Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [123]
It was all she dared do. El fought down a sudden urge to lash out at the masked sorcerer, who was floating with his back to them not far away, weaving spells of his own, and gave her a wink before he quickly turned his head away. The Master delved too much into both their minds to hide their mutual fondness from him. Already the mysterious elven mage had taken to making Nacacia slap his human apprentice, otherwise keep well away from Elminster, and speak harshly when she spoke to the Athalantan at all.
The Masked seldom compelled Elminster to do anything. He seemed to be watching El and waiting for something. One of the things he watched for was any act of defiance, and he took open delight in punishing his human apprentice for all of them. Remembering some of those punishments, El shuddered involuntarily.
He risked another glance at Nacacia, and found that she was doing the same thing. Their eyes met almost guiltily, and they both hurriedly looked away. El set his teeth and started to climb the spell web away from her-anything to be moving, doing something.
Mystra, he thought silently, seeking to thrust away his vivid memory of Nacacia's smiling face. Oh, Mystra, I need guidance… are all these passing years of my servitude part of your plan?
The world around him seemed to shimmer, and he was suddenly standing in a rocky meadow. It was the field in which he'd watched sheep, above Heldon, as a boy!
A breeze was blowing across it, and he was cold. Small wonder-he was also naked.
Lifting his head, he found himself staring at the sorceress he'd trained under for so long, years ago: Myrjala, she known as 'Darkeyes.' The great dark eyes for which she was named seemed deeper and more alluring than ever as she reclined on the empty air above the blown grasses, regarding him. The winds did not touch her dark satin gown.
Myrjala had been Mystra. Elminster stretched out a hand to her, tentatively.
"Great Lady," he almost whispered, "is it ye in truth-after all these years?"
"Of course," the goddess said, her eyes dark pools of promise. "How is it that you doubt me?"
El almost shuddered under the sudden wash of shame that he felt. He went to his knees, dropping his eyes. "I-I am wrong to do so, and… well, it's just that it's been so long, and…"
"Not long to an elf," Mystra said gently. "Are you beginning to learn patience at last, or are you truly desperate?"
Elminster looked up at her, eyes bright, as he found himself suddenly hovering on the edge of tears. "No!" he cried. "All I needed was this, to see ye, and know I'm doing what ye intend. I-I need guidance still."
Mystra smiled at him. "At least you know you need it. Some never do, and crash happily through life, laying waste to all they can reach in Faerun around them, whether they realize it or not." She raised a hand, and her smile changed.
"Yet think on this, dearest of my Chosen: most folk of Faerun never have such guidance, and still learn to stand on their own feet unaided, and follow their own ideas as their lives run, and make their own mistakes. You've certainly mastered that last talent."
Elminster looked away, fighting back tears again, and Mystra laughed and touched his cheek. Warm fire seemed to race through him.
"Be not downhearted," she murmured, as a mother does to a crying son, "for you are learning patience, and your shame is unfounded. Much though you fear you've forgotten me and strayed from the task I set you, I am well pleased."
Her face changed, then, as Heldon darkened and faded around it, and became the face of Nacacia.
Elminster blinked at it, as it winked at him. He was back in the spell web, staring down at the real Nacacia once more. He drew in a deep, tremulous breath, smiled at her, and climbed on through the web. No matter what he did, however, his thoughts stayed on his fellow apprentice. He could see her face as clearly in his mind as his eyes had beheld it, moments