Elminster in Hell

"Mystra is-dead? Destroyed?"

"Destroyed, aye." Alustriel knelt on the stones beside him, her long gown rustling. "While ye are down here, Thunderspell, ye could join me in prayer to Azuth, to guide the living."

"Living mages? Such as ye and I?" Taern was white-faced; the black gulf was all around him, and only the hands that clasped his kept him from sinking. Hands that glowed blue-white.

Alustriel smiled through her tears, and said softly, "For one mage, aye. The one who holds Mystra's power now. It burns him inside, and we must all hope he bows not to the temptation to wield it. And for the one who comes after, the one who must rise and grow to take Mystra's place and power. They will need our prayers, and whatever help we can give, in the days ahead.''

Taern wished desperately that he did not feel so old and tired, the days of his greatest power behind him. None of his apprentices were ready yet. None would serve in any battle to come.

Alustriel put her arms around him and kissed his forehead. "Peace, Taern. The Lady's power has touched me; until it fades, I can see thy mind. Ye have done well, and it is thy wisdom, more than power of Art, that will be needed in the days ahead."

From where she had kissed him, Taern felt power flooding through him, awakening and soothing at the same time. He stared at his queen in awe and wonder and wished again he were not so old.

Alustriel's eyes held his in a steady, loving gaze.

He colored suddenly and brought hands up to his burning cheeks. If she could read his thoughts.... Taern loved her very much then, for she caught one of his hands and brought it to her lips and did not laugh at him.

More lovemaking. Do you humans do anything else?

Aye. We scheme and fight and work treason almost as energetically as archdevils.

Mock me not, elminster aumar. You are in my power, i have but to close my hand over you for you to be no more. Gone forever.

Promises, promises.

Do not presume to bandy words with me as an equal, human. My patience grows short indeed. Show me more of godly magic-now!

Pain! Pain in Avernus, of a tentacle become a talon and thrust through the breast of a crawling man, leaving him to stiffen and gasp in agony as fresh blood flowed... then to sink back, gasping in ecstasy, as the withdrawing talon healed its own wound, leaving the naked old man to fall on his face, shaking with weakness and pain....

Weakness, and gods, and magic...

Yield unto me, little man!

Ah. Weakness in magic among the gods. Aye, let it be remembered…

"I am ashamed to say it," Noumea whispered, so faintly that mortal ears would have missed what she said, "but I am glad the Lady did not choose me. I would have failed her-and us all."

She stood in a dark cavern, lit only by a tall, slim conical column of silvery gray light. It replied in an echoing mind-voice.

Wherefore ye were not chosen. The Lady is-was- wise. Yet he not ashamed, Daughter. Differing natures decree different fates for us all.

"What now, Lord?"

The silvery cone flickered once. We go on as before. None must know what has befallen. This seems wisest.

"Seems wisest?"

I am not all wise or all knowing, Lady Magister. I can be sure only after I touch the mind of Elminster. It may become necessary, if the power he has taken twists him, that ye destroy him. Come with me now, as we speak mind to mind with the Old Mage. Merge with me.

The Magister looked at the cone in puzzlement. "Merge, Lord Azuth?"

Step into the space I now occupy, and stay entirely within this conical form. It is all that is left to me since the Fall. I must be ready to shield thee if Elminster has been... changed.

Noumea shivered. She had not known that anything could bring fear into the voice of a god-especially her all wise, imperturbable teacher, the Lord of Wizardry himself.

Hurriedly she stepped forward and plunged-with a momentary, shocking chill-into the silvery cone, all that remained of the High One. Already his mind reached out like an uncoiling snake, lashing across great distances toward the slightly leaning stone tower in Shadowdale.

Full of tricks, aren't you? A flagon brimming over with deceit. Nearly as devilish as one of us. You know full well i seek what you recall of mystra, don't you? Don't you? [searing fire]

[pain] Aye. [shuddering pain]

Show me, then, something she left in your mind-or i'll tear and rend your wits in earnest, wise old elminster!

As ye command, Lord Nergal.

Do you dare to mock me? [furious lashing fires]

[pain] Not I, Lord. Gods, not I!

Tears ru

The day was warm and bright-but all was decidedly not well in the Realms.

In Chessenta, the Sceptanar screamed in rage as three of his high wizards battled to control the wild transformations their Art had brought to certain ladies of the court. It was the Sceptanar's wont to have noble consorts altered by magic, to tint their skins with exotic hues, enhance their height and features, and give them something different- scales, or serpentine tails, claws, or even gossamer wings. This morn, the spells had gone horribly wrong. They brought on changes, yes-changes that continued, faster and faster, altering the ladies into monstrous things that screamed, bellowed, or burbled at the pain and stress of their shifting. The Sceptanar's most powerful high wizards scurried and cast spells and puzzled, hurling all they could find. No magic could stop these fell transformations.

Moreover, rumors of the gods walking the Realms grew ever more detailed with the passing days. The Sceptanar was begi

"Lady?" Taern's voice was rough with concern, and he half-rose from his stool under the lamp.

In the pool where Alustriel bathed, amid the spell glows and scented oils applied by deft servants, she had stiffened and gasped. She sat bolt upright, ripples racing away across the waters. She clutched at her head as if something had caught fire within.

"Lady Taern almost shouted. "Are you well?" Alustriel raised a hand to stay his cry, and then asked, "Taern, did any memories come into your mind just now? Of the two of us, perhaps, on the night when the Art seemed to fail?"

Taern shook his head, his eyes large and dark. "The night I felt Mystra's power within you?" he whispered, heedless of the listening servants and the little murmur of wordless excitement that spread from them. I’ll never forget that night, Lady. Yet I tell you truth: It comes to me now, as you speak of it, but nothing until then. I was thinking of nothing but the ledgers and coins we'd been discussing."

"Nothing of Azuth, or the Magister, or far Chessenta?" Taern shook his head. "No, Lady," he said in a low, wondering voice. “Why would I?"

"Aye," the lady wizard echoed, sinking back into the pool until the rippling waters lapped at her magnificent throat. "Why would I?"

***

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In Aglarond, the Simbul forbade the use of magic against Thayan raiders, telling her men to trust instead in their swords. When the Red Wizards leading the strike against Aglarond tried to hurl lightning against the Simbul's men, their spells instead brought forth falls of flowers, crystal spheres, and mud. In the end, a Red Wizard sought escape by giving the raiders' stolen boat the power of flight, but his Art instead turned it to old and crumbling cheese, and it fell apart beneath them. They sank into the cold waters of the Sea of Dhurg. Only a handful emerged to the embrace of the Simbul's spell chains.