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the overgrown stone, rising and re-shaping themselves into . .. Myrjala!
Honey-brown hair swirled as the glow became her bone-white body, lying on the stones. The hair wavered
as if dis-turbed by an ebbing wave, and fell aside to reveal his teacher's familiar, pert face, and those large,
dark eyes. They opened and looked up at him.
Elminster stood gaping in shock as Myrjala said gently, "Please, Elminster . . . never utter such words
again
please? For me?"
Dumbly, Elminster fell to his knees again, reaching out won-dering hands to touch her shoulders. They
were solid, and smooth, and so were the hands that lifted to him and pulled his mouth down to hers. The
sharp smell of burnt hair was strong around them as Elminster pulled back in alarm, wary of an-other
magelord trick, and stared down into the eyes of the sor-ceress.
Their eyes met for a long time, and El knew he was facing Myrjala. He swallowed, tears falling from his
cheeks onto her own, and said, "I-I promise. I thought ye dead ... ye were dead, burned to ashes! How can
this be?"
Fire rose and raged, deep in those dark eyes staring up into his. The ghost of what might have been a
smile passed over her lips as she said softly, "For Mystra, anything is possible."
Elminster stared down at her, and then at last, he realized who
what his teacher truly was.
In real fear, he tried to pull away. A hint of sadness crept into those dark eyes, but then their gaze
sharpened and, as much as the firm arms around his neck, held him motionless. The god-dess Mystra held
him captive with her eyes of dark mystery, and said softly, "Long ago, you said you could learn to love me."
Suddenly her eyes held a challenge.
Face white, wordless, Elminster nodded.
"Show me, then, what you've learned," the Lady beneath him said softly, and cool white fire rose up
around them both.
Elminster felt clothes and all burn away as they rose into the air amid searing flames, up into the morning
sky above the weathered stone plinth. Then her lips met his, and the burning began, as power such as he'd
never known before surged into him....
* * * * *
The cart squeaked loud enough to rouse the sleeping dead, as usual. Bethgarl yawned as he pushed it up
the bumpy slope before the long descent into Hastarl... but then, he was all too used to it.
"Awaken, Hastarl!" he muttered, spreading his arms grandly and yawning again. "For Bethgarl Nreams,
famed cheese mer-chant, cometh, cart loaded high with wheels of sharpcrumble, whitesides, and re
"
something moved and caught his eye off to the left, by the old grave-shrine. Bethgarl looked in that di-rection, then
up and a third yawn died forever as his jaw dropped open in wonder.
He was looking
nay, staring at a rising ball of blue-white flame, flaring so bright he could scarce bear it... but
he had looked, eyes burning, and seen two folk floating half-hidden in its heart! A man and a maid, and they were. . . .
Bethgarl stared, rubbed his watering eyes, stared again, then let fall his cart and ran back the way he'd come, for all he
was worth, howl-ing in fear.
Gods, he'd have to stop eating those snails! Ammuthe had been right, as usual. .. oh, gods, why had he
ever doubted her?
* * * * *
Sated, they floated in each other's arms, hiding from the brightness of highsun in the shade of an old and
mighty tree.
The white flames were gone, and Mystra seemed only a lan-guid, beautiful human woman. She rested her
head on his shoulder and said softly, "Now your road must be alone, Elmin-ster, for the more I walk Toril in
human form, the more power passes from me, and the less I become. Thrice I died as Myrjala, watching over
you
here, in Ilhundyl's castle, and in the throne room in Athalgard ... and with each death I am diminished."
Elminster stared down into her dark eyes. As he opened his mouth to speak, she put fingers over his lips
to still him, and went on. "Yet you need not be alone
for I have need of champi-ons in the Realms: men and
women who serve me loyally and hold a part of the power over Art that is mine. I would very much like you to be one
of my Chosen."
"Anything, Lady," Elminster managed to say. "Command me!"
"No." Mystra's eyes were grave. "This you must freely agree to
and before you speak so quickly, know that
I am asking of you service that may last a thousand thousand years. A hard road ... a long, long doom. You will see
Athalantar, with all its folk and proud towers, pass away, crumble into dust, and be forgotten."
Those dark eyes held his, and Elminster floated, looked into them, and was afraid. Staring into his eyes,
the goddess went on. "The world will change around you, and I shall command you to do things that are hard,
and that will seem cruel or senseless. You will not be welcome in most places . . . and your welcome in
others will be born of fawning fear."
She drifted a little apart from him and turned them both, until they hung upright in the air, facing each
other. "Moreover, I will not think ill of you if you refuse. You have done far more already than most mortals
ever do." Her eyes glowed. "More than that, you fought at my side, trusting me always, and never betraying
me or seeking to use me for your own ends. It is a memory I shall always treasure."
Elminster began to weep again. Through the tears, he man-aged to say huskily, "Lady, I beg of ye
for my life! What more can
command me! Ye offer me two things that are precious indeed, thy love and a purpose
any man ask than those? I would be honored to serve ye ... make me, please, one of thy Chosen!"
Mystra smiled, and the world around seemed brighter. "I thank you," she said formally. "Would you like to
begin now, or have some time to ride your own way and be yourself first?"
"Now," Elminster said firmly. "I want no waiting for doubt to creep in ... let it be now."
Mystra bowed her head, exultation in her eyes. "This will hurt," she said gravely as her body drifted in to
meet his again.
As their lips touched and clung, lightning leapt from her eyes into his, and the white fire was suddenly
back, roaring up around them deafeningly, searing him to the bone. Elminster tried to shriek with pain, but
found he could not breathe, and then he felt himself torn, tugged, and swept away into the ris-ing flame, and it
did not matter anymore....
* * * * *
"Such tales you tell!" Ammuthe was working herself up into a fine temper as she walked. She tossed her
head, and that magnificent hair swirled in the sunlight. "Always such fan-cies
so, well enough, my husband
dreams when awake as well as when he snores! I give the gods thanks for that, and in silent despair put up with it! But
this time a whole cart of our cheeses let fallen to be snatched up by who knows who? Too much, indeed, my lazy
sluggard man! You shall feel more than the edge of my tongue, if every single one of those chee "
Ammuthe broke off in midtirade, staring up at the grave-shrine on the hill. Trembling with renewed fear,
Bethgarl nonetheless allowed himself a small, leaping moment of satis-faction as Ammuthe shrieked, spun
about, and ran headlong into his chest.
Bethgarl staggered back, but held her firmly. "None o' that, now," he said, not too loudly, casting a wary
eye up at the streaming, roiling sphere of white fire above the shrine of Mys-tra. "We'd gather up all the
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