Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [73]
Mirt stepped forward in grim silence, axe in hand, and looked to Piergeiron.
The First Lord nodded. "For Waterdeep, then. For Tamaeril, and Resengar," he intoned.
The axe swept up, glittering.
A leather-clad form sprang in front of Mirt, bare hands raised. "No!" Storm protested. There were tears in her eyes. "Do not kill this man. His cause was just in his eyes-and his task nigh impossible, for one alone, I would have him for the Harpers."
Mirt frowned at her. His gaze strayed to Amril's sword, still lying in a dark pool of Storm's blood, and then back to the Bard of Shadowdale. "Why?" he asked bluntly.
"He saw his cause as just and did what he thought he had to," Storm replied. "Who are we to think ourselves better than he?"
Mitt's frown grew. Something that might have been a growl stirred deep in his throat-then, slowly, he stepped back, lowering his axe, and bowed to Storm.
"Methinks yon youngling enjoys slaying overmuch, Lady," he said darkly, "but enough. I grow sick of killings. Mind you get that book of Ahghairon's from him, though… I don't want his cousin or squire or trained dog coming through a gate beside my bed in the midst of my snoring time, one or two nights from now!"
Storm nodded. "If he cannot or will not change his ways," she said softly, "he ivill find death. At my hands."
"So be it," Piergeiron said, almost wearily. "Just take him far from Waterdeep." He looked down at what he was turning over and over in his fingers, as if seeing it for the first time. "A silver harp," he said thoughtfully. "I thought the badge of the Harpers was a silver moon and a silver harp."
"The silver moon was my mother's badge… her kin came from the city of Silverymoon," Storm said softly. "But Harpers have a better answer. Mirt?"
Mirt smiled. He put his arm around Asper and growled, "The harp is the Harper. The moon need not be part of the badge-for as the motto says: Harpers hunt by moonlight."
So we see some whispers of magic, but hardly the silver fire i seek ok anything i can seize and make use or i weary of lashing you, idiot wizard-so i'll do nothing to you, now try not to fool yourself into thinking i'll forget this and that you're getting away with something.
You'll learn differently soon enough.
Mirt found himself blinking at the ceiling, all silver in moonlight. "No!" he gasped hoarsely. "Gods, no!"
He was still dressed. The hilt of his sword was ready under his clenched hand. Amril Zoar's blade dripped with Storm's gore… He'd half forgotten the details, but they came flooding back, with a face behind them: Elminster. Or rather, what was left of Elminster.
A desperate, wavering mind, less than it had been, pleading, and in a ruined body… in a stinking stony waste under' a blood-red sky. Avernus. It had to be.
"When I'm ready to look for a place to die," Mirt told his sword as he drew it and watched the moonlight gleam along its bright length,"Hell will not be where I start. Just so long as that's clear."
With a grunt he rolled off the bed, stamped his feet to settle them in his boots, and set off down the passage. This might be one walk he didn't come back from, and he was j damned if he was going to leave before he saw-
Asper, a pale flame in the gloom, burst bare out of her bedchamber. Her hair was wild. She held a sword in one hand and boots in the other. "Thieves?" she gasped, almost falling in her haste to bar his way. "Lord work?"
"Worse than that, lass. Elminster needs me."
"Elminster? Why?"
"Because he's trapped and in torment in Hell," the Old Wolf growled. "Where I dare not go."
"No, Mirt," Asper cried. Her face went bone-white. "Not to Hell! You'll never even get near him before the devils get their talons on you, and you'll be-you'll be-"
She flung away her boots and clutched his arm. "No friend is worth dying for-when your death isn't going to help him!"
Mirt scowled at her, eyes gleaming like two old torches. He tried, and failed, to shake off her grip. Her fingers were like claws. "Aye, true enough-and