Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [48]
No, he'd been spared that blessing. The endless brawl and slaughter that was Avernus raged around him unabated. El and the swarm of imps were writhing together on a rocky height whose stains and scattered bones attested to its usual use as a feasting-perch. From this height he could see far across the land of tortured rock. At least three dragons were flying across the blood-red sky, surrounded by swarms of winged devils that sought to slay the wyrms even as they savaged and devoured devil-flesh.
They'll have your toes next, then your hand and feet. I think the disobedience of even the great elminster may he tempered by a little time spent crawling and dragging along on raw stumps.
El did not bother to muster his will for a mental reply. He was too busy spinning a maelstrom of remembrances to deceive his captor into thinking his sanity was failing-to hide the slow seepage of healing silver fire he was releasing, oh so gently, within himself. El had to keep the pleasure of its healing relief out of mind, so Nergal wouldn't see it and pounce on what he so hungrily sought.
Something large and dark and terrible suddenly rose over the edge of the rock. The imps fled with frightened squeals. Naked and holding up bloody stumps in futile array, Elminster faced the pit fiend. Nothing but the vapors of Avernus separated them.
A slow, cruel smile quirked around man-rending fangs. Dark eyes flickered with mirth. Curse of the Nine, it wants to play. Mayhap I'll be torn apart slowly.
With an almost lazy flap of its wings, the hulking devil lifted itself over the lip of the rock, tail curling like that of a cruel cat, and landed before Elminster, as light as any feather.
Nergal, Elminster cried, putting all the fear he could find into that shout, aid, and swiftly-or your toy will be gone, silver fire, memories, and all-and whoever sent this fiend will know of your scheming!
Red rage flared in the back garden of his mind. You dare-?
On. Gabble, man. Quaver, scream-and then move your hand as if whelming a spell. Flee not!
Instants became long minutes of frenzied thought- flash and shimmer among the dark inner pillars-as Elminster did all of those things enthusiastically. Nergal shouldered forward through the wizard's ravaged mind, gathering his own strength for what was to come, and his captive saw much.
Deep rage calmed Elminster and fed him, rage at this ultimate violation. Nergal must be utterly destroyed. Not for the satisfaction of a certain mage of Shadowdale but for the memories the archdevil had already rummaged through and taken. Nergal now knew far too much about far too many people for civilized Faerun to survive. A Nergal free to play could now manipulate important folk and, with them, entire realms.
Nergal must be destroyed, before anyone else can learn what he now has or read the stolen memories… but how?
That question rang through Elminster's mind again as the pit fiend pounced. Magic so great that it left the wizard sick and shaking swept through him, laced with Nergal's triumphant laughter. It rode Elminster's bloody spittle down the fiend's gullet, to explode within.
El arched over backward, tumbling through the air, cloaked in a shield of Hell-magic as blast after wet, spattering blast heralded Nergal's triumph over the hapless fiend. Spells upon spells resounded, enough to shatter even the rock upon which they'd been standing and leave ashes of the mighty devil. Elminster meanwhile tumbled unscathed out of the wrack.
Nergal must be destroyed. But how?
Chapter Seven
NIGHT COMES TO TAMAERBL
Panting, in pain, the half-healed worm that was Elminster, weary beyond the power of pain to keep awake, now, swaying…
Aye, paul down! What cake i that your pack be unbroken or not? But keep me waiting no longer, wizard. You uvk yet for the memories you yield to me-so show me more. Mind you're not wasting