Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [138]
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.
Chapter Twenty-One
REVENGE EATEN HOT
It so happened that a band of adventurers entered the dark, echoing chamber deep in Undermountain before the madness passed. They took one good torchlit look at the man barking and whimpering alone in the middle of that vast, bare stone floor and fled, as swiftly and as silently as they knew how.
Halaster had called on all of Mystra's vested power to heal the great wound that should have slain him. That terrible, impaling bone spike had pierced and crushed all of his innards. Worse, Nergal had laced his spells with a curse. The lord of Undermountain lived, but had no magic to gainsay Nergal's cruelty. A day, perhaps, or more, had passed as he wallowed on the cold, dusty stone, helpless to stop the sickening rise and fall of the changes that passed over his body. Bat wings, scales, tails and talons sprouted and faded, receded and flowed, unchastened by the cries and curses of the writhing mage.
Spines and horns and breasts thrust forth, curled, and then cruised along his body like ripples across water. In the heart of the agonizing chaos Halaster vowed to return to the Nine Hells. He would visit torment on the devil Nergal even if he died in trying, Elminster or no Elminster.
At long last it ended. Halaster Blackcloak lay panting and drenched with sweat. He stared up into dusty dark-ness.The rags of his shredded robes clung to him.
"Revenge" he announced calmly, as he forced his last shudders into oblivion,"will now commence."
He did not, however, move for a long time, even when the cold made him shiver. He lay still, remembering every last detail of Nergal's movements, words, and reactions, the archdevil's precise appearance… and what spells would make the best weapons against such a one.
Just as patiently, he recalled the drawbacks and precise effects of each suitable spell and his best tactics for using them in Avernus. At length, he smiled coldly and told the darkness, "It seems Halaster Blackcloak would make a good devil himself."
The smile slowly faded from his face, and he said more gently, "Lady Mystra, I have need of your aid. This task I would do for you has proven beyond my present mastery. May we speak?"
The stone floor beneath him grew warm. A tingling arose within him. He was suddenly no longer sweating or soiled, but whole and strong and alert. It felt almost as if warm, motherly arms wrapped around him.
Halaster Blackcloak did something he'd not done for centuries: He purred, shifted contentedly onto his side in a curled-up position, and drifted off to sleep.
In the warm, forgotten time thereafter, he dreamed that he suckled a motherly breast, that he explained his needs and revealed his thinking. He received in return the spells he needed and the wise advice of a battle master among wizards____________________At one point he floated on his hack