Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [65]
As the elf came snarling to a halt on the last rock above Elminster, almost weeping in his rage, Elminster looked up at him, used a spell echo to momentarily call up the image of the glowing green sword's destruction, and calmly asked, "Is this elven humor, or some sort of trick question?"
With a wild shriek of rage the elf sprang at El, flames leaping from his hands.
Nine
Duel By Day, Revel By Night
Few who've witnessed a spell battle forget the very old saying among humans: "When mages duel, honest folk should seek hiding places far away." Though mantles and arae-myths make elven wizardly duels more a matter of anticipation and slowly unfolding complexity than human struggles, 'tis still a good idea to be at a safe distance when sorcerers make war. Out of the realm, for instance.
Antarn the Sage
from The High History of Faerunian Archmages Mighty
published circa The Year of the Staff
"You-you wretchr the elf snarled, hurling fire from his hands in a web of snapping flames. "That blade was a treasure of my House! It was old when humans first learned to speak!"
"My," Elminster replied as his warding spell took effect, sending the flames splashing down around him in a ring, "that's a lot of dead boars. How old did any of them live to be, I wonder?"
"Insolent barbarian human!" the elf hissed, dancing around Elminster's ring. His fair hair bounced about his shoulders as he went, flowing in the passing breeze as if it were the flames of a hungry fire.
Elminster turned to keep himself facing this angry foe, and said calmly, "I tend not to be overly pleasant to those who try to slay me, but I have no real quarrel with ye, nameless elf lord. Can we not part in peace?"
"Peace? When you're dead, human, perhaps, and the mages of whatever godless grubbing kingdom spawned you have been compelled to replace the sacred sword you destroyed!"
The angry elf drew back, raised both arms above his head with his hands still pointed at Elminster, and spat angry words. El murmured a single word in response and flicked his fingers, altering his warding into a shield that would send hostile magics back whence they'd come.
A trio of racing blue bolts, each with its own nimbus of lightning encircling it, roared out of the elf s hands and came screaming at the last prince of Athalantar. Inside his shield El crouched ready, bringing another spell to mind but not casting it.
The bolts struck, washed over his shield in a soundless fury of white light, and raced back at their source.
The elf's eyes widened in amazement, and he shut his eyes and grimaced as the blue bolts crashed into an invisible shield that surrounded him. Of course, thought El. Every magic-hurling Cormanthan probably wore a conjured mantle of defensive magics when he went to war.
And this was war, El thought, as the elven lord fell back a few paces and snarled out another incantation. With an attacker who'd chosen the ground and had a defensive mantle up and ready on one hand, and the freakish and widely hated human intruder on the other. Oh, joy.
This time the spell that came at Elminster consisted of three disembodied jaws, their long fangs snapping as they swerved and split apart to come at him from three directions. El fell flat on his stomach and raised his left hand, waiting, as the first soundless flash marked the meeting of his shield and the foremost maw.
After the flash, it danced and staggered away, heading back for the elf lord. But the second mouth tore asunder his shield with its collision, both spell effects twisting together into a roiling blast that sent a scorching trail of angry purple flames racing along the rocks.
The returning jaws faded away against the elf lord's mantle at about the same time as the third raced at Elminster, gaping low to be sure of scooping him up off the rocks.
From El's patiently waiting hand flashed a dozen globes of light that spat tiny lightnings behind them as