Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [148]
He shrugged. Perhaps they'd learn the error of their ways on the morrow, if the two strangers continued to strike down mage-lords. At least he could now compel the wizards of Athalantar into battle with the crown… so these foes wouldn't find too many more of them alone and unsuspecting. And nothing this side of the archmages' tombs of Netheril, short of a god, could hope to stand against the magical might of the gathered mage-lords of Athalantar. And gods interested in the Kingdom of the Stag seemed in short supply these days.
*****
"Yes," Elminster said softly. "In this building here." Braer and one of the other elves nodded silently, and stepped forward to touch El's shoulders. As he faded into wraith form, he heard them muttering softly, weaving cloaking magics more powerful than anything he knew.
They alone could still hear him, so he thanked them before stepping off the rooftop and flying through the moonlight to the window below. A single amulet glowed in his mage-sight, but his experienced eyes saw more: a trap Farl had rigged elsewhere in earlier days. A heavy cleaver had been set on a trap-thread to chop down onto the sill. Elminster's mistlike form drifted past it, and then he was in the room, moving unthinkingly to one side of the window to avoid being silhouetted against the moonglow-and to avoid the sleep-venomed darts set to fire when the floorboard below the sill was stepped on.
The elves had made his insubstantial form completely invisible; Elminster drifted across the room toward familiar snores. They were coming from within a close-canopied bed larger than some coaches El had seen. The prince raised his eyebrows at such wealth. Farl had certainly come up in the world.
There was another trap-thread just inside the draperies. El slipped past it and settled into a comfortable sitting position on the foot of the bed. The sleepers had thrown aside the covers in the warm night, and lay exposed to his view: Farl on his back, one arm spread possessively over the small, sleek woman who lay curled against him: Tassabra.
Elminster looked longingly at her for a moment. Her beauty, sharp wits, and kindness had always stirred him. But… we make choices, and he'd chosen to leave this life. At least she and Farl had found happiness together, and hadn't died under the blades of the Moonclaws.
They might well find death in the nights ahead, of course, because of him. Elminster sighed, spoke a word that would let them see and hear him, and said quietly, "Well met, Farl. Well met, Tass." Farl's snores ended abruptly as Tass tensed, coming instantly awake. Her hand slipped under her pillow, seeking the dagger El knew must be there.
"Be at ease," Elminster said, "for I mean ye no harm. 'Tis Eladar, come back to plead with ye to save Athalantar."
By now Farl was awake, too. He sat up and gaped, open-mouthed, as Tassabra let out a little shriek of surprise and leaned forward to stare at him. "Eladar! It is you!" She lunged forward to embrace him, and fell through his sitting form, to land on her forearms at the end of the bed. "What?"
"A sending-just an image," Farl told her, rising with blade in hand. "El, is that really you?"
"Of course it's really me," El told him. "Were I a magelord, I'd not be just sitting here, would I?"
Tassabra's eyes narrowed. "You're a mage, now?" She passed her hands through his form. "Where are you, truly?"
"Here," El told her. "Aye, I'm something of a mage now. I took this shape to get past all thy ah, friendly traps."
Tassabra put her hands on her hips. "If you're right here, El," she said severely, "make yourself solid! I want to feel you! How can I kiss a shadow?"
Elminster smiled. "Right then. But for thine own safety, stop waving thy hands about in me."
She did so, he murmured a few words-and was suddenly heavy and solid again. Tassabra embraced