Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [98]
The Old Mage stood silent and unmoving for long minutes, watching where she had gone. When the birds in the trees started their calls again, Storm slid her shining blade into its sheath and went to him.
In silence the two old friends linked hands and turned to go down the trail together.
After about a dozen paces, Elminster asked, "D'ye mind, lass, if I cry?"
Storm kissed his cheek softly and said, "Of course not. I think you should do so far more often."
"Romantic," he growled back, in mock disapproval.
"Fellow romantic," she replied, and put her ami comfortingly around him. He growled but did not pull free. She did not have to glance his way to know how wet his face had become.
How sweet. More lust and sugared words. Weep, little wizard, weep. I suppose such remembrances comfort you now, but i can't think why. I'd be raging. How much time you've wasted over females-just rut and move on, and save me all this "love.' there is no such thing as love.
For devils, no. I'm not a devil, Nergal.
But well on your way to being one, elminster. Belive me.
Oh? Is this something I should make a habit of?
[diabolic chuckle] on with it, wizard! You're wasting time again! Give it up, idiot-no one's going to rescue you now!
Show me what i seek, or at least what happened after you stopped embracing and crying and kissing.
As ye wish.
[bright images, flittering down, down]
She was young, slim, and very beautiful. Tarth swallowed and tried not to stare.
Silvery-gray hair flowed from her head in-long waves, curling smoothly about arms and tiny waist and long, long legs. She reclined in a low bough of an old indulwood tree, smoking a clay pipe and regarding him in thoughtful silence. Her eyes were blue-green, flecked with gold, and very large.
"Ah… well met!" said Tarth awkwardly, leaning on his staff. He'd plundered old magic in forgotten tombs across the Dragonreach, and peered into forbidden tomes in places both dusty and dangerous, but he'd never been so close to a beautiful female moon elf before.
Tentatively he bowed and smiled. She returned his smile, enchantingly. Tarth stared deep into those exquisite eyes and cleared his throat.
"I-I've traveled a long way, good lady, to reach this place. Could you tell me, please, where the tower of the sage Elminster stands?"
The elf-maiden nodded. "Up yonder path, past the pool," she replied, her voice husky, yet dancing. She giggled.
Tarth stared in helpless wonder.
A long, slim ami reached out to him. "This is his pipe, which I… borrowed. Will you return it for me?"
Tarth nodded. In a silent whirl of flashing limbs she vanished into the leafy shade overhead, leaving him holding the still-smoking pipe. He stared down at it for a moment, then peered vainly up again into the tree, shrugged, and went on.
Ho, ho. I think i'm going to see secrets of magic at last! or is this just one more of your tricks, mage? Hey?
[silence]
still in the throes of agony down there? Too bad.
The little path turned off the main road through Shadowdale just in front of Tarth's well-worn boots. No sign or runestone marked it for what it was, but the directions given him had been clear enough. The young wizard stood alone for a long time, staring along the line of worn flagstones in the grass, before he stepped onto them.
The way led him between two tumbledown cottages and across a grassy field toward the great, rising rock of the Old Skull. A still, peaceful pond glimmered off to the left. Birds sang, and chipmunks called, Tarth Hornwoocl, known by some as "Thunderstaff," walked slowly and fearfully up the garden path. He could see what lay at its end now: a squat stone tower that leaned slightly to one side.
Tarth held his staff menacingly in one hand, hoping he would not have to use it. Its power seemed to have been growing weaker of late. On his other hand gleamed the Lost Ring of Murbrand. Tarth hoped there would be no need to call upon its powers, either. Despite