Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [128]
The Masked saw his dislike in his face. "There is a mage in the house you'll be striking at," he added slowly, "and a capable one at that. Yet I hope that any apprentice of mine will go up against true foes with the same bravery as we transform toadstools and conjure light in dark places. The true mage never allows himself to be awed by magic when he's using it."
The wise mage, Elminster thought silently, recalling the words of Mystra, pretends to know nothing about magic at all.
Then he wryly added the corollary: When he gains true wisdom, he'll know that he wasn't pretending.
"Are you ready, Elminster?" his master asked then, very quietly. "Are you ready to undertake a mission of importance at last?"
Mystra? El asked inwardly. Instantly a vision appeared in his mind: The Masked pointing at him, just as he'd done a moment ago. This time, in the vision, El smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Well, that was clear enough.
"I am," Elminster said, smiling and nodding enthusiastically.
The mask did not hide the slow smile that grew across the face of his master.
The Masked raised his hands and murmured, "Let us be about it, then." He made a single gesture toward El, and the world vanished in swirling smoke.
When the smoke curled away to let the human mage see clearly again, they stood together in a wooded valley. It was probably somewhere in Cormanthor, by the looks of the trees and the sun above them. They stood on a little knoll with a well beside them, and across a small dip that held a garden stood a low, rambling house of trees joined by low-roofed wooden chambers. Except for the oval windows visible in the tree trunks, it might have been a human home rather than an abode of elves.
"Strike swiftly," the Masked murmured beside Elminster's ear, and vanished. The air where he'd been standing promptly spun and shimmered. Then an orc was standing beside him, wrapped in a heavy yoke of chains. It stared at him, pleading with its eyes, trying frantically to say something around the thick gag clamped into and over its jaws. All it managed was a soft, high whimpering.
A babe-devourer and raider, eh? El set his lips in distaste over what he had to do, and reached out to touch the orc without hesitation. The Masked was sure to be watching.
He worked the spell, turning to thrust one spread hand at the house, and settle his antimagic over every part of it, willing it to seek down into even the deepest cellar, and blanket even the mightiest of realms-shaking magics. Let that building be dead to all magic, so long as his power lasted.
The orc's keening became a despairing moan; the light in its eyes flickered and went out, and it buckled slowly at the knees and crashed to the ground; El had to step aside hastily as the chained bulk of its corpse rolled under his feet.
The air shimmered again, nearby; he looked up in time to see elven warriors in gleaming, high-collared plate armor rushing out of a rent in the air. None of them wore helms, but they all waved naked long swords-enchanted blades that flickered with ready, reaving magic-in their hands. They spared no glances for El or the surroundings, but charged at the house, hacking at shutters and doors. As the blades breached those barriers and the elves plunged inside, the radiances dancing on their blades and armor winked out. From inside, the muffled shouting and the ringing of striking steel began.
Feeling suddenly sick, El looked down at the orc again and gasped in horror.
As he flung himself to his knees and reached out to touch and make sure, he felt as if Faerun was opening up into a dark chasm around him. The chains were lying limp and loose around a small and slender form.
An all-too-familiar form, lolling lifelessly in his hands as he rolled it over. The eyes of Nacacia, still wide in sad and vain pleading, stared up at him, dark and empty. They'd be so forever, now.
Shaking, El touched the cruel gag that still filled her gentle mouth, and then he could hold back