Aye, it had come to that-rejoicing at the possibility of lying unprotected and alone in Avernus.
Closing his eyes, Elminster wrapped himself in that wry thought and descended again into the dark vaults of memory, seeking Nergal in his mind. The outcast devil had already shown himself to be a brute, with wits scarce swifter than a cunning sellsword of Faerun. If a mere memory of Mystra's mind-touch caused him such pain, perhaps he was weak enough that a Chosen of Mystra-even a weak and exhausted one-might wrest free of him.
Cautiously El skulked through his mind, seeking the place that was a purple ruin-the part of his mind that was forever gone. The ruin was spreading-
There, amid a blood-red glow, and riven shards of memories, he found Nergal. Hulking shoulders, barbed and mottled gray, tentacles stiff with still-fresh pain, great taloned hands fumbling blindly....
[Pain-fury of the Nine, what pain! So that was what goddesses could do... and deceitful wizards…]
Cautiously, El knelt. He called forth the tiniest amount of silver fire. With one fingertip, he traced a line on the worn and dusty stone. The line smoked as he seared his way across the floor of his memories, yielding yet more remembrances so as to keep well away from his shuddering captor. Around this pillar of things best forgotten, and this one, of regrets, then quickly down this dark way, soft and swift...
What befalls? Mortal, what are you doing?
Now across this chamber, answering not, and down the steps beyond, hurrying, with walls trembling to the left, where the archdevil stirs…
What are you doing?
Answer not, but race now, trailing silver fire in a bright and rending line, down more steps and left here, threading through the pillars and into the arch beyond-blast, but it grows light, red and bright ahead, and he's waiting-Close hand on silver fire, will it down, sink into the stones, become dark and silent, a statue in this hall of statues. Brood, cold and silent. Be stone. Be not there. Be lost and forgotten.
Archdevils tread and slither both. Slow slither and footfall. Heavy, not hurrying. He comes. Footfall. Closer. Be stone. Slowly he comes. Slowly and carefully. Wary now, are we, Most Mighty of Avernus?
Footfall. Scrape of talon on stone.
Elminster, risk. I know you.
Stone silence. Pain will come no matter what, so be stone, and let rage blind him.
[ice-cold probe, slow and sharp and deliberate, thrusting home]
[writhing, twisting agony] yes. deceive me not, little sneaking creature or silver fire. nekgal was proud in hell when athalantak was yet unborn.
[pain pain pain]
[grim satisfaction, Nergal's claim echoing tlirough a shattered mind, mortal mage writhing and drooling, rising up in Avernus like a grinning idiot, shedding bones]
An abishai loomed, claws outstretched, fanged mouth grinning, black wings and certain death-
Red and purple fire blossomed in the fiend's gaping jaws, and its head exploded, spattering Elminster with wet foulness and shaking him to full awareness of Avernus around him. He stood in the crevice he'd sought to hide in. The headless body of the abishai flopped on the stones in front of him, muscles still trying to make it fly. Beyond, a huge dragon flew through the sky, black and terrible. It snapped at fleeing spinagons like a shark racing through a shoal of silverfin. Fire rose from the side of a black crag off to his left-
One less abishai to tear apart my toy. Be grateful, wizard. I've not slain you yet.
I made no attack on ye. When ye seize on my memories, they are what they are; I cannot change them. Ye felt what I did, then.
Impressive. No wonder you stand and defy me.
Elminster was very careful to keep still and silent in the crevice and in his mind.
A joining of minds, and memories shared deliberately. It binds your loyalty anew and imparts ecstasy, until you become addicted to the divine touch and will do anything to feel it again.
Elminster bowed his head. That's one way of seeing it, aye.
[grim grin] can't you simply say i'm right, little man?
Mystra would see it differently, El said with as much mental dignity as he could muster, [image of arms crossed, body drawn up, chin lifted]
She certainly kred defiance into you, or chose you because of it. Which makes you both fools.
[sudden mental probe]
[wince]
[bright image, after image, after image]
So, no such unions with she who is Mystra now.
Shared thought: Which means no trace linkage remains that might let Mystra reach through her Chosen and do harm in Hell.
[relief] So, little man, let's get to that silver fire.
Sharp pain, and then numbness. Elminster reeled in the crevice. A maggot taller than he had reared up and sunk its fangs into his left shoulder. Its glistening body was undulating across his chest as it gnawed its way into him…
Writhing in pain, he tried to claw at it, but Nergal's laughter was all around him now.
Maggot-ridden! Suits you, treacherous mortal! Now, up out of that crevice and craw! yes, that's it!
Staggering, El found himself walking across broken rock again, the weight of the maggot that was now wrapped around him-and questing its way hungrily inside him- forcing him to lurch and falter.
My magic will keep you alive, honored guest. However, i regret to announce that you will suffer. [gusts of laughter]
adventure, little man, is where you find it. My venture will be on through your mind, more cautiously than before. Yours will be a litter stroll through hell.
Fear not. I'll keep you alive. I want that silver fire.
[pain, pain falling sharply, spreading pain, maggot tearing and thrashing]
Up, little man. There... Magic's a wonderful thing, isn't it? Now, let us seek your own early days, creature of mystra.
And adventure there. Show me an early time when you worked with others, so that i can see mystra's hand at work shaping you.
[friends' faces, castle battlements, a scudding moon, dark alley and drawn sword...]
There. Snow me, Elminster!
[different battlements, different faces, one swimming to the fore: a bearded wizard, fat and frowning, lurching along full of importance...]
Yes, that one will do! Show me!