Elminster in Hell by Ed Greenwood

Author:Ed Greenwood
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Epic, General, Fiction
ISBN: 0786918756
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2011-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

[images flaring bright]

***

The crawling, ever-changing flame runes of the last page challenged her, silent and yet somehow mocking.

Laeral Rythkyn, called "Laeral of Loudwater" to keep her disentangled from the Laeral who was Lady Mage of Waterdeep, had been working through the crumbling tome with her usual patience. Her excitement grew with every passing day and each new page. Patience and care had made her one of the youngest mages of power in the North. Patience and care made her methodically read, practice, master, and improve on every spell in the book.

Each page of the tome held a single spell-all of them unfamiliar, useful, and quirky in components, phrases or casting. They felt old.

As she'd gone through the thick book, each spell had been more powerful than the last. The last page of all was written in flame-red, spell-cloaked runes that shifted slowly when gazed upon, indecipherable and beckoning. They must hold a special spell indeed.

***

BEARD OF ASM-AHEM, TALONS OF TASNYA...AM I GOING M BE SHOWN MAGIC AT LAST?

Hush, devil, and see sooner.

[growl] SNOW ME.SHOW ME NOW.

***

The spellbook had lain in a shattered tomb in the cellars beneath Everlund for at least an age. Laeral had found it while helping Harper friends destroy wraiths in those dark, cobwebbed ways. It had sat neglected on a table in her study all winter.

Laeral had been busy training her apprentice, Blaskyn, to master the smiting spells that made a sorcerer a power to be reckoned with. Blaskyn had done well, showing promise in devising his own incantations and adding his own twists. Soon he'd be ready to walk his own way in the Realms. Wherefore Laeral had set him the necessary tasks of practicing precision in casting and creating a new spell all his own.

Meanwhile, she took up the book to further her own studies.

***

SO NAMES AND PLACES AT LAST-AND MAGIC, IT SEEMS, TOO. CONTINUE, WIZARD.

[images wearily unfolding]

***

Laeral stared at the runes for perhaps the fortieth time that day, frowning a little, teeth gnawing thoughtfully at one side of her lip. Blaskyn had said they looked like little leaping flames, these runes, and so they did-hrnmm. In one long, lithe stretch, Laeral leaned over the purring cat beside her and plucked a small, battered handbook from a shelf. She sought a cantrip from her own days as an apprentice.

There it was. A simple little trick of Art, known to half a hundred wizards this side of Waterdeep. It shaped flame to form illusions or words if one had a candle, campfire, or torch to work with. Laeral hissed gently in excitement, slid a certain protective ring on her finger, and worked the cantrip, bending her will upon the page.

The runes slowed to a lazy crawl, seemed to freeze for a moment, and then flowed slowly into clear, unwavering clarity. They were in Thorass, Auld Common, with its flutings and grand swirls, and read:

Sit not alone

On Thalon's cold throne

Unless alone ye would be

Unmatched master of wizardry.

Sit ye there overnight

And of Art gain great sight

Wise beyond that of any mage

In the Realms, of this age.

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