Ed Greenwood - The Temptation of Elminster

Tenthar frowned and said, "It is the way of the cruel gods to take the best and brightest from us."

Umbregard shrugged as he accepted a glass and watched several other bottles appear out of thin air. "It is the way of gods to take us all," he added, "in the end."

Starsunder said then, "My thanks for the healing, Elminster. As to the way of gods, I believe none of us were made to live long. Elf, dwarf, human. , even, I think, our gods themselves. The passage of too many years does things to us, makes us mad … the losses-friends, lovers, family, favorite places…and the loneliness. For my kind, a reward awaits, but that doesn't make the tarrying here any less wrenching, it only gives us something to look at, beyond present pain."

Elminster nodded slowly. "There may well be truth in thy words." He looked at Starsunder sidelong then and asked, "Did we meet, however briefly, in Myth Drannor?"

The moon elf smiled. "I was one of those who disagreed with the Coronal about admitting other races into the Fair City," the elf admitted. "I still do. It hastened our passing and gained us nothing but all our secrets stolen. And you were the one to break open the gates. I hated you and wished you dead. Had there been an easy, traceless way, I might have made things so."

"What stayed your hand?" El asked softly.

"I took your measure, several times, at revels and in the Mythal, and after. And you were as we…alone, and striving as best you knew how. I salute you, human. You resisted our goading, conducted yourself with dignity, and did well. Your good deeds will outlive you."

"My thanks," Elminster replied, his eyes bright with tears as he leaned over to embrace the elf. "To hear that means a lot."

The Fair Maid was elbow-to-elbow crowded. It seemed the High Duke's latest idea was to send huge armed caravans along the perilous road. Ripplestones looked like a drovers' yard, with beasts bawling and on the move everywhere. Inside, shielded a trifle from the dust if not the din, Beldrune, Tabarast, and Caladaster were sharing a table with a haughty mage from the Sword Coast, brimming tankards in every hand. The talk was of spells and fell monsters vanquished and wizards who would not die rising from their tombs, and folk were crowding around to listen.

"Why, that's nothing!" Beldrune was snarling. "Less than nothing! This very day, in the heart of the Dead Place, I stood beside the god Azuth?

The mage from the Coast sneered in open disbelief, and thus goaded, Beldrune rushed on, "Oh, yes…Azuth, I tell you, an'…"

Caladaster and Tabarast exchanged silent looks, nodded, and with one accord rose and rummaged in Caladaster's pack while their comrade snarled on, jabbing a finger in the Coast mage's startled nose. "He needed our help, I tell you. Our spells saved the day… he said that!..an' he gave us to understand…"

"That we'd earned these magical robes!" Tabarast broke in triumphantly, holding up the daring black gown for all to see.

The roar of laughter that followed threatened to shake the very ceiling of the inn down on top of all the table-slapping, hooting drinkers, but as their laughter finally trailed away, a high-pitched chuckle joined in, from the doorway. Those who turned to see its source went very still.

"That almost looks as if it would fit me," Sharindala the sorceress told the four gaping mages brightly. "And I do need something to preserve my modesty, as you can see."

The Lady of Scorchstone Hall wore only her long, silken brown hair. It cloaked her breast and flanks as she strode forward, but no man there could fail to notice that aside from her tresses, she was bare to the world from the top of her head down to her hips…where her flesh ended, leaving bare bones from there to the floor.

"May I?" she asked, extending a hand for the garment. Around her, several folk slid down in their seats, fainting dead away, and there was a rush of booted feet for the door. Suddenly there was a small circle of empty space in the Fair Maid, ringed by men who were mostly white-faced and staring.

"I've got to get through a few more spells before I'll be able to eat or drink anything," Sharindala explained, "and it's rather embarrassing…."

Tabarast snatched the gown out of her reach with a low growl of fear, but Caladaster stepped in front of him, tugging on his own robe. He had it over his head and off in a trice, to reveal a rotund and hairy body clad in breeches and braces that were stiff and shiny with age and dirt. "It's none too clean, lady," he said hesitantly, "and will probably hang on you as loose as any tent, but … take it, 'tis freely given."

A long, slender white arm took it, and a smile was given in return. "Caladaster? You were just a lad when I…oh, gods, has it been so long?"

Caladaster swallowed, red faced, and licked lips that seemed suddenly very dry. "What happened to you, Lady Sharee?"

"I died," she replied simply, and utter silence fell in the Maid. Then the sorceress shrugged on the offered robe, and smiled at the man who'd given it to her. "But I've come back. Mystra showed me the way."

There arose a murmur from the crowd. Sharindala took Caladaster's arm in one hand and his tankard in the other…her touch was cool and smooth and normal-seeming enough. She said gently, "Come, walk with me, we've much to talk about."

As they moved toward the door together, the half-skeletal sorceress paused in front of the mage from the Coast and added, "By the way, sir: everything that's been said about Azuth here this night is true. Whether you believe it or not."

They went out the door in a silence so deep that people had to gasp for air by the time they remembered to breathe again.

He seemed to have lost his boots again and to be walking barefoot on moonlight, somewhere in Faerun where the sun of late afternoon should still have reigned. A breath ago he'd been talking with three mages in a forest, and the cheese had begun to arrive, to go with their wine…and now he was here, left with but a glimpse of their startled faces at the manner of his going.

So where exactly was here?

"Mystra?" he asked aloud, hopefully.

The moonlight surged up around him into silver flames that did not burn but instead sent the thrill of power through him, and those flames shaped themselves into arms that embraced him.

"Lady mine," Elminster breathed as he felt the soft brush of a familiar body against his…there went his clothes again, how did she do that?…and the tingling touch of her lips.

He kissed her back, hungrily, and silver fire swept through him as their bodies trembled together. He tried to caress soft, shifting flames…only to find himself holding nothing and standing in darkness once more, with Mystra standing like a pillar of silver fire not far away.

"Mystra?" El asked her, letting a little of the loneliness he'd felt into his voice.

"Please," the goddess whispered pleadingly, "This is as hard for me as it has been for you…I must not tarry. And you tempt me, Elminster … you tempt me so."

Silver flames swirled, and a hungry mouth closed on El's own for one long, glorious moment, fires crashing and charging through him, rising into splendor that made him weep and roar and writhe all at once.

"Elminster," that musical voice told him, as he floated in hazy bliss, "I'm sending you now to Silverhand Tower to rear three Chosen."

"Rear?" El asked, startled, his bliss washed away into alert alarm.

There seemed to be a laugh struggling to break through the tones of the goddess as she said, "You'll find three little girls waiting in the Tower, alone and uncertain. Be as a kindly uncle and tutor to them, feed them, clothe them, and teach them how to be and who to be."

Elminster swallowed, watching Mystra dwindle once more into a distant star. "You are forbidden to control their minds, or compel them save in emergencies most dire," she added. "As they grow older, let them forge forth to make their own lives. Your task then will be to watch over them covertly, and to ride in and pick up the pieces to ensure their survival from time to time, not to guide them unless they seek your advice … and we both know how often willful Chosen seek out the advice of others, don't we?"