Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [90]
"Mhulker!" Baergrim snapped suddenly. "Mhulker, get back! That gag's covering her mouth and her nose! She can't be breathing-so she can't be human!”
There was a sudden confusion of writhing tentacle jouncing chains and roiling lights around the pedestal-and then a brief roar of flame.
When its flash died and the Blades could see again, they found themselves blinking in horror at something lurching; toward them. Mheriyam screamed.
Mhulker's legs and pelvis were staggering back from the pedestal with nothing left above them but a little cloud of\ drifting ash.
Three blades came up in unison, but no one made a i move toward the pedestal. As Mhulker's remains stumbled j and sagged to the floor, the cloud of winking lights and • rushing smoke above the pedestal coalesced suddenly into-a man.
A bald, elderly man with long white hair and wrinkled brown robes stood beyond the pedestal. His fierce eyes softened not a whit as he folded his arms across his chest and gave them an eager, welcoming smile.
"Halaster!" Mheriyam howled in terror, whirling around and breaking into a frantic run Halaster Blackcloak!"
Baergrim and Eltragar did not need to hear her warning; they were already running hard, bouncing bruisingly off stone walls as they gasped and stumbled. Cold, cruel laughter pursued them a long way down the passages they fled through.
When the echoes of frantic boots had faded, the mad wizard shaped one of his arms once more into slender femininity and with a glance spun a chain out of nothing to link it with the wall once more. Someone else was coming, and the old ruses were the good ones.
In a few moments, the woman lay spread-eagled in her chains on the pedestal once more, eyes pleading above the gag that once more covered both mouth and nose. One had to give the alert ones some small chance at survival, after all____________________
The chained woman turned her head and stared in swift fury at the figure who came through the beaded curtain next. It wore his own true likeness, a bald, elderly man with long white hair, fierce eyes, and wrinkled brown robes-and it leaned against the archway, folded arms across its chest and smiled at him. "Halaster Blackcloak, I presume?"
Halaster did not bother to drop his womanly disguise as he snapped, "Aye, so who are you?"
The spell that cracked out of him stripped away the intruder's disguise and sent him flying helplessly across the room. A fat and unlovely man struck the far wall with a groan and slid slowly down it, face tight with pain.
Halaster rolled off the pedestal, becoming himself as he strode forward to deal death. No, best learn how and why this fool had taken his semblance first. And then- ah, yes, and then…
Blue bolts of lightning were already whirling and spitting around one of his hands as he came to a halt above the wincing and struggling man. That face…
"Mirt? Mirt of Waterdeep? What by all of Mystra's whims are you doing here?" Halaster held the lightning where the old merchant could see it and said softly, "I asked you a question. Answer swiftly or die-I shan't stand here waiting for you to ready an attack."
The Old Wolf spat blood and said. “Found y-you. Knew I would." Then his eyes became two blue-white flames, and he began to rise from the floor, floating upward even as he-no, she, for shapely limbs and hips were beginning to spin into being out of what had seemed his own tattered brown robes-glided forward.
Halaster raised his hand full of lightning and snarled, "Who-or what- are you?"
"Call me Mystra," his visitor said gently. The rolling echo of that voice shook Halaster to the depths of his soul.
He found himself on his knees, trembling, tears threatening…
The hand that touched his was firm, solid, and smooth. It sent a wash of power through him that drove back the dark curtains in his mind for a time and left him