Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [29]
Now that was a change, eh?
Four
Home Again The Hunter
More than one ballad of our People tells of Elminster Aumar of Athalantar gawking at the splendors of beautiful Cormanthor upon his first sight of them, and how he was so breathtaken that he spent an entire day just walking the streets, drinking in the glories of the Cormanthor that was. Sometimes 'tis a pity that ballads lie a lot.
Shalheira Talandren, High Elven Bard of Summerstar
from Silver Blades And Summer Nights:
An Informal But True History of Cormanthor
published in The Year of the Harp
In the floating dome of varicolored glass, sunlight shot the air through with beams of rose-red, emerald, and blue. A helmed head, turning, flashed back purple, and that burst of light was enough; its wearer did not have to speak to bid his comrade come and look.
Together the two elven guards peered down at the northern edge of the city, beneath their floating post. A lone figure trudged into the streets with the air of dazed weariness usually displayed by captives or exhausted messengers who'd lost their winged steeds days ago, and been forced to continue afoot.
Or rather, not so "lone;" not far behind the staggering elf came a second figure, following the first. This one was a patrol warrior cloaked in magical invisibility that might well serve to fool the eyes of anyone not wearing helms like those of the two watching guards.
Guards who now exchanged meaningful glances waved together at a crystal sphere that floated near at hand, and leaned forward to listen.
The crystal chimed softly, and there was suddenly noise in the dome: a hubbub of various musical airs, soft voices chattering, and the rumble and clatter of a distant cart. The guards inclined their heads intently for a time, and then shrugged in unison. The weary elf wasn't talking to any of the folk hurrying past him. And neither was his shadow.
The guards exchanged glances again. One of them spread his hands in a "what can we do?" gesture. The intruder-if it was someone not of Cormanthor-had an escort already. That meant some patrol leader who'd had a chance to speak with the lone elf, and see him more clearly, had been suspicious. Perhaps two senior members of the Watchful and Vigilant should be too.
Yet this could be no more than a private intrigue, and the lone elf had walked straight through the veil of revelation spell without it reacting in the slightest.
The other guard answered the spread-hands gesture with a dismissive wave, and turned to the querph tree behind him, plucking some of the succulent sapphire-hued berries. The first guard held out his open hand for some, and passed over the duty-bowl of mint water. A moment later, the elf with the invisible escort was forgotten.
* * * * *
He knew what he was looking for. The lore-gem showed it to him: a mansion cloaked in dark pines ("broody affectations," according to the maids of some rival houses, Iymbryl knew), whose tall, narrow windows were masterpieces of sculpted and dyed glass, girt with enchantments that periodically spun ghostly images of minstrelry, dancing unicorns, and rearing stags across the moss-carpeted chambers within. Those casements were the work of Althidon Alastrarra, gone to Sehanine some two centuries and more, and there were no finer in all Cormanthor.
The grounds of House Alastrarra had no walls, but its hedges and plantings spun themselves out to form a continuous barrier along paths marked by irndar trees that bore the falcon sigil of the House. After dusk, these living blazons glowed blue, clear to the eye-there were many such across the proud city-but by day a certain disguised human mage would just have to wander until he found a place that matched the image in his mind.
Most folk thought the servants of gods knew everything and could see all that went on, regardless of how many walls or night glooms were in the way. El smiled wryly at the thought. Mystra herself, perhaps,