Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [91]
"Don't thank me," the goddess of all magic said to the mad wizard. "We need to talk."
"Because?"
"I have need of a task swiftly done," Mystra said. "A hard task, and one suited for a madman."
Halaster's lips lifted in what was almost a smile, and he asked, "If I live, will you give me sanity?"
"If I can."
"Will you give me magic enough to have a chance of succeeding?"
Mystra nodded." I will. Thrice as much power as you've ever tasted or wielded before, and more."
"That's what made me mad. I think," he whispered. “I’ll do it."
It was Mystra's turn to not quite smile. "Would you like to know what the task is, first?"
Halaster shrugged. "No, but tell me."
“I need a wizard brought back from the Nine Hells. As alive and as intact as you can make him. He's a living man and an intruder there, not a denizen."
“I’ll do it. Who is he?"
A face and a name and a more secret name whirled into Halaster's mind, and he staggered and caught at his head. “Elminster," he said in surprise. "Lady, is he not one of your own?"
Mystra nodded. "He is-as you shall be."
“L-lady, I have been touched by Shar," Halaster dared to whisper.
Mystra tossed her head impatiently. Small winking stars scattered from her long, flowing tresses to stream about the chamber. "I know. Touch me"
Halaster Blackcloak swallowed. He rose and extended one hand timidly toward her. The power that jolted through him made him shriek and go blind. It seemed to him, just for a moment, that his body struck a wall with bone-shattering force… By then, all was blue-white fire, roaring on and on, and Halaster was laughing in exultation at the power racing through him. He rode it far and away, across planes and great voids and past shadowed, reaching things… or perhaps it rode him.
***
Well, now, what's this? Many folk, some sour of feast, spells going off… Yes.
Though the hour bells had rung but nine, the revel was in full swing. Laughter, snatches of off-key singing, and! fond shouts of friendship echoed off the high ceiling in! an unending din. The minstrels had long since given up trying to be heard and joined the crowds around the drink trays. The ring of empty goblets rolling around tiled floors was the loudest music now.
•Sir Sabrast Windriver watched servants carry a hopelessly drunken noblewoman past on a gigantic fluted silver platter and smiled. Someday, the younger Lady Hawklin might learn to gracefully spew ruby wine all over herself, but she hadn't learned it this night-though she had been practicing.
Beside him, his good friend Andemel sighed and said, "Such a waste of good wine. She could be so beautiful, too… in green."
Sir Sabrast winced. "And waste that much elven menthe? At six lions to the bottle, ruby wine's bad! enough, but…"
"Ah, but if we were truly noble," Master Andemel Graeven said slyly, "we'd not care a whit about costs! and prices."
"If we were truly noble," Sir Sabrast retorted, "we'd! be out of business in a month and a tenday… at about! the time the Crown loans ran out. Tis a pity, to be sures that honest merchants can't get wagonloads of free lionffl from the Crown to indulge their mercantile whims!"
Andemel led the way back through the curtains into the! cozy dimness of their favorite alcove. By the gods, both of! the pillars that held up its arched ceiling had been moved.! There was a new and stonily regal bust of Azoun standings in one comer, too. Did they ever stop rebuilding things at the palace-with tax coins taken from those in Cormyr who! actually had to work for their living? Probably not. Andemel shrugged and asked his friend, "Just who in Suzail, now would you be calling an 'honest merchant?"
"My apologies," Sabrast replied with a smile. "Let us say 'common-born,' then."
Andemel nodded. "Better. Ah, but I'll forgive many haughty nobles a lot of things so long as their vanity keeps them hosting revels like these. Did you see that lass with the glowing gown? When the mock flames died away right down her front, I'd thought I'd choke! How does she keep those emeralds glued on?" He shook his