Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [116]
"Don't go-I'll be back directly," the hollow voice called back to her, cold and cheerful.
Laeral shuddered and whimpered at the agony her movement had brought her.
The endless, silent crawling went on. Almost fainting with the pain, Laeral raised a numbed hand and carefully took the earring from her ear. Her last magic. Her hand closed over it and fell back amid the growing pile of wood.
A strange, horrid noise came up the stairs, growing nearer: The lich was humming. That white, sunken face smiled cruelly above her again.
Suddenly Laeral felt cold, sticky liquid falling on her. Thalon was calmly emptying the contents of a crystal decanter onto her limbs.
"Arundoon sauce," the archmage said lightly. "In splendid condition, too, thanks to the spells on the decanter. I'll just put it somewhere safe-for next time. When I come back, Laeral, we'll share a kiss; thy last, I fear, for with it I'll breathe dragon fire into ye, and ye'll burn… Do minstrels still sing of kisses that burn? I gave them that phrase, though its true meaning seems to have been forgotten."
Thalon lingered above her thoughtfully. "Much about me has been forgotten in the Realms. With this fine young body and your knowledge of who works magic and where, I'll change all that. One mage will lead me to another, until I've swallowed what all of them know. I thank thee for this opportunity, Laeral. It's most kind of ye."
Laeral fought to keep her eyes open against waves of sleepy pain.
He seemed disappointed. "What, no tears? No pleading? I expected some reaction, at least."
Laeral smiled at him tightly as her hand swept up. "You shall have it!" she hissed in answer, through fresh waves of pain, and whispered fiercely, "Alahabad!"
The earring twisted in the air as it flew, to become a metal hand as small as a child's. It struck Thalon in the chest, thrusting the lich-mage backward with the force of its blow.
Laeral saw the lich stagger, saw the metal hand close and tighten on the last globe of the necklace that had been her most powerful magic for so many years, bent her will, and turned her head away.
Ha! Now her revenge! More, human-snow me more!
Of course. I've spent my life showing folk things…
Her eyes were closed, so the flash that blistered her face and side did not blind her. It shook the ceiling above her and the rubble around. Dust began to fall on her like a cloak. More pain. Tiny spears showered her side; bony splinters from what was left of Blaskyn, Laeral decided wearily.
She lay still. The shaking died away. She breathed thanks to Tymora and Mystra both. As if in reply, a thin, falling wail of rage and disappointment rose, mingled with the rolling echoes of the blast… and slowly died away with them.
Your turn for a little pain and disappointment, Laeral thought savagely, as black oblivion took her.
What? I'm m be cheated of the gloat over her fallen foe? Humans are such weak weeds!
Patience, Lord Nergal, and see… [growl, reluctant silence]
Much later, cold and pain awakened her. She looked toward the throne. It still glowed with a faint white radiance, but she saw no trace of the lich. What she sought lay at the foot of the throne.
Gritting her teeth, Laeral rolled over, her broken leg flopping uselessly. The blazing pain, as she hauled herself through stabbing branches and motionless bone claws, made her sob and shriek in turns. She crawled slowly across the floor, wondering if she'd get there in time.
Well, if all this was passed from mystra to you, she must have survived, eh?
Give the tale its time, devil. Give the tale its time. Things are more fun that way…
Fun! [Snort] Now I know I'm in the mind of a human!
Ye doubted it before?
It was long, indeed, before she reached