weakness of his disembodied mind and give him the means to really strike out, if he had to leave this web under the weight of many aroused attackers. There! Done. Exultantly, he surged back to the attack, stabbing again at the shuddering, tumbling human.
There was a stir of fresh excitement in the Court when the large, burly, grandly robed form of Lord Uldreiyn Starym appeared suddenly within the ring, standing near the human Elminster. His boots were firmly on the pave, only inches from something small, dark, and dusty, that was crawling slowly toward the young human mage. It stopped for a moment, and wavered, reaching toward the Starym sorcerer's boot, but then seemed to come to some sort of decision, and resumed its humping, inching progress toward the last prince of Athalantar.
Holone was not a Sorceress of the Court for nothing. Something was happening behind her, something wrong. She spun around. Gods! A Starym!
He was standing still, though, his eyes as vacant as all the rest, and from his mouth and raised hands white fire was streaming, back and forth… he was as much a part of the building Mythal as any of them. Starym could never be trusted, but… was he a foe?
Holone bit her lip. She was still standing watching, ruled by indecision, when a tapestry and the window behind it burst inward with a crash. Out of the dust and falling rubble a slim figure flew, hands outstretched to spit fire-real fire!
Holone's gasp was echoed by many of the watching Cormanthans. Symrustar Auglamyr-alive? Where had she been these twenty years? Holone swallowed and raised her hands to weave a barrier, knowing there was no time.
That gout of flame was already snarling ahead of the flying lady, headed straight for the unseeing Starym. There were shouts and screams and oaths in the Chamber of the Court once more as fire struck Lord Uldreiyn Starym, and spun him around. He staggered, went to one knee, and his eyes flamed in dark fury. He looked at his foe.
The Lady Symrustar Auglamyr was only a few feet away from him, still plunging down on him at full speed, her lips pulled back from her white teeth in a snarl of anger, her eyes aflame. She was shouting something.
"For Mystra! A gift for thee, sorcerer, from Mystra!"
The senior Starym sneered in reply as he activated the full force of his mantle.
Elves had swords in their hands, now, and were uncertainly approaching the ring-while armathors and the court sorceresses warned them to stay back, for the love of Cormanthor!
They watched, aghast, as the flying lady smashed into something unseen that splintered her arms like dry branches, flung her head back, and then broke her legs and spine almost casually as it spun her around in the air, in a tangle of unbound hair, and flung her back whence she'd come.
Many of the watching elves groaned as they saw that twisting, arching, shuddering body aimed firmly sideways, toward the statue of the elven hero. Steered, and turned about with cold, exacting precision, to face them in the last moments before it was thrust onto the hero's stone sword.
Symrustar Auglamyr threw back her head to cry out in hoarse agony as the sword burst forth under her breast, dark and wet with her own blood. Lightnings sang and played around her as her magics began to fail.
Uldreiyn Starym put his hands on his hips and laughed. "So perish