Ed Greenwood - The Elminster Series 2. Elminster in Myth Drannor (Forgotten Realms)

Elminster in Myth Drannor

Ed Greenwood

It was a time of mounting strife in the fair realm of Cormanthor, when the lords and ladies of the oldest, proudest houses felt a threat to their glittering pride. A threat thrust forward by the very throne above them ; a threat from their most darkling youthful nightmares. The Stinking Beast That Comes In The Night, the Hairy Lurker who waits his best chance to slay, despoil, violate, and pillage. The monster whose grasp clutches at more realms with each passing day: the terror known as Man.

Shalheira Talandren, High Elven Bard of Summerstar

from Silver Blades And Summer Nights: An Informal But True History of Cormanthor

published in The Year of the Harp

"I did indeed promise the prince something in return for the crown," said the king, drawing himself up to his full height and inhaling until his chest trembled. He adjusted the glittering circlet of gems and golden spires that adorned his brows a trifle self-consciously, smiled at his own cleverness in providing himself with this dramatic pause, and added, voice dropping to underline the nobility of his words, "I promised I'd grant his greatest desire."

Those gathered to watch drew in awed breaths in a chorus that was mockingly loud. The fat monarch paid them no heed, but turned away in a gaudy swirl of cloth of gold and struck a grandly conquering pose, one foot planted on an obviously false dragonskull. The light of the purple-white driftglobes that accompanied him gleamed back from plainly visible wire, where it coiled up through the patchwork skull to hold the royal sword that had supposedly transfixed bone in a mighty, fatal blow.

Every inch the wise old ruler, the king looked out over vast distances for a moment, eyes flashing gravely at things only he could see. Then, almost coyly, he looked back over his shoulder at the kneeling servant.

"And what, pray tell," he purred, "does he most want? Hmmm?"

The steward flung himself full length onto the carpet, striking his head on the stone pave in the process. He rolled his eyes and writhed briefly in painas the watchers titteredere he dared to lift his gaze for the first time. "Sire," he said at last, in tones of wondering doom, "he wishes to die rich."

The king whirled about again and strode forward. The servant scrambled up on one knee and cowered back from the purposeful monarchonly to freeze, dumbfounded, at the sight of a merry smile upon the regal face.

The king bent to take his hand and raised him up from the carpet, slapping something that jingled into the steward's palm as he did so.

The servant stared down. It was a purse bulging with coins. He looked at the king again, in disbelief, and swallowed.

The royal smile broadened. "Die rich? And so he shallput that into his hands and then slide your sword through him. Several times is the current fashion, I believe."

The titters of the audience broke into hoots and roars of mirth, laughter that quickly turned to applause as the costume spells cloaking the actors expired in the traditional puffs of red smoke, signaling the end of the scene.

The watchers exploded into motion, swooping and darting away. Some of the older revelers drifted off more sedately, but the young went racing through the night like furious fish chasing each other to eator be eaten. They exploded through groups of languid gossipers and danced in the air, flashing along the edge of the perfumed spell field. Only a few remained behind to watch the next coarse scene of The Fitting End of the Human King Halthor; such parodies of the low and grasping ways of the Hairy Ones were amusing at first, but very 'one note,' and above all elves of Cormanthor hated to be boredor at least, to admit their boredom.

Not that this wasn't a grand revel. The Ereladden had spared no expense in the weaving of the field-spells. A constant array of conjured sounds, smells, and images swirled and wafted over the revelers, and the power of the conjured field allowed everyone to fly, moving through the air to wherever they gazed, and desired to be. Most of the revelers were floating aloft now, drifting down occasionally to take in refreshments.

This night the usually bare garden walls bristled with carved unicorns, pegasi, dancing elven maidens, and rearing stags this night. Every statuette touched by a reveler split apart and drifted open, to reveal teardrop decanters of sparkling moonwine or any one of a dozen ruby-hued Erladden vintages. Amid the spires of the decanters were the shorter spikes of crystal galauntra whose domes covered figurines sculpted of choice cheese, roasted nuts, or sugarstars.

Amid the rainbow-hued lights drifting among the merry elves were vapors that would make any true-blood light-hearted, restless, and full of life. Some abandoned, giggling Cormyth were dodging through the air from cloud to cloud, their eyes gleaming too brightly to see the world around them. Half a hundred giggles rolled amid the branches of the towering trees that rose over all, twinkling magestars winking and slithering here and there among their leaves. As the moon rose to overwhelm such tiny radiances, it shone down on a scene of wild and joyful celebration. Half of Cormanthor was dancing tonight.

* * * * *

"Surprisingly, I still remembered the words that would bring me here."