Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [15]
"There, there, kitten." she soothed. "Shadowdale still stands around us-take heart. It could be worse."
Illistyl drew a shuddering breath. "How? she demanded tremulously. "I can't work even the simplest spell!"
Jhessail sighed. "Well," she said wryly, "all magic could fail us, and the gods could walk the Realms, and-"
Illistyl's arms tightened around her waist fiercely. "Don't say that," she hissed into her mentor's ear. "Don't even think about it! Jhess, I'm scared. Scared."
Jhessail Silvertree held the younger mage tenderly in her arms and said, "We all are, kitten. Even the gods, now. Elminster used to tell me, when I cried: Walk with fear a little while. Get to know it, and know thyself the more."
Illistyl only sobbed in reply, and clung to her more tightly. "He's gone, too! Jhess-where is he?"
Jhessail felt wetness welling up in her own eyes. "I don't know," she whispered back. They clung to each other in the darkness. In a voice that was not quite steady, she said, "We're all scared. We should be, now, if we know what's befallen-and are sane."
Illistyl drew back and stared at her, eyes streaming. "You think mages are sane? You're crazy!"
Jhessail laughed until she had to cling to Illistyl for support, and they laughed together awhile longer.
There came the hurrying tread of booted feet, and Mourngrym rushed in, torches and guards at his back.
"What now, women?" he demanded, sword naked in his hand.
"The-sanity of mages," Jhessail gasped. "A… laughing matter, it seems."
"I've often thought so," the lord of Shadowdale replied, sheathing his sword. "Though with Elminster about, I've never quite dared say it."
Illistyl nodded. "And now that he's gone, who knows where…?" Her voice was only a whisper.
Mourngrym looked at her. "I'm so afraid, lass, that if I stand still too long my bladder fills my boots right up to the tops. If you had any sense, you'd know that much fear, too."
He wondered, then, why the laughter of both lady mages was so wild.
My patience is not endless, man. Do you think showing me such things delays your fate? The unlocking and wielding of mystra's powers are what i seek, not these scenes from the eve of the madness of magic failing, no matter how much it mattered to you.
I try to reveal all, Nergal. I try. Much is tangled here, when the old Mystra passed and her powers were thrust into me to carry. Here alone is the time when I understood what I wielded. Believe me.
You make such belief less than easy, mage. Delay me less.
***
"Lord?" Darthusk pulled back on his swing a moment before his sword tip would have found Mourngrym Amcathra's throat.
The lord of Shadowdale stepped back, frowning. He shook his head as if trying to clear something out of It, staring at nothing.
Darthusk waved his hand in an urgent signal. All of the guards around the room stopped their sword practice and fell silent, looking at their lord in concern. Was this some sort of Zhent trick, or-?
Mourngrym shook himself again and caught up his belt rag to wipe the sweat from his face. "Strange," he said tersely as he raised his blade again, "but-'twas so vivid. A passing memory of our two lady wizards laughing until they were falling down. I went in to see why the noise, and…"
He shook his head again, wonderingly and said, "Cry pardon, Darthusk. I-magic. Strange, always."
"Aye, Lord," the guard said, as they crossed their blades to begin again. "Magic always is. I see it as a sword that burns at both ends-harming its wielder as well as the foe. It's a wonder to me that more mages don't end up aflame in earnest, screaming down in the Nine Hells!"
Mourngrym stiffened again, frowning at Darthusk. “What did y-never mind." He tapped his sword against the guard's. They swung at each other with real force, and the spark-striking clang of steel rose again around them. Mourngrym shook his head and growled, "Aflame in the Nine Hells, aye. Use magic I must, but trust