Elminster in Hell

Mystra would see it differently, El said with as much mental dignity as he could muster, [image of arms crossed, body drawn up, chin lifted]

She certainly kred defiance into you, or chose you because of it. Which makes you both fools.

[sudden mental probe]

[wince]

[bright image, after image, after image]

So, no such unions with she who is Mystra now.

Shared thought: Which means no trace linkage remains that might let Mystra reach through her Chosen and do harm in Hell.

[relief] So, little man, let's get to that silver fire.

Sharp pain, and then numbness. Elminster reeled in the crevice. A maggot taller than he had reared up and sunk its fangs into his left shoulder. Its glistening body was undulating across his chest as it gnawed its way into him…

Writhing in pain, he tried to claw at it, but Nergal's laughter was all around him now.

Maggot-ridden! Suits you, treacherous mortal! Now, up out of that crevice and craw! yes, that's it!

Staggering, El found himself walking across broken rock again, the weight of the maggot that was now wrapped around him-and questing its way hungrily inside him- forcing him to lurch and falter.

My magic will keep you alive, honored guest. However, i regret to announce that you will suffer. [gusts of laughter]

adventure, little man, is where you find it. My venture will be on through your mind, more cautiously than before. Yours will be a litter stroll through hell.

Fear not. I'll keep you alive. I want that silver fire.

[pain, pain falling sharply, spreading pain, maggot tearing and thrashing]

Up, little man. There… Magic's a wonderful thing, isn't it? Now, let us seek your own early days, creature of mystra.

And adventure there. Show me an early time when you worked with others, so that i can see mystra's hand at work shaping you.

[friends' faces, castle battlements, a scudding moon, dark alley and drawn sword…]

There. Snow me, Elminster!

[different battlements, different faces, one swimming to the fore: a bearded wizard, fat and frowning, lurching along full of importance…]

Yes, that one will do! Show me!

Hear me, Vangerdahast. For the love of the Lady we both serve, hear me.

Stop mind-muttering, mage! Show me!

[images, whirling up brightly, unfolding…]

'Th-through here, Lord Mage M-most High,' the mouselike Keeper of the Vaults quavered.

'Yes, yes, yes,' Vangerdahast replied irritably. Strangely enough, having laid his own share of protective enchantments on the Hall of Scrolls and Ledgers, albeit years ago, and being the only court official to often consult its contents, he did have a fair idea of where so vast and central a chamber was. As if he hadn't enough important worries right now, what with-

He stopped and stiffened, his mouth dropping open at what he saw. A moment later, he firmly closed it… far too late to escape the notice of the Keeper. The little man didn't quite dare to let a smirk show on his face but couldn't keep it out of his suddenly triumphant eyes.

'Leave us,' the Royal Magician snapped, 'and close the doors behind you.'

He did not bother to look at the hastening courtier, and did not move a muscle until the huge and heavy bronzed double doors boomed closed behind him… and he was alone with the thing.

The thing that should not have been there.

His predecessors, generations of War Wizards under their command, and a rare few visiting mages deserving of such trust had cast spell after crawling and flickering spell on the walls, floors, and ceiling of the hall and the rooms surrounding it. Defensive magics, all, designed to foil each new method of scrying or translocation or other means of access. Growing thus over the centuries, they formed a complicated web that no man alive knew or could unravel without months of work and considerable personal peril.

Vangerdahast himself had overlaid the existing magics with several subtle misdirections designed to foil all but the most exacting users of wish spells. He had also cast far less subtle backlash enchantments that would twist intruding spells-unless preceded by a secret key-into paralysis, feeblemind, and smashing-blow effects against their casters. He would be loath to send even a magic missile at the thing protruding from the floor right now, lest each of its pulses come back at him.

The Royal Magician let out the breath he hadn't until then noticed he was holding. He took a few cautious steps to one side and peered at the mystery that had appeared in the hall.

A convulsed male human hand-long-fingered, bereft of the rings that had left pale bands of flesh, and with a few dark hairs adorning its back-protruded from the glossy-smooth marble of the vault floor. The forty-foot-square slab weighed many tons. It seemed that the owner of the hand was now entombed in that slab, for the hand did not look severed.

Vangerdahast had a sudden urge to give it a good kick to make sure, but royal magicians of Cormyr don't grow old and fat by undertaking stupid acts. Wherefore he did nothing more than peer around the hall until he was sure nothing else was out of place or missing He circled the hand, which hadn't moved in the slightest, and grew no wiser.

The Royal Magician let himself out. He sternly ordered the anxious Keeper and the ring of stone-faced Purple Dragon guards clustered outside to clear this entire wing of the palace, and then take themselves as far away as the Chamber of the Brazen Fool. He stood silently, waiting until the echoes of their obedient movements faded.

Vangerdahast spoke a quiet word. It awakened guardian magics that would reveal any hidden, lurking spy. He received with complete lack of surprise the lore that no such intruder existed within range. Making sure he was standing on a specific floor tile, he touched one of the rings on a hidden chain around his neck and spoke a word he'd hoped never to have to use again.

There was suddenly a taller, black-robed man standing on an adjacent tile, rubbing his beard and looking less than happy. 'Yes?' he snapped.

Vangerdahast bowed slightly to his guest. 'My apologies, Lord Khelben. Be welcome in the royal palace of Cormyr, in Suzail.'

'Oddly enough, Vangy,' Khelben growled, 'I know where the royal palace is. I'll even accept that apology. The honor of your hospitality overwhelms me. It will do so even more if you unfold the reason for my summoning.' The edge of his mouth curled. 'A sufficiently interesting answer may even blunt Laeral's wrath at my abrupt disappearance. Note that 'may,' and speak accordingly.'

Vangerdahast drew in a deep breath as their eyes met. 'We stand outside the Hall of Scrolls and Ledgers. You had a hand in casting some still-active defensive spells here. Something has appeared therein; it's my hope that you can identify it and explain its appearance.'

The Blackstaff raised one dark eyebrow, turned to face the massive double doors, and made a twisting gesture with one hand.

There was an instant of singing silence. Then the doors collapsed into shards and dust with a roar that swelled and shrank away to nothing again. The torrent of falling metal had vanished, swallowed up by thin air just above the floor tiles the two men stood on.

'How-?'

'One of the spells I cast, long ago. No door in this palace can stand against me.'

It was Vangerdahast's turn to raise an eyebrow. 'Oh? Why did you do that?'

Khelben shrugged. 'We all have our own ways of doing things.' He pointed across the mirror-bright floor of