Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [73]
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She'd walked all day, and her feet were cut to ribbons. She winced as she went and left a bloody trail. She'd have to get into a tree before dark, or some prowling forest cat or wolf would follow her trail. If it bit her throat, she'd be dead before she could wake.
Elmara looked around uneasily. The endless forest seemed dark and menacing now as the small glimpses of sunlight turned amber with sunset, and twilight came creeping… should she light a fire? It might attract beasts that could eat her, but yes. Only a little one, and let it die out before she slept. A flame to pray to Mystra. She'd do this every night, she vowed, beginning now.
She bent and gathered a dry tangle of twigs from under a large leaf and spread them on a nearby rock. Then she stopped in confusion. How could she make them burn? With a flint, aye, but she had no flint, nor steel.
A moment later, she smote her forehead and made a disgusted sound. Of course she did: the Lion Sword! She raised it, shaking her head at her slow wits, and rang it off the rock.
A spark jumped. Yes! This was the way. She set about belaboring the edge of the rock with the stoutest part of the blade, the unsharpened length just below the hilt, and pushed kindling in around where she struck, to catch any spark. The ringing sounds she made echoed a long way under the trees… and sparks jumped and winked where she didn't want them, disdaining her dry kindling.
Frustration and then anger rose in her… could she do nothing right? "I'm trying, Mystra," she snarled, "but-"
She broke off as the white glow arose at the back of her mind. Use her mind to call up fire? She'd never done more than nudge things a trifle, or slow falls a bit, or staunch bleeding… could she?
Well, why not try? She bent her gaze on the sword and summoned up the white fire within, building it with her anger until it blazed up and filled her mind. Then she brought the sword crashing down on the rock. A spark leapt up-and seemed to grow, expanding into a little ball of light before it arced back down and faded away.
El's eyes widened. She stared down where the spark had been, then shrugged and began the slow process of building the fire in her mind again. This time, the spark glowed white, expanded-and Elmara set her teeth and willed it to drift sideways and keep blazing… and it settled down into the kindling.
A curl of smoke drifted up. El watched and grinned in sudden exultation. She blew ever so gently at the kindling, and then shifted some twigs and a leaf so that they'd catch, if only the gods smiled-yes! A tiny flame rose, a tongue of faint amber that licked at the leaf and spread brown over it as it fed, growing higher.
El trembled, suddenly aware that a painful throbbing was beginning in her head, licked her lips, and said over the flame, "My thanks, great Mystra. I shall try to learn, and serve thee well."
The flame soared suddenly, almost burning her nose, and then winked out, gone as if it had never been. Elmara stared at where it wasn't, then sat back, holding her suddenly splitting head. No normal flame would behave that way; Mystra must have heard her.
She knelt there for a few breaths, hoping for some sign or word from the goddess, but there was nothing but darkness under the trees, and a faint whiff of woodsmoke. But then, why should she expect anything more? She'd never seen Mystra in all her life before last night… and there were other folk and other doings in Faerun besides Elminster of Athalantar.
Elmara, she corrected herself absently. What did gods spend their days at, anyway?
And then a booted foot came down softly on the ground she was staring at, treading firmly on the Lion Sword. She gasped and looked up. Proud eyes-elven eyes-stared down at her, and their gaze was not friendly. A hand was extended toward her, and there was a sudden glow of light from its palm. The bright radiance grew, stretching out straight down at her, until the tip of a sword of light was in front