Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [63]
"That's just what they're doing," Athtar replied delightedly, "right now! If you stand up on yon stump and listen, Gal-like this!-you'll-"
"Athtar-nooo!"
Galan's clutching hands came down just an instant too late. Beads bounced, rolled, and flew. Breathing heavily, the tall, one-eyed elf found his hands locked around Athtar's throat, and the leather-clad elf looking at him rather reproachfully.
"You're very intense these days, Gal," Athtar said in hurt tones. "A simple 'I find I feel deeply for you' would've sufficed."
Galan let his hands fall. What was the use? The beads were scattered, now, save for the few that…
There was a crunching sound under Athtar's right boot.
…remained on the cloak, under their feet. Galan sighed, took a deep breath, and then sighed again. When he spoke again, his tone was wearily pleasant. "You came here to tell me that our next Coronal, a thousand years after they kill the both of us for our deeds and forget where our graves lie, will be a human-is that it? I'm supposed to 'feel deeply' about that?"
"No, dolt! They'll never let a human be Coronal! The realm'll be torn apart first," Athtar said, shaking him by one shoulder. "And with the laws swept away and every House floundering, lowskins like you and me will hold the ready blades at last!" He thrust up his sword in celebration, and laughed again.
Galan shook his head sourly. "It'll never get that far. It never does. Too many mages lurking about to control minds and threaten the high and mighty into obeying whatever they can't force them into supporting. Oh, there'll be an uproar, sure. But the realm torn apart? Over one human? Hah!" He turned away to step down off the stump, trying to shake off Athtar's grip.
Athtar didn't let go. "Even so, Gal," he said urgently, lowering his voice to underscore his excitement. "Even so! This human knows magic, they say, and the folk at court are wild with tales of how he'll shake things up. Whatever happens to him in the end-and it'll happen, never fear; the young blades'll see to that-this is the best chance we'll ever see to break the old guard's strangehold on what's done and not done in Cormanthor! Settle some old scores with the Starym and Echorns, if we don't get trampled in the rush of other Houses trying to do the same thing! Who do you owe the most money to? Who are giving you the hardest time over it? Who can be put down in the forest mud where they belong, forever?"
As the elf in leathers ran out of breath with his last query echoing back from the trees around them, Galan looked at his friend with true enthusiasm for the first time.
"Now you're interesting me," he breathed, embracing Athtar. "So settle down, and get yourself some bitterroot ale; it's over by the duskwood that's losing its bark-there. We have to talk."
Elminster, aid me. The mind-cry was faint, but somehow familiar. Could it be, after all this time? It sounded like Shandathe of Hastarl, whom El had carried into the bedroom of a certain baker, to find unintended bliss, and later tested the mind powers Mystra had honed in him by eavesdropping on…
Elminster sat up, frowning. Though it was highsun, their work together had been exhausting, and the Srinshee was asleep, floating on air across the chamber, the faint glow of her keep-warm spell eddying around her. Were the Dlardrageth ghosts playing tricks on him?
He closed his eyes and shut out the dark chamber and the weight of his full roster of freshly memorized spells, letting all stray thought and distraction drain away, drifting down into the dark place where mind voices were wont to echo.
Elminster? Elminster, can you hear me?
The voice was faint and distant, yet oddly flat. Strange. He sent a single thought toward it: Where?
After a time of echoing emptiness an image came swimming up to him, spinning slowly like a bright coin on edge. He plunged into it, and was suddenly at its glowing heart, staring into a dark, stormy scene: somewhere in Faerun, with wind trailing across a rocky height,