Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [6]
The prince saw the wizard turn in his saddle and frown back at him. Holding the Lion Sword high so that the mage could see it, hoping he could lure the wizard down to seize it-and knowing that hope vain-Elthryn lifted his head to curse the man, speaking the slow, heavy words he'd been taught so long ago.
The wizard made a gesture-and then his mouth fell open in surprise: the curse had shattered whatever spell he'd cast at Elthryn. As the dragon swept on, he aimed his other wand at the prince. Bolts of force leapt from it-and were swept into the enchanted blade, which sang and glowed with their fury, thrumming in Elthryn's hands. Spells it could stop… but not dragon fire. The prince knew he had only a few breaths of life left.
"O Mystra, let my boy escape this," he prayed as the dragon turned in the air with slow might and swept down on him, "and let him have the sense to flee far." Then he had no time left for prayers.
Bright dragon fire roared around Elthryn Aumar, and as he snarled defiance and swung his blade at the raging flames, he was overwhelmed and swept away…
*****
Elminster burst out onto the village street by the miller's house, now only a smoking heap of shattered timbers and tumbled stones. A single hand, blackened by fire that had breathed death through the house and swept on, protruded from under the collapsed chimney, clutching vainly at nothing.
Elminster looked down at it, swallowed, and hurried on around the heap of ruin. After only a few paces, however, his running steps faltered, and he stood staring. There was no need for haste; every building in Heldon was smashed flat or in flames. Thick smoke hid the lower end of the village from him, and small fires blazed here and there, where trees or woodpiles had caught fire. His home was only a blackened area and drifting ashes; beyond, the butcher's shop had fallen into the street, a mass of half-burnt timbers and smashed belongings. The dragon had gone; Elminster was alone with the dead.
Grimly, Elminster searched the village. He found corpses, tumbled or fried among the ruins of their homes, but not a soul that yet lived. Of his mother and father there was no sign… but he knew they'd not have fled. It was only when he turned, sick at heart, toward the meadow-where else could he go?-that he stepped on something amid the ashes that lay thick on the road: the half-melted hilt of the Lion Sword.
He took it up in hands that trembled. All but a few fingers of the blade were burnt away, and most of the proud gold; blue magic coursed no longer about this remnant. Yet he knew the feel of the worn hilt. El clutched it to his breast, and the world suddenly wavered.
Tears fell from his sightless eyes for a long time as he knelt among the ashes in the street and the patient sun moved across the sky. At some point he must have fallen senseless, for he roused at the creeping touch of cold to feel hard cobbles under his cheek.
Sitting up, he found dusk upon the ruin of Heldon, and full night coming down from the High Forest. His numb hands tingled as he fumbled with the sword hilt. Elminster got to his feet slowly, looking around at what was left of his home. Somewhere nearby, a wolf called and was answered. Elminster looked at the useless weapon he held, and he shivered. It was time to be gone from this place, before the wolves came down to feed.
Slowly he raised the riven Lion Sword to the sky. For an instant it caught the last feeble glow of sunset, and Elminster stared hard at it and muttered, "I shall slay that wizard, and avenge ye all-or die in the trying. Hear me… Mother, Father. This I swear."
A wolf howled in reply. Elminster bared his teeth in its direction, shook the ruined hilt at it, and started the long run back up to the meadow.
As he went, Selune rose serenely over the dying fires of Heldon, bathing the ruins in bright, bone-white moonlight. Elminster did not look back.
*****
He awoke suddenly, in the close darkness of a cavern he'd hidden in once when