Elminster in Hell

does cattle, or fine gowns, or the luster of china…. What concerns me most is not thy grasp of spells but thy thinking, and characters, and the daily flight of thy heans. Perhaps we can assay a beginning in learning that, here today. I-'

Glass burst into the room in a thousand sparkling shards. Sighing, Elminster put one hand over his teacup again.

'Die, cursed mageling!' The mage in the window thrust her hands forward in claws, and lightning burst from her long fingers.

They snarled across the room amid the customary blinding flashes and spitting sparks, and struck something unseen a foot or so shy of the Old Mage's nose. He calmly watched them rebound, amid the screams, crashing headlong flights, sprays of loose pearls, and the Great Lady Calabrista clawing her way up the back of her grand chair, which promptly overbalanced to reveal far, far too many silk and gem-beaded gauze petticoats to the world. Lightnings clawed at the Red Wizardess who'd cast them. They scattered before her shield as she snarled in angry triumph and lashed out at random around the room, causing a certain teacup to dance, chairs to slump back into mushrooms again, and the frog to open both its eyes very wide and inquire, 'Bong?'

In three breaths the room was empty of four Sembian ladies. Elminster reclined at ease in his chair, sandwich in hand. He watched with interest as the last of his young visitors, trembling and white to the very lips, held forth a wand she'd snatched out of a hitherto-hidden hip sheath, gritted her teeth, and hissed out a word that brought the stick of wood in her hands into furious life.

A white beam smashed across the room, caused red fires to rage about the Thayan mage for a crazed instant, and then smashed the Red Wizardess, window, spell shield, and all, out into the garden, leaving a large and smoking hole in its wake.

The young Sembian stared at what she'd done, unshed tears bright in her eyes.

A weak voice groaned from somewhere outside, 'My roses!'

''Are ye all right, Lhaeo? I wasn't expecting this spitfire here to have a wand of ever-searing flames….'

'That wasn't me,' his scribe told him wearily. 'I was still being a teacup. That was a Red Wizard-or Wizardess, whatever.'

Old and magely brows rose together. 'Two, in one afternoon? I'll have to start charging a toll.' Elminster's head turned slowly, and he asked the astonished young lady, 'Noumea Fairbright? That is thy name, is it not?' At her nod, he continued, 'Noumea, wherever did ye get a wand of ever-searing flames? They're not safe, ye know.'

The young lady gaped at him for a few moments longer, and then found her voice. 'Safe? SAFE? After you set your apprentice on us hurling lightning? To trick us and scorch us and scare us like I've never been scar before? Why, you-'

Elminster grinned, and Lhaeo's face, as it appeared at the window, wore an identical expression.

'Ye'Il do,' they said in chorus. 'Yes, ye'U do just fine. Sit down, feet up, and have a snail sandwich; they're really mustard, cheese, and pickles. We've much to talk about.' 1

Noumea glared at them both for a moment longer. Then she sat down firmly on a mushroom and brought two spike-heeled golden slippers down on Elminster's table with a crash. 'Well?' she asked, raising a severe but amused eyebrow. 'Wasn't there some cordial?'

Chapter Fourteen

ONE HELL OF A BARGAIN

Tentacles tightened-and a devil's head flew. The spinagon's neck fountained black, smoking blood as its body whirled around in grotesque spasms. Its staring head bouncing wetly on the rocks some distance away.

Disgusted, Nergal turned away. Even slaying things gave him no satisfaction now. Avernus was in an uproar, with pit fiend generals riding dragons here and there, legions of cornugons flying in their wake, and barb-tailed osyluths stalking everywhere, spying and prying. Thrice he'd escaped attack only by the swiftest of shapeshifts and masterful acting. Sooner or later he'd end up trying to impersonate a particular general to troops who reported to the real general.

Almost as bad as that prospect was the likelihood of his encountering a spy of the Lord of Lies-a margrave or overduke or demichancellor who'd been sent to scour out the truth of things in Avernus.

All this because of one old, weak, smart-tongued mortal wizard who was still successfully resisting all attempts to plunder his mind of anything useful. A wizard who even | now was wandering Avernus, blundering along into trouble.Trouble for Nergal, too.As long as Nergal was riding,| his mind, there was a link between them that even an amnizu could follow.

He'd best pounce on the worm and leash him in chains, and then take the shape of one of the pit fiends he'd slain I himself-Gorkor, or Jarleil, or Tharthammon. Yes. Tharthammon would do a slow, grim, close-mouthed giant among pit fiends. Few, even among the dukes, dared to question when he gave them dark looks.

So farewell tentacles, and fair greeting to great arching wings and a bulk as large as four Nergals. It was high time to call his wandering mind-slave back home.

Mind-twisted Faerunian bastard.

Ho, little worm! How are the fair sights of hell?

[guilty swirling of silver-silver fire? Had that been silver fire? But softly…]

Unprepossessing.

Ah, then you can see me again?

I'm not bleeding into my eyes just now.

[growl] You tread dangerously on my patience, wizard….

An erinyes swooped down and healed me-see the memory if ye believe me not. what?

[mental scrabbling, frantic haste, images flashing past in a roar, hard slow staring, then bitter cursing in the tongue of Hell]

Elminster, heed! Cease moving about. Find some cave or crevice to cower in, and stay there. I'm reclaiming you.

I'd hate to miss the pleasure of shared company.

Your tongue, mortal, will be the blade that stabs you yet. Just you hide in one place until i reach you. I'm less than pleased with your stalling. You know very well what i seek and persist in giving me memories of this wench and that-is lust all that consumes you?

No, but 'tis one of my favorites.

[growl] that clever tongue…

It occurs to me that i've been seeking your memories of wielding power in the wrong way. Humans seem so direct, but perhaps you wizards do more as we of hell do: meddle, acting at a distance through agents, unwitting and otherwise…

I've quite a collection of memories of my meddling in things-busy centuries worth, in fact.

[mumbled curse] I find myself unsurprised. Let us begin….

[mind lash, fiery eyes moving forcefully forward, cries ignored, images flashing past…]

***

Torchlight flickered off glistening mauve slime as a tentacled head turned. 'Well, what have we here?'

'Mhulker,' Baergrim snapped from behind him. 'It's still you, isn't it? That-that thing isn't taking you over, is it?'

'My guest has… needs,' the mage with the mind/layer's head replied in hurt tones. 'Were you in a particular hurry to descend yon stairs and die deeper in Undermountain? Or is hereabouts exclusive enough for you?'