Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [177]
Mystra smiled, and the world around seemed brighter. "I thank you," she said formally. "Would you like to begin now, or have some time to ride your own way and be yourself first?"
"Now," Elminster said firmly. "I want no waiting for doubt to creep in… let it be now."
Mystra bowed her head, exultation in her eyes. "This will hurt," she said gravely as her body drifted in to meet his again.
As their lips touched and clung, lightning leapt from her eyes into his, and the white fire was suddenly back, roaring up around them deafeningly, searing him to the bone. Elminster tried to shriek with pain, but found he could not breathe, and then he felt himself torn, tugged, and swept away into the rising flame, and it did not matter anymore…
* * * * *
"Such tales you tell!" Ammuthe was working herself up into a fine temper as she walked. She tossed her head, and that magnificent hair swirled in the sunlight. "Always such fancies-so, well enough, my husband dreams when awake as well as when he snores! I give the gods thanks for that, and in silent despair put up with it! But this time-a whole cart of our cheeses let fallen to be snatched up by who knows who? Too much, indeed, my lazy sluggard man! You shall feel more than the edge of my tongue, if every single one of those chee-"
Ammuthe broke off in midtirade, staring up at the grave-shrine on the hill. Trembling with renewed fear, Bethgarl nonetheless allowed himself a small, leaping moment of satisfaction as Ammuthe shrieked, spun about, and ran headlong into his chest.
Bethgarl staggered back, but held her firmly. "None o' that, now," he said, not too loudly, casting a wary eye up at the streaming, roiling sphere of white fire above the shrine of Mystra. "We'd gather up all the cheeses, you said… I'd not eat at our table again until you'd seen the money for them, you said… well, presently, good wife, I shall grow hungry. I know I will, and-"
"By all the gods, Bethgarl! Shut thy mouth and run!"
Ammuthe made as if to jerk free of him. Bethgarl sighed and let her go, and she was off like a rabbit, bounding down the hill again, hair streaming behind her. Bethgarl watched her go, fought down a sudden wild desire to laugh, and turned back to his cart. One of the cheeses had fallen off into the grass. He dusted it thoughtfully, put it back, picked up the handles, and pushed the cart on toward Hastarl, ignoring the sudden cries of his name from far behind.
As he passed the shrine, he looked up at the ball of fire, and winked at it. Then he swallowed. Cold sweat trickled down his back, and he struggled against rising fear. Carefully he pushed the cart on down the hill, not hurrying. He could have sworn that as he stared at the flames, a pair of dark, knowing eyes had met his-and winked back at him!
Bethgarl reached the bottom of the hill and looked back. Fire still pulsed and glowed. Whistling, he pushed his cart on to Hastarl, and frowned curiously at the hubbub by the gates. There seemed to be a lot of folk out in the streets today, all of them excited…
Epilogue
There are no endings save death, only pauses for breath, and new beginnings. Always, new beginnings… it's why the world grows ever more crowded, ye see. So remember, now-there are no endings, only beginnings. There; simple enough, isn't it? Elegant, too.
Tharghin "Threeboots" Ammatar
Speeches of a Most Worthy Sage
Year of the Lost Helm
Elminster floated back from somewhere far away indeed, and found himself lying naked on a slab of cold stone, smoke rising from his limbs. As the last gray wisps curled up and drifted away, he raised his head and looked down. His body was unchanged, unmarked. A shadow fell across him, and he turned his head. Mystra knelt over him, nude and magnificent. Elminster took one of her hands and kissed it.
"My thanks," he said roughly. "I hope I serve thee well."
"Many have said that," Mystra replied a little sadly, "and some have even believed it."
Then she smiled and stroked