Elminster in Hell
Ed Greenwood
Forgotten Realms - Elminster Saga 4
REALMS LORE
Is there not Hell enough awaiting you, that you must go seeking it in books and spells and consorting with strange wizards?
Kesaugiir Ravendarr, a rich merchant of Amn, speaking to Ms daughter Hahilbra in the play Bold Hearts Broken by Nargustaras Gritbym.
(playwright of Athkatla)
Confutatis maledictus, flammis acrlbus addictus etiam sanato vulnere cicatrix manet
Students of the history of the Realms should know that this tale of Elminster's torment befalls in 1372 DR, the Year of Wild Magic, and that the memories seen in these pages depict events that took place, so for as can be determined, as follows:
"The Day the Magic Died" (and the associated memories preceding it, in Chapter 2, except for Khelben's flying over Waterdeep, which befell in 1351 DR) in mid-Kythorn of 1358 DR, the Year of Shadows.
"The Reaching Hand" (the memory in Chapter 4) on 17 Marpenoth in 1357 DR, the Year of the Prince.
"Here Be Wizards" (the memory in Chapter 5) in Ahuriak of 1365 DR, the Year of the Sword.
"One Night in Waterdeep" (the memory of Mirt in Chapter 6) on 6 Beint in 1321 DR, the Year of Chains.
"Night Comes to Tamaeril” the first memory in Chapter 7), "Resengar, Too" (the second memory in Chapter 7), and "A Daughter's Duty" (the memory in Chapter 9) in early Flamerule of 1355 DR, the Year of the Harp.
"A Surprise for Laurlaethee" (the memory in the midst of Chapter 8) in the afternoon of 4 Tarsakh in 261 DR, the Year of Soaring Stars.
"A Touch of Heartsteel" (the memory in Chapter 11) in early Mittul of 1369 DR, the Year of the Gauntlet.
“The Harper Without" on the night of 12 Uktar in 778 DR, the Year of Awaiting Webs.
"When Sembians Stop for Tea" (the memory in Chapter 13) on the afternoon of the 4th of Elesias in 1364 DR, the Year of the Wave (it should be noted that Noumea Fairbright is no relation to Noumea Drathchuld, who was then Magister).
"A Small Sort of Dragon” (the memory in Chapter 14) on 16 Chesin 1356 DR, the Year of the Worm.
"The Wisdom of Our Sages” (the memory in Chapter 15) in late Mirtul of 1360 DR, the Year of the Turret.
"Sit Not Alone on Thalon's Cold Throne" (the memories of Laeral at the end of Chapter 16 and the beginning of Chapter 17) to mid-Kythorn of 1357 DR, the Year of the Prince (it should be remembered that this Laeral is Laeral Rythkyn, called by some "Laeral of Loudwater," a Harper mage who is the namesake-not related-of Laeral Aransun Silverhand of the Seven).
"The Tears of a Goddess" (the memory at the end of Chapter 19) in late Eleint of 1371 DR, the Year of the Unstrung Harp.
"The Srinshee Plays With Fire"(the first Srinshee memory in Chapter 20) on the morning of 9 Nightal in 241 DR, the Year of the Hippogriff’s Folly.
"Kisses and Damnations" (the second Srinshee memory in Chapter 20) in the carry evening of Midsummer 30th in 666 DR, the Year of Stern Judgment.
"One Fool Deserves Another" (the third Srinshee memory in Chapter 20) on 14 Hammer in 907 DR, the Year of Wailing.
"The Coming of the Shadow" (the memory at the end of Chapter 21) on 6 Flamerule in 1294 DR, the Year of the Deep Moon.
"Fools as Her Champions" (the memory in Chapter 22) on 21 Eleint in 1246 DR, the Year of Burning Steel.
BEGINNINGS
Memories are wonderful things.
Yet they can burn like the hottest fire, raging and consuming their bearers, or cut like cruel blades. I can trap one in a gem and hold it in my hand to give to another and yet keep it also in my mind, fading slowly over time, like paths to favorite places that have become overgrown and lost,
What is a human but a bundle of memories?
What better treasure can the aged keep to warm and delight them whenever they rummage through the sack of their own stored remembrances?
And what more hideous crime can there be than to snatch away memories from a man?
Only my kisses should be able to do that to him-and then only when Mystra deems it needful. Yet a thing called Nergal dared to do this to my man. I, Alassra, made Nergal pay a fitting price and was damned in that doing-and care not and would do it again.
I dare anything and will die doing so. Fools of Thay and other places know me for my slaying spells and my fury. Often it masters me, and men call me "mad," when they should use the words "reckless” or “lost in bloodlust." I do enjoy destruction. I admit-yet I also nurture and defend and treat with kindness.
Here I've done both, showing all who read of the kindnesses I so love, the reason I'd lay down my life as freely as I do my body before this man called Elminster, even if he had no more magic than a village idiot. Some will say I've set down secrets that common eyes should never have seen, and to them I say two things: "Have I truly?" and "I care not!" Some have said holy Mystra and others of the divine will smite me for this doing-yet here I still stand, unrepentant.
So come, and read secrets. Heed this tale I have gathered, and learn-or care not, and turn away, to walk defenseless the rest of your undoubtedly short days. Choose freely.
I am the Storm Queen, and I never threaten. I merely promise.
Chapter One
ROCKS AND A WARM PLACE
There is no greater blasphemy than this.
This is the thing forbidden, for all gods and men, for every living being of this or any world-to shred asunder the stuff of which we are all made, leaving rents of crawling nothingness in Toril. Roiling, weeping wounds for all the Realms to spill out through, and all the cold and gnawing void to rush in...
With all the selfish and headstrong and uncaring fools who'd hurled magic about for all these centuries, it was a wonder this didn't happen more often. This thought offered little comfort.
The worlds roared. White-hot and all-devouring, the torrents of force spilling from the Weave snarled all around the tumbling man, tugging at his robes and old limbs and heard alike as he spun along in a roaring rush of air. What might have been the green trees of Shadowdale turned crazily above his head. Beneath-or was it above? - his hooted feet stretched a blood-red, sunless sky. He'd seen it a time or two before and had no desire ever to see again.
Streamers of noxious gas streaked that crimson dome like dirty clouds. They whirled to form what looked like giant eyes staring down, eyes that were swept away before they could focus, only to form anew, again and again. Beneath the ruby glow lay a dark nightmare land of bare rock and flumes of sparks and gouting flame, where things slithered and scrambled half-seen in the shadows. Mountains clawed the ruby sky. The Land of Teeth, Azuth had once aptly called it, surveying the endless jagged rocks. This was the Greeting Ground, the realm of horror that had claimed the lives of countless mortals. He was whirling along above Avernus, uppermost of the Nine Hells.
"Mystra," the tumbling man groaned. He called to Me all the magics on his body, bringing them to tingling readiness in his fingertips.
Whether the Lady of die Weave heard and assisted him or not, life ahead was not going to be pleasant for Elminster Aumar. He was going to have to spend all of his magic healing this rift, for the love of Toril that so seldom loved him, be burned and blasted in the doing, perhaps fail and be torn apart-and if he succeeded, plunge at the last down into Avernus, bereft of spells and defenseless.