Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [33]
Elminster made himself walk calmly toward it, until the smokelike trail that marked where its body faded should have been tickling his nose.
But it wasn't. As he took the step that would have brought him into collision with the silent sentinel, it vanished, winking out of existence and leaving him staring at the front door of House Alastrarra. Music came faintly to him through that portal, and tiny traceries of golden light formed endless and intricate patterns on one of its panels.
The lore-gem told him nothing about traps or door gongs or even servants of the portal, so El strode toward the doors and extended a hand to the crescent-shaped handle that hung like a bar in the air before them. Mystra grant that they be unlocked, he thought.
As he took that last step and laid his hand on the bar, El realized that something felt different. For the first time in hours, the ever-present pressure of those unseen, watching eyes was gone.
A feeling of cool relief washed over him-relief that lasted almost an entire breath before the handle under his hand glowed with sudden savage blue fire, and the doors rolled soundlessly open, to leave him staring into the startled eyes of several elves in the hall beyond.
"Oho," Elminster whispered, almost audibly. "Mother Mystra, if ye love me at all, be with me now'
An old trick practiced by thieves in the city of Hastarl is to act with cool condescension when caught where one has no business being. Lacking time to think, El used it now.
The five elves had frozen in the midst of opening fluted bottles of wine and pouring them over heaps of diced nuts and greens on several platters that seemed content to float in the absence of any table. El stepped around them with a calm, superior nod of recognition-something he was very far from feeling, for the gem held no images of servants; Iymbryl had evidently spent little time noticing underlings-and swept on into the back of the hall, where small indoor gardens sprouted. Behind him, the servants hastily sketched salutes and murmured greetings that he did not stop to acknowledge.
A sudden burst of laughter from an open doorway on the right made the servants hasten in their tasks and forget him. El smiled with relief and at the good fortune Mystra had sent him. Along the passage he hadn't chosen, an array of unattended bottles was flying, approaching at chest height and spectacular speed, in obvious answer to a servant's summons.
His smile froze on his face when an elven maid danced out of a crescentiform archway ahead along the right-hand wall and looked him full in the face. Her large, dark eyes filled with surprise as she gasped, "My lord! We did not expect you home for another three dawns!"
Her tone was eager, and her arms were rising to embrace him. Oh, Mystra.
Again El did what his time in the backstreets of Hastarl bid him. He winked, spun away from her on down the hall, and raised a finger to his lips in a sly "silent, now" gesture.
It worked. The lass chuckled in delight, waved to him in a way that promised future ecstasies, and danced away down the passage toward the front hall. The sash of her brief garment swirled behind her for a moment, displaying its glowing falcon sigil.
Of course. That sigil, like those the five by the doors were wearing, was the livery of the staff; they otherwise wore whatever befitted the situation, not any sort of uniform.
And from the memories he was borrowing swam up the face of the lass who'd now danced out of sight around the corner, and her name: Yalanilue. In Iymbryl's remembrance, she'd been chuckling just like that, face close to his. But she hadn't been wearing any clothes at the time.
El drew in a deep breath, and released it slowly and ruefully. At least the lore-gem steered him through the nuances of elven speech.
He went on down the passage, finding an archway to the left leading into a room where reflected stars glimmered in the deserted waters of a pool, and another to the right opening into