Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [98]
It seemed a long way off, but in the end he rushed up to plunge into it with dizzying speed, shedding something as he left the darkness, shooting out into the light. The light of a lowering sun, above the marching treetops of Cormanthor, with the dark ruin of Castle Dlardrageth in the distance, and something urging him in another direction. He followed that urging, unsure even if he could have chosen otherwise, and flew low above shadowtops and duskwoods, rose-needles and beetle palms, rushing as smooth and as swift as if outracing dragons.
Here and there, as he flew, El glimpsed trails and slim wooden bridges that leapt from tree to tree, transforming the forest giants into the living homes of elves. He was crossing Cormanthor in the space of a few breaths. Now he was descending and slowing, as if let fall by a vast and invisible hand.
Thanks to ye, Mystra, he thought, fairly sure whom he should be thanking. He sank past the gardens of the palace, into the many-spired bustle of the central city, Cormanthor itself.
He was slowing greatly now, as if he was but a leaf drifting on a gentle breeze. In truth, he could hear no whistle of wind nor feel any chill or damp as of moving air, at all. Turrets and softly luminous driftglobes rose past him as his plunge ended, and he began to move freely, hither and yon.
He moved from here to there in accordance with wherever he looked that interested him enough to approach. As he flew, he passed among elves who saw him not, and-as he discovered when he blundered right into the path of several floats piled high with mushrooms, and they slid through him without him feeling a thing-felt him not. He was truly a ghost, it seemed; an invisible, silent, undetected drifting thing.
As he drifted this way and that, peering at the busy lives of Cormanthans, he began to hear things as well. At first there was only a faint, confusing rumble broken by louder irregularities, but it grew to a deafening din of interlaced gabbling. It seemed to be the conversations and noises made by thousands of elves at once, as if he could hear all Cormanthor, without regard for distance and walls and cellar depths, laid all at once upon the ears he no longer seemed to have.
He hovered for a time in a little tangle of shrubs growing between three closely spaced duskwoods, waiting for the din to subside or for his wits to flee entirely. Slowly the noises did die, receding to what normal ears would hear: the sounds nearby, with the gentle, incessant sighing of breeze-stirred leaves drowning out all else. He relaxed, able to think again, until thinking begat curiosity, and a desire to know what was befalling in Cormanthor.
So he was invisible, silent, and scentless, even to alert elves. Ideal for prying into their doings. But 'twould be best to make sure of his stealth before seeking to enter any heart of watchful peril hereabout.
El undertook to swoop at elves in the streets and on the bridges, screaming for all he was worth as he did so. He even passed through them whilst clawing at them and crying insults. He could hear himself perfectly, and even shape ghostly limbs to stab and slash with-limbs that he at least could feel, enduring painful scrapings as one limb struck another.
His elven targets, however, noticed him not. They laughed and chatted in a way they'd never have done had they known a human was nearby. El drew himself up in midair after hurling himself through a particularly frosty-looking elven lady of high station and reflected that he might not have all that much time to make use of this state. After all, none of his powers since his awakening had remained unchanged for long. So he'd best be about his spying.
One thing to check on, first.
He remembered these streets dimly: he'd passed along that one, he thought, in his first stagger through the city, trying to search for House Alastrarra