Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [67]
Of course: a place this big and empty should echo back the sounds he made. Yet there were no echoes. Elminster opened a belt pouch, took one of the dried peas every thief carries to scatter and make pursuers trip, and cast it ahead of him into the darkness.
He did not hear it land. El swallowed and took a cautious step forward. He was in an entry hall, separated from a great open chamber beyond by a row of massive, smooth-curved stone pillars… featureless cylinders, as far as he could tell. Nothing moved in the thick blankets of dust over the floor. El cast a last look back at the door he'd drawn closed, and then walked into the darkness.
The great chamber was circular and reached up high overhead to unseen heights-it must go clear to the roof Elminster had looked at outside. There was a circular stone altar in the center of the room and balconies-three tiers of them-curving all around the vast open space. The chamber was dark, empty, and silent.
And that was it. Nothing here to desecrate. No acolytes.
The door behind him suddenly clattered open, and as men with torches came in, Elminster ran toward the back of the temple, seeking pillars to hide behind. Many men; armsmen, at least two patrols, with spears in their hands.
"Spread out," said a cold voice, "and search. No one dares enter a temple of Mystra just on a lark."
The speaker strode forward, lifted a hand, and sketched some sort of salute or respectful gesture toward the altar. Then he said calmly, "We shall have light," and at his words, though he cast no spell, the very stones around Elminster began to glow.
All of the stone in the temple began to shine until a soft, pearly-white radiance filled the room, revealing the young thief for everyone to see. In this case, 'everyone' was more than a score of armsmen, advancing across the chamber with grim faces and ready spears. The man who'd spoken stood in their midst and said, "Just a thief. Hold weapons."
"What if he runs, lord?"
The robed man smiled and said, "My magic will force him to walk where I want him to, and nowhere else."
He gestured, and Elminster felt a sudden tugging at his limbs… a tingling, numbing trembling akin to what he'd felt on that terrible day in the meadow above Heldon, long ago. His body was no longer his own; he found himself turning, sick despair rising inside, and walking toward the men.
No, toward the altar. A bare circular block of stone, with not even a rune to grace it. The armsmen raised their spears and ringed him in as he came.
"The law holds that those who desecrate temples be put to death," an old armsman growled, "on the spot."
"Indeed," the robed man said, and smiled again. "I, however, shall choose that spot. When this fool's on the altar, you may throw your spears at will. Fresh blood on Mystra's altar will allow me to work a magic I've long wanted to try."
Elminster strode steadily on toward the altar, raging inwardly. He had been a fool to come here. This was it, then. His death, and an end to his futile fight against the magelords. Sorry, Father… Mother… Elminster broke into a run and charged the altar, hoping he might somehow break free and knowing he could do nothing else. At least he could die trying to do something.
The wizard merely smiled and crooked one finger. Elminster's rush became a smooth trot until he stood in front of the altar. The mage turned him about again, until they stood facing each other.
Then the wizard bowed. "Greetings, thief. I am Lord Ildru, magelord of Athalantar. You may speak. Who are you?"
Elminster found that he could move his jaws. "As you said, Magelord," he responded coldly, "a thief."
The wizard raised an eyebrow. "Why came you here, this night?"
"To speak with Mystra," Elminster said, surprising himself.
Ildru's eyes narrowed. "Why? Are you a mage?"
"No," Elminster spat, "I am proud to say. I came to get Mystra's aid to cast down magelords like you-or curse her if she refused."