Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [22]
"Cast down?" Illistyl almost whispered. "By whom? Who has such power?"
Storm spread her hands. "In the oldest writings, he was called the Overgod, Nowadays, to those who know of him at all, he is 'The One Who is Hidden.' " She smiled. "If you meet him, you might ask his true name and aims-there are a lot of souls, mortal and divine alike, who'd like to know."
Illistyl drew a deep, ragged breath, and then smiled. "I'll get straight to work on it." Her hands trembled as they reached for the decanter. It held far less when she put it back down.
Shaerl shook her head. "Easy, lass, or we'll have to carry you back to the tower again."
Illistyl crooked an eyebrow. "Who, wench, will be carrying whom?"
Jhessail rose. "Come, ladies," she said. "We've done enough harm this night. Storm needs her sleep, even if we do not."
Storm thanked the mage with her eyes. Jhessail read the look and swept her companions swiftly out into the night.
As the candles died, one by one, the two sisters sat at the table unmoving, eyes faraway.
At last Storm moved unwilling lips. "Did you see or feel anything when you reached for Shar? Anything at all?"
"No," the Simbul said, staring down at her empty hands. "Nothing. I was like the worst apprentice I have ever had-alone, wavering, helpless in the dark."
"I saw three things, Sister," came the eerie voice they had not expected to hear again. "Fire, and tears, and stars-overhead, it seemed, though they were all mixed together. Our stars."
Storm raised her head, and there were tears in her eyes. "Sylune," she said softly, "my thanks. They are not dead, then."
"Yet," came the voice of Sylune's ghost dryly, "yet."
***
Storm stiffened above her cauldron, almost dropping her knife. "There it is again," she whispered. "Sister, what's happening?"
Sylune was a silver shadow passing the firelight, just for a moment, ere gliding into gloom again. "I know not, but I've mind-spoken Jhess and Illistyl, and both are restless- but know not why. Could it be a sign from the Lady?"
The Bard of Shadowdale frowned. "She's never been so cryptic before!"
The ghostly figure of her sister smiled and faded away, leaving Storm staring at a bright copper pot. "And that habit will stop her being so now? We'll think more on this later. For now, best get your gown on, Lady of the Harp-your first guests are on their way up your path right now!"
Storm Silverhand wiped her hands dry, cursed cheerfully when she realized she'd used her gown, and then snatched it up and over her head, dampness and all, and thrust a herb-flower into the bodice as impish ornament. Later, for the love of Mystra! It seemed everything had to wait for later, these days-
***
Anger, little mage? Now? Rage is in you like flame, stronger than when first i smote you and bound you! Why?
Later devil. I'll tell thee later.
No, caitive, you'll tell me now!
[pain]
[scream, trailing away to sobbing, images awhirl]
Don't you collapse on me, puny human! I know you're stronger than that! Feigning and cringing are for devils i trample-from you, let there be instant obedience! Instant and absolute! Do you hear?
***
Khelben lifted his head sharply. "Did you hear something? A roaring, as of distant command?"
"Command, my Arunsun?" Laeral purred in his ear, almost playfully. "No, but I tell you true: Jerk your head like that again while my shears are so close, and it's not hair I'll be cutting, but your ear!"
With a frown of irritation Khelben flicked two fingers, and the glittering shears sprang upright. Laeral frowned at them, quivering in her hand, and then at her lord consort.
"Shall I finish this later?" she asked dryly. "The Lord Mage of Waterdeep is content to go out into the city shorn one side and not the other?"
"The Lord Mage of Waterdeep," Khelben said slowly, staring at nothing, "is troubled and knows not why. Put those away, love, and quell all castings, and feel. Just-feel. Something is amiss."
The shears clinked