Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [122]
"We've heard lies to spare from you lips, my lady," he said coldly. "Speak truth to me, and soon, or I may just decide to waste no time on you ever again."
Suddenly his fingers were in her hair, tearing, hauling Silaril roughly to her knees. His rings were cold against her cheek as his sword grated from its scabbard.
"I have had enough of your twisted words, 'Lady.' I have been patient too long."
Steel stung SilarU's throat. She forced herself to remain silent, her face still-but she could not stop her chest heaving, brushing the arm that held her captive.
The chancellor knew her fear and smiled slowly and coldly. "I will now hear truth from your pretty lips. If you refuse, or speak falsely, your body will taste some truth from this sword. My patience is at an end."
Now, what was that, I wonder? Pity the rest is gone. We archdevils are so mighty, you know, that even when we're trying to be oh-so-careful, sometimes things just get… Broken. Clever human wizards, for instance.
I understood thy heavy-handed point, Nergal. Have ye something particular in mind for thy viewing pleasure."
No, mage, i let you lead me long enough-and a fine, long, and wasted road you led me on, too. I believe i'll look where i will, without your guidance-and just might thereby find what i'm seeking without a lot of clever racktalk from a human whose life hangs by the thinnest of threads.
[silence]
[diabolic chuckle]
[images swilling]
Somewhere in the Stonelands, Manshoon raised his head and looked back the way he'd come, coldly and calmly. The reek of rotting flesh was strong around him. His nostrils twitched at the sharp stench. For a moment he remembered his first fearful experimentation with zombies, in a crypt far away and long ago… One never forgot the smell.
[diabolic sigh, more images flung side, others torn apart]
All right… This one!
The skull watched all of this, nodding knowingly from time to time.
Bah! Nothing left…
[more images shining proudly]
The other beholder turned an eyestalk or two to gaze at its fellow. "Can we defeat Manshoon, were he to gain spellfire?"
The first eye tyrant bobbed slightly in the air. If it had possessed shoulders, the movement might have been a shrug. "See how easily he's swayed to our bidding now," it said, in tones cold with scorn. "A mighty tyrant and mage as humans reckon such things, to be sure-but blinded with lusts and mistrusts and paranoias, need for power, hunger for triumph. He's a stunted, twisted thing. Spellfire could not right all that."
The second beholder blinked. "Agreed."
Amusing, elminster. A warning for me, i suppose? Oh, so amusing. Well, if you're going to persist in trying to meddle in my searching, show me one of the seven right now! Show me-storm!
[pincers like claws of steel gripping fiercely; dark will set afire with rage bearing down hard]
[pain]
[satisfied snarl]
[pain]
Show me, wizard!
Moonlight traced the magnificence of a bare shoulder as Storm Silverhand rose on one elbow and put a firm hand over Elminster's mouth. "Stop dispensing twaddle and go to sleep," she told him, not unkindly, and moved her hand to his chest, thrusting him back flat on the bed.
He drew breath to protest as to the importance of what he'd been trying to say.
She put her mouth down where her hand had been, thrust her tongue into his mouth, and said along its thrilling length, "Go to sleep, I said. Despite my provocations to the contrary."
That seemed like a good idea to Elminster, drifting numb and wearily in floods of chaos that no longer brought pain to his bruised and battered wits. He found a dark cavern that was undisturbed as yet, where the memories were covered with the dust and cobwebs of long neglect, curled up therein, and let Avernus fade away from him as Toril was beginning to do.
No, don't go to sleep on me! I am not pleased.
Are you going to show me every last kiss you've received in your overlong, miserable life, human? You try my patience too far!
[searing mind lash,