Blue-white fire howled around the tiny lair. Diabolic limbs flailed bruisingly as the reek of cooked devil-flesh rose strongly to take hold of his throat. Marane slumped and began to shrivel.
Ho, no! magic! must have it!
Nergal's mind bellow was almost deafening. El smiled grimly and raked through the magic with both hands, letting the chaos of command words and purposes and powers wash over him as he sought something-anything-useful.
Rings that spat fire, wands that melted flesh, bracers that-wait! This!
With shaking hands El plucked it forth and held it, just for a moment. He set up a snarl of silver fire in his mind so that Nergal wouldn't be able to read his thoughts.Yes, this would do admirably-a scepter only as long as his hand, dark and finely made. Netherese-crafted, in fact, by Shadow Master Telamont Tanthul long, long ago. It could make two hands, or three, or six, out of one.Three hands, or three hearts, or three legs, as desired, but only bone and blood and flesh. A way of whelming armies or healing the maimed...
Hurriedly he raced out of the lair, keeping his mind full of fire, and hid the tiny scepter under a stone near a certain tree. Then he retreated to the lair, stumbling dazedly around amid the magic and staring at Marane's dainty fangs.
With an excited growl, Nergal crashed to the ground outside.
El let the fire fall and sent forth his thoughts in a feigned fury of excitement. These should be enough! Just let old Nergal set foot in here, and I'll blast him to ashes! Why, there's not a devil in Avernus that can stand against these, now that I've poured all my silver fire into them! I can-oh, gods!
Tall and terrible, Nergal loomed in the cleft and sent a forest of flailing tentacles stabbing into the darkness. In a trice Elminster was battered against stone, shoved along it, slapped nearly senseless, and then snatched out into the light again, blinded and strangling in the grip of a tight-clenched tentacle, while clinks and rattles told him Nergal was gathering magic in a frenzy.
I could crush your skull Like a rotten fruit, man. Give me one good reason why I should not.
The silver fire will explode out of me and slay thee too.
Don't y-eh? It would?
Aye. Best leave my head and neck alone.
So i shall, Neigal agreed savagely, twisting and wrenching.
Only silver fire kept Elminster from fainting at the sickening pain. Dimly he was aware that the devil had torn away both of his arms at his elbows, leaving jagged, dripping stumps of broken bone.
He called on the fire to give him strength, and feigned a mad frenzy, keening as he rose and lucked out and flailed away with his arms. He leaked enough silver fire that Nergal hissed in pain and flinched away. El grimly thrust the stumps of his arms into the outcast devil's wounds, like a child stabbing with a stick in blind rage and utter futility.
After a moment, Nergal chuckled harshly and dealt Elminster a blow that sent him spinning away to crash down on distant rocks. Pain made him bound up again in shrieking spasms. "Stupid wizard."
Behind silver fire, El thought, Stupid devil. I thrust my broken arms deep into you, and left bone chips behind. Deep inside, beneath thy healings. It may not be Alassra's Blood Ring, but 'twill do. Ye'll see. He let the fire fade again-and was almost deafened by Nergal's mind-voice, crashing in.
Again you whisper to yourself of your own cleverness! Enough! This memory of yours, and this, and this one, too, show me what to cast, to keep you ajjvf.-hah! Thus!-so i can do this!
[tentacles stabbing out, slapping around arching torso, and then wrenching... flesh tearing wetry...]
[scream, ripping agony No devil no devil agghh gods please no!]
That's sight, plead! Go on! Plead, and I'll ignore you! Hahahaa!
[diabolic laughter, roars of rage and glee, tentacles shredding and flailing, pulping what little is left]
A tall devil that once more wore the shape of a pit fiend stood glowering down at the seared, feebly crawling pieces of what had once been a man. With a reluctant snarl, Nergal sent forth tentacles to gather up quivering flesh and heal, knitting it to neighboring flesh. He slowly reassembled a limp, broken body.
Live again, foolish wizard. Almost i tore you apart for good-but you are a toy I have, and other devils do not. Moreover, you are at least... Interesting. I know what you're doing. Time and again, turning me skillfully aside amid your shadows, revealing what is unimportant and hiding from me what I seek. That's over now. I shall bear down and shred your mind
Whenever you try to do that to me again. I have most of your spells now-you cannot resist me. This time I seek memories of your using power over important folk of your realms- Not mages this time, but those who rule and who are heard when they speak. [snort] unlike me.
[mindworm, spiraling down, down, down...]
"Interesting," the Srinshee said gently, her fingertips tracing the line of his chin. "Most of my Cormanthan kin fear the ridicule of their peers more than anything else, and loss of wealth and magical power after that. You fear Failing your friends and losing them to death. You are both older in your wisdom than most elves of this city and more tragic. You've already lost more friends and kin than the younglings of Cormanthor; only we elders have known the weight of tears you bear. Yet there is something more in you-a backbone of power, always there, always warming you against the storms of life."
Her hand went to the crotch of the elaborate filigreed gown she wore, and drew a tiny dagger from a sheath there. Eyes on his, she murmured, "Forgive me. This is no attack, but I must know," Choosing a spot on the outside of his forearm, she gently drew the gleaming knife along his skin. Blood welled forth, and then-a few sparks.
The Srinshee breathed something, reaching with a finger. The silver radiance that burst from him sent her staggering back with a little cry, wreathed in flames.
Elminster spun away, clapping his hand over the wound she'd made and stammering apologies.
Weakly, from among rising tendrils of smoke and the ruins of her garments, the Srinshee replied, "Nay, man, the fault was mine. I worked the spell that tried to steal silver fire from the wound I'd made in you. Mystra is even stronger in you than I'd thought."
That's all? And you whirl it away from me like that? What if i just snatch something out of your memories thus? No, don't scream. You brought this on yourself! Let's see what we have here...
Elminster looked up from his book, frowning. What befell-?
A mote of light grew in the air....
He sprang up, tossing his tome aside and snatching his newest, most powerful warding wand.
The light was almost his own height now, and blinding bright. Golden, it was, and somehow come out of nothingness right through his defenses! What could-
The light was coming from a blade. Slender, beautiful- an enchanted elf blade, held aloft in a slender arm... the Srinshee!
"Auluua!" Elminster cried, his wand crackling in his hand-just in case. "Is it you?"
The tiny elf-maid smiled at him, though her face was sad and shadowed. "Only you call me that, El. Ah, but 'tis good to hear it again!"
She let go the sword and ran to him, leaving it floating upright in the air behind her. Golden radiance curled down like smoke from its point.
El frowned at it. "Is that the Ruling Blade?"
And then she was in his arms, looking up at him with unshed tears glimmering in her eyes, and he forgot all about swords and magic. "Hold me," she said, her voice teetering on the edge of tears, "and-kiss me! Kiss me, damn you and Mystra and all proud elves and doom, doom everywhere!"