Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [21]
With an inward sigh, Elminster called on the powers of the gem to summon up the likeness of Iymbryl. A peculiar surging feeling washed over him, and he was Iymbryl, in hopes and memories and… he looked down at his hands-the rather battered hands of a man who'd lived and fought hard, recently-and willed them to become the long, slim, blue-white, smooth hands that had crawled so laboriously up his arms to touch his cheek, not long ago.
And the hands dwindled, twisted, and… became slim, and delicate, and blue-white in hue. He wiggled them experimentally, and they tingled.
El drew in a deep, shuddering breath, called Iymbryl's face firmly to mind, and willed his body to change. A slow, creeping feeling rose in him, in his back and up his spine. He shivered involuntarily, and grunted in disgust. The visions fell away and he was blinking around at the unchanging, patient trunks of shadowtops that had stood here for centuries.
He looked down. His clothes were hanging from him; he was smaller and slimmer, his smooth skin now blue-white. He was a moon elf. He was Iymbryl Alastrarra.
That had been useful enough. Now was there a teleport or homecalling spell in the gem, perhaps, that could take him right to Cormanthor? He slid into the whirling memories once more, seeking. It was like rushing through a busy battlefield peering for just one familiar face among all the hacking, rushing swordsmen… no, it didn't seem that there was. El sighed, shook himself, and looked at the ever-present trees. His clothes flapped loosely as he turned, and that reminded him of his saddlebag.
Looking around for it, he suddenly recalled that he'd left it somewhere back in the dell of countless ferns and even more hobgoblins. El shrugged and turned to walk south and east. If the ruukha didn't tear it apart or scatter the contents completely, he'd be able to find it later with a spell; not that he expected to have the leisure for that sort of thing again this year. Nor, perhaps, next season, either. He shrugged again; if that was what service to Mystra meant-well, others endured far worse.
Wearing the shape of an elf would certainly get him into the city of Cormanthor with more ease than he'd taste if he charged in as a human. Elminster sniffed the air; to an elven nose, the woods smelled… stronger; his nose took in, or noticed, many more scents. Hmm. Best to think on such things while moving. He set off through the trees, touching the gem on his forehead once to be sure his shifting hadn't loosened or harmed it.
Upon his touch, the kiira made him aware of two things: only braggarts displayed House lore-gems openly-a simple calling on the stone would hide it; and now that he wore Iymbryl's shape, the memories in the gem still awaited him, but no longer overwhelmed.
He hid the kiira first, and then turned to the doorway in his mind that streamed with the vivid lights and colors of waiting memories. This time, they seemed like a sluggish stream through which he waded, going where he desired, and letting the rest slide past. El sought through them for the most recent remembrances of Cormanthor, and for the first time saw its soaring spires, the fluted balconies of homes built in the hearts of living trees, the ornate, free-floating lanterns that drifted about the city, and the bridges that soared from tree to tree, crisscrossing the air. Those spans were arched, and some of them curved as they went. None of them had side railings. El swallowed; it would take some time before he'd feel comfortable strolling along such bold contrivances.
Who ruled this city? The Coronal, the gem showed him-someone chosen rather than born to the office. An 'old wise one' and chief judge in all disputes,