Elminster Must Die

EPILOGUE

Elminster?

Storm awoke and lay still in the near-darkness. The banked hearth beside her was giving out feeble flickers, and as usual she was toasting on her side nearest to it and chilled on the part of her that faced away.

Elminster?

There it was again. In her head.

A voice she knew.

A voice she’d not heard for almost a hundred years.

A voice she’d never thought to hear again.

She gathered her will, finding herself on the verge of tears. Mystra? Mother Goddess, is that you?

Storm! Daughter, is Elminster with you?

It was her mother, but fainter, the singing blue fire diminished. Different.

Well, of course it would be. The Weave was gone; how could Mystra not be different?

He is, and he is not. Storm sent her words into the familiar blue warmth and felt them taken in as they always had been. He was slain but can ride a willing host.

Send him to me. You and I will confer later.

It was Mystra. It was!

Trembling, almost unable to breathe, Storm crawled to the bed and opened the coffer.

Arclath came awake in an instant, grabbing at his sword. She flung herself on him and kissed him to quell all questions, holding him down with all her strength as Elminster’s ashes flowed up the young dancer and into her.

And Amarune rose, unspeaking, smiled down at them with Elminster’s eyes-eyes that danced with joy-and went out into the night.