The Temptation of Elminster

quaver from his voice.

The guard patted his shoulders and stepped away with the grave reply, 'Nay, lord…but look you, what else can we do?'

The Lord of the House managed a chuckle that was perilously close to a sob, and said, 'My thanks, loyal Lhaerom.' He drew in a deep breath, threw back his head as if donning his dignity like a mantle, and asked, 'What do warriors do when they must wait and watch inside their walls, dawdling until a great blow falls on them?'

Lhaerom chuckled in return. 'Many things, lord, most of which I leave to your wits to conjure up. There is one thing of comfort we undertake, which I suspect me your question seeks: we make soup. Pots and pots of it, as good and rich as we can manage. We let all partake, or at least smell if they cannot sup.'

The high priest stared at him for a moment, then raised his hands in a 'why not?' gesture and commanded the silently watching underpriests, 'Get hence! To the kitchens, and make soup! Go!'

'You'll find, lord,' the hulking guard added, 'that…'

'Lhaerom,' one of his fellow guards snapped, 'fresh trouble.' Without another word the guard turned away from the Lord of the House and ducked back out onto the balcony. The priest took two steps after him…only to find a guard barring his way. 'no, lord,' he said, face carefully expressionless.' Twouldn't be wise. Some of them are throwing stones.'

Outside, the bright sun fell on the closed bronze doors of the House of the Ladystar. Many fists fell thereon, too, and the guards and gatepriest had long since stopped answering knocks and cries for aid. They paced anxiously back and forth inside the gate, casting anxious glances at the bolts and bars, wondering if they'd hold. All of the spikes that could be found in the temple cellars had long since been driven between the stones to wedge the doors against being forced inward. The bright marks on those spikes told how often this morning the doors had already been sorely tested. The priest licked dry lips and asked, for perhaps the fortieth time, 'And if this all gives way? What…'

The guard nearest him waved violently for him to fall silent. The priest frowned and opened his mouth to snap an angry response, then his eyes followed the guard's pointing hand to the doors and his jaw dropped almost to chest.

A man's hand was protruding through the bronze, magic crackling around his wrist where it passed through the thick metal. It was gesturing, forming the hand signs used between clergy of Mystra when enacting silent rituals.

The priest watched a few of them, then hissed, 'Stay here!' and went pounding up the steps to a door that led into the barbican. He had to get onto that balcony….

The hands of the tall man in the black cloak were trembling as he drew them back from the doors. He knew he'd been seen and knew the mood of the crowd pressing in behind him. 'It's no use,' he said loudly. 'I can't get in.'

'You're one of 'em, though, aren't ye?' a voice snarled, close by his ear.

'Aye, I saw him…used a spell, he did!' put in another, high with fear and anger…or rather, the angry need to lash out.

The man in the black cloak made no reply, but looked up at the balcony in desperate hope.

It was rewarded. Two burly guards came into view with long pikes in their hands…pikes fully able to reach down, into, and through anyone standing near the gate…and asked gruffly, more or less in unison, 'Yes? You have lawful business in this holy house?'

'I do,' the man in the black cloak told them, ignoring the angry mutterings that rose in a wave after his words. 'Why are the gates closed?'

'Great doings on high demanding contemplation on the part of all ordained servants of Mystra,' the guard thundered.

'Oh? Is there an orgy going on in there, or just a pig-wallowing feast?' someone called from the thick of the crowd, and there were roars of agreement and derision. 'Aye, let us in! We want some too!'

'Begone!' the guards bellowed, straightening to face the entire crowd.

'Does Mystra live?' someone cried.

'Aye!' Others took up the call. 'Does the goddess of magic yet breathe?'

The guard looked scornful. 'Of course she does,' he snarled. 'Now go away!'

'Prove it!' someone yelled. 'Cast a spell!'

The guard hefted his pike. 'I don't cast spells, Roldo,' he said menacingly. 'Do you?'

'Get one of the priests…get 'em all!' Roldo called.

'Aye,' someone else agreed. 'And see if one of them… just one of them…can cast a spell!'

The roar of agreement that followed his words shook the very temple walls, but through it the man in the black cloak heard one of the guards mutter, 'Aye, and make it a good big fireball, right about there.'

The other agreed, not smiling.

'Look,' the man in the black cloak said to them, 'I must speak to Kadeln. Kadeln Parosper. Tell him it's Tenthar.'

The nearest guard leaned over. 'No, you look,' he said coldly. 'I'm not opening these gates for anybody.. short of holy Mystra herself. So if you can come back holding hands with her, and the two of you asking very nicely to come in, all right, but otherwise …'

A third figure was on the balcony, peering around the guard's shoulder. It wore the cloak and helm of a guard, but no gauntlets, and the helm…which was far too big for it…kept slipping forward over its face.

An impatient hand shoved the helm back up out of the way, and the white, worried face of Kadeln, Tome- priest of the Temple, stared down at his friend. 'Tenthar,' he hissed, 'you shouldn't have come here. These people are wild with fear.'

'You know,' the man in the black cloak remarked almost casually, 'standing down here with them, I'd begun to notice that.' Then his control broke and he almost clawed his way up the wall to the balcony, ignoring a warning pike thrust. The dirty blade stopped inches from his nose and hung there warningly. Tenthar paid it not a blind bit of attention.

'Kadeln,' Tenthar was snarling, ' what's going on? Every last damned magic I work goes wild, and when I study…nothing. I can't get any new spells!'

'It's the same here,' the white-faced priest whispered. 'They're saying Mystra must have died, and…'

One of the guards hauled Kadeln away from the edge of the balcony, and the other jabbed viciously with his pike, Tenthar flung himself desperately back out of its reach and tumbled down the bronze doors to the ground.

The crowd melted away a few paces as if by magic, and he found himself lying in a little cleared space with the pike once more hanging a handspan above his throat. 'Who are you?' the guard behind it demanded. 'Answer, or die. I have new orders.'

Tenthar sat up and thrust the pike head away with one contemptuous hand. When he scrambled to his feet, however, he took care to be a good two paces beyond its reach.

'Tenthar Taerhamoos is my name,' he said sternly, opening his cloak to reveal rich robes, and a gem-studded medallion blazing on his chest. 'Archmage of the Phoenix Tower. I'll be back.'

And with that grim promise the archmage whirled around and pushed his way almost proudly through the crowd. All around him were murmurs of 'It's true! Mystra's dead? Magic all undone?' and the like.

A stone spun out of somewhere and struck Tenthar on the shoulder. He did not stop or try to turn but struggled onward through bodies disinclined to let him pass. 'An archmage?' someone cried. 'With no spells?' another asked, close at hand. Another stone struck Tenthar, on the head this time, and he staggered.

There was a roar of mingled awe and exultant hunger all around him, and someone shrieked, 'Get him!'

'Get him!' a thunderous chorus echoed. Tenthar went to his knees, looked up to see boots and sticks and hands coming at him from all sides, clutched his precious medallion to guard against the spell going wild, and said the words he'd hoped not to have to say.

Lightning crackled out in all directions, and Tenthar tried not to look at the dying folk dancing to its hungry surges around him. Chain lightning is a terrible thing even when unaugmented, with the medallion involved, well…