The Temptation of Elminster - Ed Greenwood [142]
His spell had failed before the second word had left those phantom lips, but somehow El believed her.
"Saeraede, how do I free ye?" he asked.
"If you have a spellquench or another unbinding, cast it upon me… not on the rune, but on me."
"And if I lack such magics?"
Those dark eyes flickered. "Stand over me, so that your mantle touches the rune, and I am within it. Then cast a magic missile, and let its target be the rune. In what follows, you should be unharmed…and I, freed. Be warned: 'twill cost you your mantle."
"Prepare thyself," Elminster told her, and stepped over her.
"Man, I have been waiting for an age, it seems, I am well prepared. Touch not the rune with your boots."
The last prince of Athalantar made sure his feet were clear of the glowing sigil, and made a careful casting. Blue-white radiance surged around him, roiling and tugging, the rune beneath him flared to blinding brilliance, and he heard Saeraede gasp.
Her breathing was ragged and swift as she surged up into the collapsing mantle beside him. As El stepped back, he saw wild delight in her face. All of the magic seemed to be rushing into her, and with each passing moment she grew more solid… more substantial. Her flickering, wraithlike form grew whole and acquired a dark gown. She was broad of shoulders, slim-waisted, and as tall or taller than he, her hair was an unbound, waist-length flow of velvet black, her brows startlingly dark tufts above eyes of leaping green. Her face was proud and lively…and very, very beautiful.
"Hail, savior mage," she said, eyes glowing with gratitude, as the last fires of magic fled into her. A single tongue of flame escaped from between her lips as she spoke. "Saeraede stands in your debt." She hesitated, reaching out one slender hand. "May I know your name?"
"Elminster, I am called," El told her, keeping a careful pace out of reach.
"Elminster," she breathed, eyes sparkling, "oh, have my thanks."
She hugged herself, as if scarcely believing that she was whole and solid once more…and stepped forward off the rune. Her feet seemed to have grown spike-heeled, pointed black boots.
The moment she moved off it, the rune erupted. A column of white fire burst up from it, twice the height of a man, and smoke surged out in all directions from its snarling. Elminster took a pace back, eyes narrowing…and something unseen in the darkness of a deep crevice stirred and made as if to spring forth… but remained where it was, not all that far from the mage's unsuspecting back.
"Saeraede," El snapped, keeping his eyes on the unfolding magic, "what is this?"
"The magic of the rune," she replied, smiling at him. "Karsus prepared it to impress intruders. 'Tis harmless, a parade of illusions. Watch."
She turned to look at the column of flame, folding her arms, mild interest on her face. As she did so, the surging smoke seemed to freeze and thicken.
The archway of glowing runes solidified out of the smoke and air with startling swiftness. It occurred behind the fiery column, framing it, a wall that looked every bit as old and as solid as those of the cavern around…but hovered a few feet above the smooth stone floor. The runes around the arch matched those graven on the floor, save that all were afire, and even spitting lightning… the risen lightning of awakened magic, now crawling between them almost continuously.
Saeraede stood calmly watching, and El, struck by a sudden thought, glided to her elbow and indicated the empty throne. "Will ye sit, lady?"
Saeraede gave him a dazzling smile, raised a hand in wordless thanks…not quite touching him…and sat upon the throne. No change in it, or her, was apparent to El's intent eyes. Hmmm, well. Nothing learned there.
As Saeraede crossed her legs and leaned back in ease upon the stone seat, the column of flame grew a face…a youthful face ringed by tousled hair and the stubble of a beard aborning,