Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [153]
"My, what a dramatic speech," said a new voice at El's elbow.
Elminster turned, and a smug-looking, mustachioed man in purple robes who hadn't been in the room two breaths before smiled pleasantly at him and triggered the wand in his hand. The world went dark, then red. Dimly El heard a splintering crash, his own body striking a wall and demolishing a mirror. He heard bones shattering as he bounced back out into the room, half-crushed, and fell forward into oblivion…
Chantlarn of the magelords nodded in satisfaction and sauntered forward to inspect the stranger's body. Perhaps there'd be some salvageable magic… he didn't spare a single glance for the sobbing apprentice or the smoking ruin of the couch, where Malanthor's contorted, blackened bones were still writhing in an eerie, futile struggle to stay upright.
"Elminster?" The voice from the doorway of the jakes was low and quiet, but definitely female. Chantlarn turned, and heard the speaker gasp. The other intruder Ithboltar had warned them of! He smiled tightly and triggered his wand again, aiming at her face. The wand flashed again, and Chantlarn opened his eyes. He'd have to stop firing at folk so close to him, or… it was his turn to gasp.
The woman still stood in the doorway, eyes alight in fury and grief. The magic had done nothing to her! Chantlarn gulped and triggered the wand again. She reached right through its blaze to touch him. Chantlarn had time for one strangled cry before his hurtling body crashed out through the balcony window. He was still high above the castle courtyard when he thrust the wand into his own mouth, thrashing and struggling as he fought the terrible compulsion, and triggered it again.
The bloody explosion set the wand into a wild discharge. Its bolts burst in all directions, hurling flaming spell forces at the castle wall, and scattering a terrified patrol of armsmen.
The apprentice screamed again. Myrjala looked up at her tear-streaked face once, and then turned back to Elminster again, murmuring an incantation. A blue-white glow rose around her hands and flowed out to envelop Elminster's twisted form. She gestured, and he rose into the air, lying limply as if on a bed. The blue-white glow brightened.
Nanatha backed away, moaning in fear. Myrjala turned again to face her… and smiled. The dumbfounded apprentice watched her features swim and flow, reshaping themselves into-the mage royal! Undarl Dragonrider sneered at her, dropped his cold gaze down her nakedness and then up again, and then waved a mocking salute. The light flared until it blinded her… and when she could see again, they were gone.
There was a pattering sound from across the room. Nanatha looked there in time to see Malanthor's bones collapse and topple down into the ashes. It seemed like a good time to faint- so she did.
* * * * *
"You'll be all right, my love," Myrjala said softly.
El tried to nod… but seemed to be floating back from somewhere far away, on a succession of gently rolling waves that left him powerless to move.
"Lie still," Myrjala said, laying a hand on his brow. Her fingers were cool… Elminster smiled and relaxed.
"Did ye… clean my boots?" he managed to ask.
She exploded with laughter, mirth that ended in a sob that betrayed just how worried she'd been.
"Aye," she said, voice steady again, "and more than that. I took the semblance of the mage royal and let Malanthor's apprentice see me. She thinks the whole thing's his work."
"One magelord against another," El murmured, satisfied. "I hear ye…"
A moment later, it was obvious he didn't. Sleep had claimed him, a deep, healing sleep that left him oblivious when Myrjala burst into tears and embraced him. "I almost lost thee," she sobbed, her tears falling onto his face. "Oh, El, what would I have done then? Oh, why couldn't your vengeance have been something lesser?"
Seventeen
FOR ATHALANTAR
In the name of a kingdom
many fell things