El crawled on, blind to Avernus once again as he struggled to think of all-cloaking darkness, of nights spent stumbling along dark forest trails, of moments lost wandering in wet, dripping tombs…
There was brightness behind him, and shrieking cacophony. Nergal was coming, clawing through El's memories, tearing aside one after another until he unearthed what he sought in the dark, labyrinthine caverns of a wizard cursed to forget all too little.
Banners aflame, in a battle under bright sunlight long ago …
Elminster snatching aside rocks, turning them over to reveal fire beneath-the fire of smoking dragon's blood, spilled moments before in a spell duel that-
No. Not that remembrance! The silver fire, you pullng worm!
Silver fire. Spilling through his fingers, amid tears, on another battlefield with a dying elf woman in his arms. Her head fallen back and her magnificent throat working, as silver fire spilled forth from her like glowing smoke, drifting down, running from her fingertips to blaze and gutter in the grass around them both…
Yes! More! Snow me silver fire in use!
Silver fire, raging, roaring up hungrily…
Yes! Snow me more! Show me!
Silver flames whirling past a hundred disbelieving faces, screaming skulls as eyes melted and sizzled away and flames consumed all… hands reaching vainly for aid amid the roaring fire… slender, long-nailed, graceful Fingers closing on nothing…
A slaying? Using mystra's fire? Snow me!
Though I hate to lose anything of my beloved, I can live without her remembrance of Orlugrym, aye….
Snow me, wizard! Show me!
Whirling, snarling helices of silver flame around a thousand turrets and tumbling dragons and one grim and regal female face…
[mental chaos clearing]
She passed in a swirl of skirts.
The Red Wizard smiled. Like an eager shadow, he stepped out from behind the pillar. The Simbul might be half a world away, but this apprentice of hers would do. Oh, yes….
Again he felt that soft sighing in his mind. A fluttering, almost a caress-not like any probe or mind-smiting spell he'd ever felt. No, this was altogether something else. Something that felt… satisfied. It was withdrawing, now, fading away.
A probe, sent by this lone, hurrying lass in the dark gown? Surely not.
She'd never paused or shown sign of wariness… or any awareness of what was around her. She strode away from him along the narrow passage, brow furrowed in thought, hugging herself as she hastened. Doubtless on some self-important mission.
Not one to match his. Steal something from the private quarters of the Witch-Queen of Aglarond. Well, why not the gown right off an apprentice's body?
Orlugrym smiled a velvety smile. She was pretty, this one. He could have some fun first.
He held up one hand and murmured a different spell than the one he'd been planning to use. Ahead of him, the apprentice stiffened and froze, the skirts of her gown whispering to a halt.
"Turn," he told her softly as he stepped forward, "and offer yourself to me."
Emerald-green eyes held amazement and fear as they met his. He tensed for a scream or a snapped spell, but she regarded him mutely for a moment, her eyes very large, before swallowing visibly and gliding forward. She lifted her face to him as she came, and her trembling fingers went to the laces of her bodice.
"Y-yes," she whispered, as they came together. "Yesss."
Orlugrym's smile tightened as she swayed back at her hips and pulled away the dark cloth, thrusting her bared breasts at him. His eyes fell to her soft skin-only to find it ablaze with shimmering silver. Silver that was suddenly blinding.
He staggered back, and found himself looking into a face that was melting and flowing, into… wild hair writhing like a basket of snakes… blazing eyes he knew-all Red Wizards knew.
"Why, Orlugrym, so inconstant?" the Simbul asked gently, not a trace of mockery in her voice. "You were so sure of your intent a moment ago, your mind empty of all schemes beyond this bold foray. Be bold, then: Embrace me. Something few of your ilk can boast of doing. Come."
Orlugrym trembled as he stared full into the face of his doom. Slender arms spread to encircle his own. Deadly lips parted as they moved to meet his, murmuring, "All you need do in life, Orlugrym, if you'd cling to it, is hold onto yourself-if, that is, you know who you are."
Their breasts brushed together-and his world became roaring, rushing flames of searing silver, flowing up and over all. Orlugrym's last memory was of her lips, floating disembodied amid the silver fire, and advancing to meet his, parted and eager…
El sighed. It had been Alassra's memory, shared with him, and never his own-but to lose it and know it was gone still hurt. It fled from his mind, now, leaving him no longer knowing just what it had been. He'd felt such dazed emptiness before, long ago, and where was that recollection?
Ah, here. Archdevil, enjoy the show.
Silver flames and drifting darkness, like cloaks tumbled by lazy waves from which the sun had fled …
What?
Elminster could feel the amazement in Nergal's voice… no, bafflement.
Bafflement. Aye, give him bafflement, over matters of magic and silver fire and Mystra herself… Mystra, now: three snippets of divine memory that had leaked into his own mind in a moment of shared passion. Memories of Khelben and of silver fire.
Roaring, ravening silver…
Yes. Silver fire! The mysteries of the silver fire! Yield to me, Elminster Aumar! Reveal all!
Darkness drifted away like the great black billowing robes of the Lord Mage of Waterdeep, windblown in his wake. He soared like an ungainly carrion crow over the spires, turrets, and rooftops of that proud city. His salt-and-pepper beard curled in the wind of his journeying. His dark eyes were as hard as dagger points as he searched for another flash of the magic misused below….
Shrugging, he plummeted like a vengeful arrow at a familiar turret below: Blackstaff Tower. There Laeral waited, her eyes holding that sparkle that was for him alone….
Come another night, years later…
Khelben and Laeral lay abed in Waterdeep, talking quietly in each other's arms of the day's deeds and plans to come. They looked up at summer stars overhead. The Lord Mage of Waterdeep had few conceits; one was the domed ceiling of their bedchamber. It twinkled with a thousand stars, mirroring the clear night sky overhead even when fog, snow, or cloud hid the real sky from view.
They both were restless tonight. Itches and tinglings sprang up in their bodies and shifted about, roiling inside them. Khelben frowned after a particularly violent surge of discomfort. They snarled in irritation, scratching furiously.
"Much power is moving this night," he said, staring about in the darkness. "Mystra's power-or Art that affects her, at least. What d'ye make of it?"
"Something is happening to our Lady, I am sure," Laeral said. "Look at us." She caught his hand and held it up between them. In the darkness, both bare arms glowed with a ghostly blue radiance. As they watched, it seemed to pulse, grow brighter, fade again, and then grow. The stirrings within them matched its changes.
"Should we try to speak to the Lady?"
Khelben was rarely indecisive, but he was puzzled and unsure now. His lady shook her head, long hair stirring and curling about her shoulders of its own accord, moved by the awakening An within her.
"No," she said, "we might disturb her will at a dangerous time. She'll touch us, should she need us."
She pursed her lips and set her head on one side, thoughtful eyes on his. "But what if we reached to my sisters or to Elminster?"