Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [22]
Those proud old Houses, in particular the Starym and Echorn, held much of the real power in Cormanthor, and considered themselves the embodiment and guardians of "true" elven character. In their view, a "true" elf was…
Elminster broke off that thought as the idea reminded him uncomfortably of what he'd just done. He'd had no choice-unless he'd been a man utterly without mercy. Yet should he have touched the gem at all, since he'd pledged his service to Mystra?
He came to an abrupt halt beside a particularly gigantic shadowtop, drew in a deep breath, and called aloud, "Mystra?"
Then he added in a whisper, "Lady, hear me. Please."
Into his mind he brought his most striking memory of Myrjala, laughing in aroused delight as they soared through the air together, and of the subtle changes in her eyes that betrayed her divinity as her passion rose… seizing on that image, he held it, breathed her name again, and bent his will to calling on her.
There came a coldness at the edges of his mind-a thrilling, verge-of-a-shiver tingling-and he asked, "Lady, is this right for me to do? Have I… your blessing?"
A surge of loving warmth rolled into his mind, bringing with it a scene of Ornthalas Alastrarra, standing in a fair, sun-dappled chamber whose pillars were living, flower-bedecked trees. The view was out of the eyes of someone approaching the heir-and when they'd drawn very close to the elf, who was looking slightly puzzled, the viewer's hand rose into the image, reaching for an unseen forehead, above.
The eyes of Ornthalas sharpened in astonishment, and the viewer moved closer, and closer still. To… kiss? Touch noses? No, to touch foreheads, of course. The eyes of Ornthalas, so close and wide, wavered like a reflection in water disrupted by ripples. When the disturbance passed, the face had become that of the kindly old Coronal, and the viewpoint drew back from him to show Elminster himself, bowing. Somehow, El knew that he was invoking the Coronal's protection against those of the People who were horrified to discover that a human had penetrated into the very heart of their city, wearing the shape of an elf they knew. An elf he might well have murd-
A sudden wash of warning fire blazed across his mind, sweeping the visions away, and Elminster found himself under the trees, being spun around-by Mystra's grace, he supposed-to face… something that was sweeping around roots and gliding among the trees like a large and eager snake. Something that hissed bubblingly and tirelessly as it came, whispering what might have been words. Whispering… snatches of spell incantations? The body of this strange beast or conjured apparition was sometimes translucent and always indistinct, unfocused. It veered toward him with a triumphant chuckle, raking the empty air with dozens of claws as it came. It was clearly seeking him.
Was this some elven guardian? Or some fell beast-lich kept alive by ancient magic? Whatever its nature, its intent was clear, and those claws looked deadly enough.
El almost retreated, but the thing was so fascinating to watch-one part of it awkward but tirelessly slithering, the other an endless swirling of what looked like the torn, tattered remnants of spells. Eyes j in plenty swam and circled in that shifting and re- j forming body. It had to be a thing of magic. Mystra j would take care of it, surely. After all, she was goddess of magic, and he was her Ch-
Claws stabbed out, and though they fell far short of striking, they left in their wake an eerie tingling. His mind felt a little numbed; he couldn't seem to focus his will on his spells.
What spells did he have left, anyway?
Oh, Mystra. He couldn't remember.
As those claws swept at him again, closer now, sudden panic blazed up in