Elminster in Myth Drannor (Forgotten Realms)
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The eagerly awaited sequel to the bestselling Elminster: The Making of a Mage. Traveling overland to Cormanthor, the young Elminster journeys to the legendary elven city to learn their ways and magics.
needs, do you think?” “We await one more,” the little sorceress told him, peering over the shoulders of the guards, and finally rising so as to stand on air above them. Playfully Mythanthar began to tap her toes, until she commenced to kick. “Ah,” she said then, beckoning at a face among the gathered citizens. “Our last. Come on, Dathlue!” Looking surprised, the slender warrior stepped forth in her armor, unbuckling the slim long sword that swayed at her hip. Surrendering it to the guards, she
darkness, and then Elminster was elsewhere. The white-robed elven ruler stood with him, in a cool, damp stone room whose ceiling arched low overhead. Luminous crystals were set in the places where the crisscrossing stone ribs of its vaults met, one with the next. The elf and the human stood in the brightest spot, a clear space at the center of the domed chamber. In four places around its circular arc the wall was pierced by ornate arches that gave onto long vaulted passages running—El peered
could not break it. “Ilimitar,” the Srinshee asked sadly, “are you mad?” The chamber fell suddenly silent, with smoke eddying around their feet, as he stared at her in genuine amazement. “No,” he said at last, in almost conversational tones, “but I think I’ve been mad for years not to see the game you and the Coronal have been playing, moving Cormanthor ever so gently—deftly, like the sly oldlings you both are—toward the day when humans would dwell among us, and outbreed us, and in the end
felled, along the way—would be more than enough to buy your death, human. Just one! So now we have you at last, and face the difficult problem of how to fittingly slay you ten times over … or should it be eleven?” Ivran came still closer. “Two of the gallants you slew were close friends of mine. And all of us here are saddened by the loss of the Lady Symrustar, whose promise has warmed us all for three seasons now. You took these from us, human worm. Have you anything futile to say on your own
about this matter.” “Plainly said, and in like spirit: proceed,” Eltargrim said calmly. In unison, the three lords held aside the sashes of their robes. Lightning crackled around the hilts of three revealed stormswords. There was a gasp of horror from the courtiers at this breach of etiquette as well as at the danger drawn stormswords could bring, were they wielded in this chamber amid all its thickly laid enchantments. Armathors started forward grimly from their places by the doors, but the