Elminster in Hell

shearing away all of Garauder's hates and schemes in blood-drenched oblivion.

Gasping wearily, the Simbul rode the dragon with her will. She bade it smash through the erinyes thrice, then land and roll crushingly over the wounded, shrieking survivors. A hamatula staggered sightlessly past. Lemures squelched and died under the rolling dragon.

The Witch-Queen of Aglarond took stock of her tattered remnants of magic. She was too weak to fight on and survive.

Mystra defend thee, El.

There was no reply to her thought but a pain-laced, feeble flickering-flashing out, just for a moment, from behind a dark, fell awareness. She knew that mind-touch.

Despite herself, tears rose and broke over Alassra Silver-hand's iron will.

'Elminster!' she shouted through tears of pain and rage. 'Hold on, love! I'll be back!'

The spell that would spin her back out of Avernus took hold. Mystra's strength cleft a road where the spells of mere mages could not.

With her last magic, the Simbul snatched the dragon and the surviving wizard back out of Hell. She returned them whence she'd brought them.They did not deserve to die here, trapped and in torment. They did not deserve Elminster's fate.

Hah! So much for her loyalty-and your hope! Your little bitch-queen's gone, fled away back to the lands of bright day, leaving her little elminster here in torment.

You're going to break, mage.

You're going to show me everything you know and remember, and beg me for the release of death. You're going to plead for my mercy, plead in vain, knowing always that negal is your doom!

[wild, diabolic laughter]

In the meantime, human, show me some magic-something worthwhile-or i'll eat a limb or two off you right now, keeping you aware and in full pain throughout! Show me!

Aye, but this will be a long showing.Ye must be patient and see all, so as to understand whatye're seeing….

Yes, yes. I understand all too well that again and again you've tricked and cheated me, promising great revelations of where magic is hidden and how to cast this or unleash that… Only to show me all sorts of romance and moral preaching and other useless dross. Give me magic, and live- cheat me again, and die. Simple enough?

Indeed. Let us begin, then, when night comes to Tamaeril.

Whenever. Just choose the right road for once, mage: your most recent meaningful meeting with Mystra, remember. It's your last chance.

[images spiraling, flashing up to spread glory before the mind's eye]

The little pattern of twinkling lights shifted to hang beside his right cheek. 'I confess you make me more than a little uncomfortable, Elminster,' Mystra said.

'I can tell,' the Old Mage said, not slowing in his magical flight. 'Please, Lady, set aside all hesitancy. Have no worry for my emotions-speak freely. Ye cannot offend me.'

The rushing lights drifted a little nearer and seemed to sigh. 'Well, then. You are the lover of she who held this name and power before me. She intended you to be my guide and teacher, and you have been. Admirably. The proud, willful, and empty-headed Midnight is no more.'

The lights were all around his head now, brushing his skin with what felt like dozens of soft, swift caresses. 'Yet-you trouble me, awe me… frighten me. Repel me, a little. I've little desire to shape a body and join with you, as she often did. I've done it, yes, but behind the thrill is the feeling of her watching me and judging. Your watching me and judging. Elminster, old and wise in her service and with her memories.

'The old ways awaken a restlessness in me. The Weave stirs, and other magic crawls around and within Toril. I am not the old Mystra. I am… humbled by what you have done for me and for she who came before me-and when you seem in danger, she awakes within me, and I desire you and rush to protect you and hold you more precious than all others. I want you always to be my trusted servant-more than that, my friend. Yet I can see how twisted you've become in the service of Mystra, down the centuries. Trust in you comes hard to me. It would be easier, I think, if I stripped away all of the great secrets you hold, all the memories of my power. No one else could learn them from you in time to come, and I'd not feel you were judging me disapprovingly. I–I must do this.'

There was silence for a moment, but for the wind whistling past. She spoke again, as anxious as a mother who knows her words wound a favored child. 'How does hearing this make you feel?'

Elminster stared into the night sky ahead of him and said, 'A little sad. Relieved more than that. Not angry, nor unwilling. I swore to serve Mystra long, long ago when I could have become king in Athalantar. I am nothing if I break my oath. I have had centuries more to taste and smell and see and do than most humans, and regret none of it. If your need or even whim snuffs out my existence in a moment, or changes me to a stone to spend the centuries to come, I am content. If taking memories gladdens you, it pleases me to yield them. I will do whatever you desire, eagerly, and with love.'

He smiled. 'So do your best to me, Lady. You always have.'

He'd never heard a swarm of enchanted motes of light weep before, but then, most wizards never do.

Chapter Twenty

PRAYERS AND PLOTS

Ncrgal the Mighty was not happy. He restlessly prowled the shadows under his favorite overhang, wondering what fancy-dance his human mind-slave was leading him on this time. The goddess told him she would pillage his mind of everything useful to greedy archdevils? What good was that?

But then, what good were wrinkled old noblewomen being stabbed in the human city of Waterdeep? How much useful magic had he gained?

A good distance across Avernus, he'd spell-snatched the wizard away from that cavern. He didn't want an army to find him-or even Malachlabra, who'd escaped by the very graze of a horn.

Elminster was free again, to stumble where he willed- which seemed, right now, to be down some steep, rocky hillside. He seemed to be healing himself again, and Nergal was keeping a sharp watch over him. For all his pretended weakness and helplessness, the human was calling on his silver fire in some way Nergal couldn't catch him at.

Two abishai sprang up from a rift, snatched a passing spinagon out of his flapping flight, and tore him apart. With a yawn, the outcast turned away to stride along the overhang one more time.

The maddening little mage was leading Nergal on another lengthy mind chase. Useful magic, my left smoking buttock! This time, however, he'd follow the trail of memories to the end as doggedly as any Hell hound, surprising the Old Mage and perhaps, just perhaps, breaking the human's mind at last. He might as well; his attempts to search the wizard's mind without Elminster as a guide had failed utterly. Humans had minds like cesspits.

Stars twinkled softly and endlessly on the ceiling above her his creations, of course. Another spell she'd meant to ask him about, and never remembered to. Another magic and secret that'd be lost forever with him if he perished.

Lying alone on the round bed in the topmost room of Elminster's Tower in Shadowdale, the Simbul stared unhappily up at the stars so close above her until they melted and glimmered in a fresh flood of tears.

'Mystra,' she whispered into the darkness, 'preserve him! Oh, goddess, if you love me-!'

Somehow she'd moved from the table to her knees on the hard floor beside it, worn fur rugs thrust out of the way against the wall. Two old, thick candle stubs stood here, stuck to the floor by their own melted, puddled wax… evidence of a long-ago prayer to Mystra. Elminster must have knelt naked between them just as she was doing now