Elminster in Hell

Chapter Twenty

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 to make his plea to the goddess.

Sobbing, Alassra Silverhand made fresh use of the candles. She lit them by the smallest of cantrips and by the fire of her will. As their flames rose up, she held herself so that her tears dripped into each flame, and then said fiercely,

"Mother Mystra, Lady over and of all who work magic, hear my prayer, I beg of you. I will do anything you command- anything.yielding my life, my magic, my realm, my health or looks or wits, anything, if you'll give me magic enough now to rescue my Elminster. Oh, Mystra, hear me!"

Suddenly, without a sound or a trace of smoke, the candles both went out. The fine hair all over the Simbul's body stood on end as sudden power awakened within her and flowed through her.The only light in the darkness was a flickering blue flame-coming from her own mouth. Her breath was afire.

Warrior of the Seven, the voice of Mystra said out of the darkness all around her, I am here, and heed your cry. Hearken to what we both must do…

***

Something moved ahead, among rocks and stunted trees. Their boughs had been broken off repeatedly by passing devils for moments of sport, and they bristled with thorns.

Elminster was whole again, though he took care to shuffle along slowly, hunched over, and slump into motionless-ness whenever a devil flew past. He was somewhere on Avernus, he knew not where-but it was far from any of the gates out of Hell he knew of. Almost all of them were in large, closely guarded fortresses. Of the two out in the desolation of Avernus, one was behind a bloodfall-a waterfall of blood, somewhere in Artkan's Rift-and the other was atop Tabira's Spire, where of old an erinyes had been impaled for disobedience and died pleading for mercy. Her bones still clung to the shunned rock, and the gate out worked only for someone touching one of them and saying the right words.

At least he remembered those. Now all he had to do, naked and bereft of spells, was find the bloodfall or the spire, elude whatever guardians or malicious wandering devils saw him, and-

Something moved again in the rocks ahead. It might have been a woman-if human women had been twelve feet tall, ruby-skinned, and had horses' heads instead of breasts. Those strange-looking appendages snapped their teeth at him as their owner stepped out to block his way. Her shapely legs ended in cloven hooves, a slender barbed tail curling in her wake. Her bat wings folded into a huge single sail of flesh rising high above her head. That head looked human except for the delicate fangs and pupilless eyes like two white flames.

Her voice was low and husky as she raised her arms in warning-arms that sported rows of cruel barbs-and asked sharply, "Who-no, what are you?"

"What I appear to be," El answered her. "A human."

An eyebrow lifted, and a slender, barbed tongue licked those dainty fangs eloquently.

"No," the Old Mage told her, gathering silver fire within him in case he'd need it very soon and very swiftly, "ye don't want to do that. I am-I belong to Nergal, and any attack on me will draw him to this place.That's not worth a few mouthfuls of raw, tasteless human."

His captor's name had evoked a hiss.The she-devil drew back between the rocks once more.

El went on down the hillside and was two steps past the rocks when the outcast devil's voice came again."You have no magic?"

Elminster turned around slowly, and spread his empty j arms. "No. Do I look as if I do?"

"I am so hungry," the voice came back plaintively. "Nergal will just have to get over your loss."

And the devil sprang.

El sat down abruptly, feet together, then sprang off to one I side in a frog-like hop.The pouncing devil crashed onto the rocks beyond and skidded to a spitting, snarling halt.

The hillside was steep and bare.The only cover was the cluster of rocks and thorn-trees where the devil had been. Grimly El leaped and trotted toward it. Wings clapped behind him, and he sprang to one side again, dodging around a sparlike boulder.

The she-devil hissed close by his ear as she passed by again, missing with her reaching hands. "Stay still, human, and I'll make your death less painful!"

"Now that's an enticing offer," Elminster replied mockingly, spinning away from another grab. "Almost had me with that one!"

Snarling, the she-devil bounded into the air and glided after him.

He ducked into the devil's lair-a dark cleft between the rocks where the floor was littered with old, gnawed bones. Tumbled rocks formed a roof of sorts. Once he was inside, and she followed, there'd doubtless be no way out that her body wasn't blocking.

On he went, into stinking darkness.

With a little laugh of triumph the outcast devil folded her wings and fbllowed."Now you're mine," she breathed.

El had backed as far in as the narrowing rocks would let him.The only light came from the white flames of her eyes. The horse heads of her bosom snapped at him as she advanced, arms spread wide to prevent his escape.

"To raise a very original question," El said calmly, "Who and what are ye?"

"Marane is my name," she said, drawing closer. "Marane the Hungry!"

Elminster tensed, bending low. He had to unleash silver fire fleetingly when a spell-scrying Nergal wouldn't be able to get a good look at what he was doing, so their bodies had to be pressed almost together. Somehow he had to avoid those fangs above, and those snapping jaws lower down. A stone rolled under his foot, and he stumbled and almost fell.

Marane hissed again, but no jaws closed on him.

El looked up-and saw faint glows above and behind him. They illuminated the body of the outcast devil, as she arched over him to reach the stone and set it back in place.

"What're those lights?" he asked, feigning wonder, as he ducked low and turned so his shoulder brushed against a shapely devil leg.

"Things of magic," she snapped, "seized from other prey down the years. A pity you carry nothing to add to it.But enough!"

Marane turned then, extending a long-nailed hand like a claw right at his eyes-

El thrust his hand up along her leg and gave her silver fire.

"Quite so," he agreed coolly, as her entire body con-vulsed and sprang upward, smashing her head on the^;J rocks overhead.

Smoke curled out of Marane's mouth. She tumbled limply to the floor, and her eyes went dull. Something moved in Elminster's mind, and he kept the image of Marane's reaching talons vivid in his thoughts.Trying not to think or look at what he was doing, he clawed blindly. at the stone until he felt it roll. He thrust his hand in amid the cold glows beyond.

Something among them felt like a wand. He snatched it, let its fading enchantment tell him its triggering word and nature-a lightning-wand, thank Mystra andTymora both-thrust it into Marane's gaping mouth, gathered silver fire to keep himself alive if need be, and activated it.

Blue-white fire howled around the tiny lair. Diabolic limbs flailed bruisingly as the reek of cooked devil-flesh rose strongly to take hold of his throat. Marane slumped and began to shrivel.

Ho, no! magic! must have it!

Nergal's mind bellow was almost deafening. El smiled grimly and raked through the magic with both hands, letting the chaos of command words and purposes and powers wash over him as he sought something-anything-useful.

Rings that spat fire, wands that melted flesh, bracers that-wait! This!

With shaking hands El plucked it forth and held it, just for a moment. He set up a snarl of silver fire in his mind so that Nergal wouldn't be able to read his thoughts.Yes, this would do admirably-a scepter only as long as his hand, dark and finely made. Netherese-crafted, in fact, by Shadow Master Telamont Tanthul long, long ago. It could make two hands, or three, or six, out of one.Three hands, or three hearts, or three legs, as desired, but only bone and blood and flesh. A way of whelming armies or healing the maimed…

Hurriedly he raced out of the lair, keeping his mind full of fire, and hid the tiny scepter under a stone near a certain tree. Then he retreated to the lair, stumbling dazedly around amid the magic and staring at Marane's dainty fangs.

With an excited growl, Nergal crashed to the ground outside.

El let the fire fall and sent forth his thoughts in a feigned fury of excitement. These should be enough! Just let old Nergal set foot in here, and I'll blast him to ashes! Why, there's not a devil in Avernus that can stand against these, now that I've poured all my silver fire into them! I can-oh, gods!

Tall and terrible, Nergal loomed in the cleft and sent a forest of flailing tentacles stabbing into the darkness. In a trice Elminster was battered against stone, shoved along it, slapped nearly senseless, and then snatched out into the light again, blinded and strangling in the grip of a tight-clenched tentacle, while clinks and rattles told him Nergal was gathering magic in a frenzy.

I could crush your skull Like a rotten fruit, man. Give me one good reason why I should not.

The silver fire will explode out of me and slay thee too.

Don't y-eh? It would?

Aye. Best leave my head and neck alone.

So i shall, Neigal agreed savagely, twisting and wrenching.

Only silver fire kept Elminster from fainting at the sickening pain. Dimly he was aware that the devil had torn away both of his arms at his elbows, leaving jagged, dripping stumps of broken bone.

He called on the fire to give him strength, and feigned a mad frenzy, keening as he rose and lucked out and flailed away with his arms. He leaked enough silver fire that Nergal hissed in pain and flinched away. El grimly thrust the stumps of his arms into the outcast devil's wounds, like a child stabbing with a stick in blind rage and utter futility.

After a moment, Nergal chuckled harshly and dealt Elminster a blow that sent him spinning away to crash down on distant rocks. Pain made him bound up again in shrieking spasms. "Stupid wizard."

Behind silver fire, El thought, Stupid devil. I thrust my broken arms deep into you, and left bone chips behind. Deep inside, beneath thy healings. It may not be Alassra's Blood Ring, but 'twill do. Ye'll see. He let the fire fade again-and was almost deafened by Nergal's mind-voice, crashing in.

Again you whisper to yourself of your own cleverness! Enough! This memory of yours, and this, and this one, too, show me what to cast, to keep you ajjvf.-hah! Thus! — so i can do this!

[tentacles stabbing out, slapping around arching torso, and then wrenching… flesh tearing wetry…]

[scream, ripping agony No devil no devil agghh gods please no!]

That's sight, plead! Go on! Plead, and I'll ignore you! Hahahaa!

[diabolic laughter, roars of rage and glee, tentacles shredding and flailing, pulping what little is left]

A tall devil that once more wore the shape of a pit fiend stood glowering down at the seared, feebly crawling pieces of what had once been a man. With a reluctant snarl, Nergal sent forth tentacles to gather up quivering flesh and heal, knitting it to neighboring flesh. He slowly reassembled a limp, broken body.

Live again, foolish wizard. Almost i tore you apart for good-but you are a toy I have, and other devils do not. Moreover, you are at least… Interesting. I know what you're doing. Time and again, turning me skillfully aside amid your shadows, revealing what is unimportant and hiding from me what I seek. That's over now. I shall bear down and shred your mind

Whenever you try to do that to me again. I have most of your spells now-you cannot resist me. This time I seek memories of your using power over important folk of your realms- Not mages this time, but those who rule and who are heard when they speak. [snort] unlike me.

[mindworm, spiraling down, down, down…]

"Interesting," the Srinshee said gently, her fingertips tracing the line of his chin. "Most of my Cormanthan kin fear the ridicule of their peers more than anything else, and loss of wealth and magical power after that. You fear Failing your friends and losing them to death. You are both older in your wisdom than most elves of this city and more tragic. You've already lost more friends and kin than the younglings of Cormanthor; only we elders have known the weight of tears you bear. Yet there is something more in you-a backbone of power, always there, always warming you against the storms of life."

Her hand went to the crotch of the elaborate filigreed gown she wore, and drew a tiny dagger from a sheath there. Eyes on his, she murmured, "Forgive me. This is no attack, but I must know," Choosing a spot on the outside of his forearm, she gently drew the gleaming knife along his skin. Blood welled forth, and then-a few sparks.

The Srinshee breathed something, reaching with a finger. The silver radiance that burst from him sent her staggering back with a little cry, wreathed in flames.

Elminster spun away, clapping his hand over the wound she'd made and stammering apologies.

Weakly, from among rising tendrils of smoke and the ruins of her garments, the Srinshee replied, "Nay, man, the fault was mine. I worked the spell that tried to steal silver fire from the wound I'd made in you. Mystra is even stronger in you than I'd thought."

That's all? And you whirl it away from me like that? What if i just snatch something out of your memories thus? No, don't scream. You brought this on yourself! Let's see what we have here…

Elminster looked up from his book, frowning. What befell-?

A mote of light grew in the air….

He sprang up, tossing his tome aside and snatching his newest, most powerful warding wand.

The light was almost his own height now, and blinding bright. Golden, it was, and somehow come out of nothingness right through his defenses! What could-

The light was coming from a blade. Slender, beautiful- an enchanted elf blade, held aloft in a slender arm… the Srinshee!

"Auluua!" Elminster cried, his wand crackling in his hand-just in case. "Is it you?"

The tiny elf-maid smiled at him, though her face was sad and shadowed. "Only you call me that, El. Ah, but 'tis good to hear it again!"

She let go the sword and ran to him, leaving it floating upright in the air behind her. Golden radiance curled down like smoke from its point.

El frowned at it. "Is that the Ruling Blade?"

And then she was in his arms, looking up at him with unshed tears glimmering in her eyes, and he forgot all about swords and magic. "Hold me," she said, her voice teetering on the edge of tears, "and-kiss me! Kiss me, damn you and Mystra and all proud elves and doom, doom everywhere!"

She was weeping when he bent down and put his lips to hers, and as he lifted her in his arms her mouth was fierce and demanding, and her tiny hands as tight as claws on his arms and shoulders. Their minds met, hers like a dark sea lashed by storms, all despair and need, and his wondering and warming and wanting to soothe….

There was blood in his mouth from where she'd bitten him. The Srinshee threw back her head, shuddering, and hissed, "Listen to me. Listen, for haste rides me and goddesses other than yours. Fell magic may well follow swift at my back!"

El grinned. "Ye always did lead an interesting life of plots and secrets. I hear. Speak!"

With a wild smile, she dealt him a slap. Her dark mood broken, she murmured into his ear, "I must disappear for a time-perhaps a very long time. You will probably never see me again, or hold me thus. Know this: Mystra has granted me a boon. I'll always be able to speak to you through the silver fire. Listen when it sings, and call to me, and I'll be there. Now kiss me again, damn you! It may be the last kiss I'll ever-"

[slap]

[confused chaos of images dying away, mirror-shattered and going dim]

So this is the little secret you've been hiding from me! You've been talking to her all along, haven't you? Calling your friends to hell against me, some doubtless wokking sly schemes while the most rash and stupid tried to charged through all avernus to get to me! They're at work right now, aren't they? Human worm!

No, Lord Nergal! Hear me: I can no longer speak to the Srinshee!

[suspicious glare]

Look, here. Truth, see?

Oh. She died, eh?

I know not. We did speak, back and forth, when each of us very lonely, for years… centuries. Until the Godsfall, when Mystra thrust her power upon me. A lot of things were burnt out inside me, then… and this was one of them. Unless the Srinshee comes to me, and works some magic beyond my skills, I've no way of speaking to her again.

Almost i pity you, human. Almost.

[bewilderment, flare of anger… giving way to utter puzzlement]

Now, why did i say that? Why did i feel that?

[smiling silence]

No, elminster, i'm not becoming weak and sentimental. Kiss someone else. If mage-lore i'm after. Thoughts and memories i can use in hell, and you know it. Show me more!

Of course. That's just what I've been doing: showing ye magic, its uses and effects.

Bah! You split hairs even more finely than amnizu! Human, you disgust me!

Another achievement to be proud of. I'm collecting them.

What price your collection, smart-tongued mortal if you can remember nothing of such achievements-or anything at all? I'll have everything soon enough… Leaving mighty elminster to drool at nothing all the rest op his days.

Threats, [mental sigh] That reminds me of something…

[mental shimmering, memories flashing past to a certain moment, glow found and chosen]

"Halueve Starym," the man in black snapped crisply, "is this wise?"

The elf with three crackJing braziers floating in midair before him turned, eyes flashing with anger, and sneered, "Ah! The human who doomed fair Cormanthor! Speak not to me of wisdom, Slayer of the Fair!"

"Well, then," Elminster Aumar said mildly, striding forward, "let me speak of folly-yours. Anyone is a fool who thinks to enspell devils to do his bidding… and truly be their master."

Calling up the fires of hell, hmmm? It's been done before, you know.

Aye. And since.

On, wizard!

Halueve Starym's sneer broadened into a snarl. "Speak not to me of folly, human!" he spat. "Get you gone while you still have legs to carry you! I can send devils to your bed to peel the skin right off you, a limb at a time!" He acquired a soft, evil smile, and added tauntingly, "And you have to sleep, you know… weak, puny, meddling human." Although he'd not appeared to lift a finger in spell weaving, a line of leaping flames raced between the two wizards, circling Halueve Starym. "Begone, Elminster. You are so weak in your Art that I can smash you at will- and if you annoy me further, I'll shatter you now. Go, while still I show mercy!"

Power roiled unbidden within Elminster, and silver sparks danced briefly before his eyes. He stiffened.

Flee not, El. He's released a ready magic that seeks to feed on you, eating flesh and blood and mind together. Simply stand and do nothing but defend yourself with your own spells… and the silver fire will be his undoing. 'Ware you the right-most brazier; it is a watching devil.

Auluua! Elminster's heart leaped. Are you still there?

Barely, [smile] Have this kiss, ere I fade….

Warmth surged through him, and a feeling as of sweet water and a gentle breeze, summer sunlight, and dresses of spell power…

The slaying spell that struck him jolted him out of pleasantness. It washed over his shielding magic, tearing it to shreds.

El gave the Starym mage a wintry smile. "My, my, my," he said mockingly. "Fling flang floom, and I'm still here. I guess thy spells aren't quite as puissant as all that. Perhaps ye deceive Halueve Starym even more than ye do Elminster Aumar. Drained enough from me yet?"

The elf shrieked in fury and raised his hands like claws, hurling forth a spell whose use was foolish even when spell-armored for battle. The room cracked and rocked even before Elminster's blood was drawn.

Silver fire flared forth to bring real doom to Halueve Starym. Elminster made sure the first bolt he could shape destroyed the right-most brazier, and was rewarded, as the keep began to fall apart around him, with a long, harsh, and despairing cry…

Now this, little man, at least takes me to youk youth and brushes with magic … and I think I see, close to mystra. You're not afraid to slay devils, I see.

After my first few centuries, Lord Nergal, I used up most of my fear.These days, I have almost none of it left.

We'll see about that, human. Oh, yes, we'll certainly see about that.