Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [79]
The elven warriors rolled and sprang, snarling in disappointment, blades slashing air that was now empty.
"What's this?" one of them hissed, pausing above the bench where the two figures had been entwined. A small obsidian figurine lay on it, rocking slightly. It was shaped like Symrustar Auglamyr, her hands at her sides, and bindings about her to keep them there. A cautious fingertip prodded it and found it still warm from the heat of someone's body.
"The human!" an elf hissed, raising his blade to smash the thing. "He was using dark magic to ensnare her!"
"Wait – destroy it not! It's clear proof of that!"
"To show to whom?" another elf snarled. "The Coronal? He brought this human viper into our midst, recall you?"
"True!" the first elf said. Two swords flashed down as one, shattering the tiny piece of obsidian so deftly that neither blade touched the bench beneath.
The explosion that followed tore apart bench, pool, and pave, and sent elven heads and limbs spattering through the trees.
Elminster straightened slowly. The garden they were in now held a circular bed, bathed in the moonlight, and a ring of trees. Far off in the distance lights twinkled through tree branches, but there were no buildings or watchful elves in sight.
"We're quite alone, Elminster," the
Lady Symrustar said softly. "Those
jealous males can't follow us here,
and my wards keep the inquisitive out
of this end of the family gardens.
Besides, what I bring to bed is
entirely my own affair."
Her eyes flashed as she turned to him again. Somehow her gown had fallen away to her knees, leaving her body bare in the moonlight.
Elminster almost laughed again. Not at her, for she was so beautiful that he could barely control himself, but at his own quirky mind. She has splendid shoulders, it was reporting excitedly to him.
That's nice, he told it, and shoved all thought aside.
She stepped forward out of the spreading puddle of silk that had been her gown and came toward him, gems glittering in the moonlight as she moved.
She glided to a stop in front of him. He kissed her eyelids, and then her chin-but at her lips he found his way barred by two raised fingers. "Leave my mouth for last," she said from behind them. "For elves, that's particularly special."
He murmured a wordless assent and reached his head around to her ears. From the way she quivered in his arms, moaned, and stamped her feet, the book had been right.
He licked them gently, teasingly, not hurrying. They had a deliriously spicy taste. Symrustar moaned as El bent to his task, darting his tongue into them. Her fingers raked at his back, drawing blood through his shirt,
"Elminster," she hissed, and then said his name again, rolling it with her tongue as if it was a sacred thing to be chanted. "Prince of a distant land," she added, voice rising in sudden urgency, "show me what it is to know the love of a man."
Her unbound hair swirled around them, its tresses moving at her unspoken bidding, tearing at his clothing like dozens of small, insistent hands. They were circling each other as his shirt was tugged open, moving toward the bed.
Suddenly Symrustar moaned again and said, "I can wait no longer. My mouth-Elminster, kiss my mouth!"
Their lips met, and then their tongues. And El faced the attack he'd been expecting.
The bright sparks of a spell seemed to streak through his mind, with her will racing right behind them. Symrustar was seeking to control him, body and mind, to be her puppet, while she raked through his memories to learn all she could… especially human magic. El let her race and pierce and rummage while he read what he wanted in her bared, open thoughts.
Gods, but she was a ruthless, evil creature. He saw a little obsidian statuette she'd prepared, and how he'd been blamed for what befell. He saw her tresses coiling up to encircle his throat right now, to throttle him if he tried to use any weapon against