Elminster in Myth Drannor - Ed Greenwood [144]
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The backlash spun Elminster away, whirling him like a leaf in a gale, the golden symbol around him like a protective hand. When the whirling stopped at last, the symbol faded, the light leaving him at last in darkness.
He was floating in a void, a sentience without body. Again.
Mystra? His first call was little more than a whisper. It seemed he'd done a lot of demanding of the goddess recently, managing nothing without her aid or guidance.
Think you so? Her voice, in his mind, was warm, and gentle, and utterly overwhelming. He felt loved and utterly safe, and found himself basking silently in the warmth coiling around him, floating in timeless, endless joy. It might have been hours before Mystra spoke again, or only moments.
You have done well, Chosen One. A brave beginning, but only that: you must abide in Myth Drannor-the new Cormanthor-for a time, to nurture and protect. While you do so, you will also be learning as much as you can of the wielding of magic from those who will come to this bright new fellowship. I am pleased with you, Elminster. Be whole once more.
* * * * *
Abruptly he was elsewhere, floating upright amid many strands of humming white fire, with the shattered stone of a fallen pillar below him and the bloody, pain-etched face of Symrustar Auglamyr in front of him.
There was a chorus of excited whisperings from the elves crowded into the Chamber of the Court, but El scarcely heard it. Mystra had left extra spell energy tingling in his hands, far too much for him to carry for long, and he thought he knew why.
She was a broken thing, her body slumped atop the stone sword that impaled it. Only the failing magics around her had kept her alive this long. With infinite care Elminster lifted the dying elven lady in his arms and drew her off the bloody blade.
She gasped and opened her eyes at his touch, and then sagged against him, her ravaged body quivering once when she slid entirely free of the stone. El thrust a hand against the terrible hole through her ribs and let healing power flow out of him.
She caught her breath and shuddered then, daring to hope-and breathe-for the first time in a long while.
El turned her in the air until he was cradling her in his arms, and drifted very slowly down to the floor. As his knees touched the pave, he could feel the regard of many elven eyes, but he bent his head forward and kissed Symrustar's bloody mouth as if they'd been ardent lovers for years. Holding her lips with his, he thrust life into her, letting all the power Mystra had given him flow into her shattered body. Then he gave of his own vitality, holding his mouth on hers, until trembling weakness made him rise to breathe at last.
She spoke for the first time then, a ragged whisper. "'Tis you, isn't it, Elminster? I certainly had to wait long enough for that kiss."
El chuckled and held her against him as the light in her eyes came back.
Almost lazily her eyes found Faerun again, and the shattered ceiling of the Court, and then him. Slowly, wincing and working her mouth, she managed a smile. "I thank you for making my passing easier… but I am dying; you cannot stay that. Mystra snatched me from death that night in the woods-the death Elandorr planned for me-for a task. I have served her, and… 'tis done. I can die."
Elminster shook his head slowly, aware of the anxious faces and raised hands of the sorceresses Sylmae and Holone waiting above him-waiting to blast Symrustar with spells should she try any last treachery.
"Mystra does not treat folk so," El told her gently.
Symrustar grimaced as a fresh ripple of pain ran through her. A rivulet of bright blood ran from the corner of her mouth. "So you say, Chosen One. I am an elf, and one who misused magic, at that. I tried to enslave you-I would have stolen your magic and slain you. Why should she have a care about my fate?"
"For the same reason I care," El said