Elminster - The Making Of A Mage Part 14

The elf regarded her gravely for a moment and said, "Yet there is the will in you to do great harm to many folk."

El stared into his eyes and found her throat suddenly dry. She swallowed and said, "I live to avenge my slain parents. My foes are the magelords of Athalantar."

The elf stood silent, as still and dark as the trees around. The sword of light did not waver. He seemed to be awaiting more words.

Elmara shrugged. "To destroy them, I must master magic- or find some way to destroy theirs. I... met with Mystra. She said I'd find a tutor here.... Do ye know of a wizard or a priest of Mystra in this wood?"

The sword vanished. Blinking in the sudden darkness, El heard that light voice say simply, "Yes." Silence followed.

Afraid of being left alone in the night in this endless forest, El asked quickly, "Will ye guide me to that person?" To her own astonishment, her voice quavered.

"You have found 'that person,' " the elf replied with an undertone that might have been satisfaction or quiet amus.e.m.e.nt. "Give me your name."

"El-Elmara," she answered, and something made her add, "I was Elminster until this morn."

The elf nodded. "Baerithryn," he replied. "I was Braer to the last human who knew me."

"Who was that?" El asked, suddenly curious.

Those grave eyes flickered. "A lady mage . . . dead these three hundred summers."

El looked down. "Oh."

"I'm not overfond of questions, you'll find," the elf added. "Look and listen to learn. That is the elven way. You humans have so much less time and always gabble questions and then rush off to do things without waiting for, or truly understanding, the answers. I hope to curb that in you ... just a little." He leaned forward and added, "Now lie back."

El looked up at him, and then did so, wondering what would come next. Unconsciously, she covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and loins with her hands.

The elf seemed to smile. "I've seen maids before ... and all of you, already." He dropped silently into a crouch and said, "Give me your foot."

El looked at him in wonder, and then raised her left foot. The elf cupped it-his touch was feather-soft-and the pain slowly ebbed away. El looked at him in wonder.

"The other," he said simply. She let her healed foot fall and extended the other to him. Again the pain fled. "You've given the forest blood," he said, "which satisfies a ritual some find unpleasant." His grip on her heel became stronger, and he made a surprised sound and let her foot fall.

A moment later-he moved like soundless liquid, or a smooth-flowing shadow-the elf was kneeling by her head. "Allow me," he said, and added, "Lie still." Elmara felt his fingers touch her lightly over each eye, and linger there . . . and slowly, very slowly, the ache in her head subsided, the pain stealing away.

With it went all her weariness, and she was suddenly alert, eager, and awake. "Wh-My thanks, sir-what did you do?"

"Several things. I used simple magic, what you'll need to learn first. Then I winced at being called 'sir' and waited patiently to be called 'Braer' and seen as a person, not some sort of magic-wielding monster." The words were lightly spoken beside her ear, but Elmara felt her answer was very important.

She raised her head slowly, to find those eyes staring into hers from only a finger's-length away. "Please forgive me, Braer. Will ye be-my friend?" Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed the face she could barely see. The elf's eyes blinked into hers as her lips touched-a sharp-boned nose.

Braer did not pull away. His lips did not meet hers, but a moment later Elmara felt soft fingers stroke the length of her chin. "That's better, daughter of a prince. Now sleep."

El was falling down, down into a void of warm darkness before she even had time to wonder how Braer knew his-her-father had been a prince . . . perhaps, she managed to think, as whispering mists rose in her mind, all Faerun knew it....

"You began as all younglings do: awed by magic. Then you learned to fear it, and hate those who wielded it. After a time, you saw its usefulness as a weapon too powerful to ignore. Mastering it or finding a shield against it then became a necessity."

Braer fell silent and leaned forward, watching intently as blue mage-fire danced at the tips of Elmara's fingers. He gestured, and obediently she made the fire move up and down each finger in turn, racing along her tingling skin.

"You wonder now why I waste so much of your brief life with a child's playing about with magic," Braer said flatly. "It's not to make you familiar with it. You are that, already. It's to make you love magic, for itself, not for what you can do with it."

"Why," Elmara asked in the elven manner, reflected fire dancing in her eyes as her gaze met his, "should a man or a maid love magic?"

Her teacher remained silent, as he did all too often for her liking. They looked into each other's eyes until finally she added, "I would think that leads to bent men who wall themselves up in little rooms and become crabbed and crazed, chasing some elusive spell or detail of magecraft, and wasting their lives away."

"In some, it does," Braer agreed. "But love of magic is more necessary for those who worship Mystra-priests of the G.o.ddess, if you will, though most see no difference between such folk and mages-than it is for wizards. One must love magic to properly revere magic."

Elmara frowned a little. There were a few gray hairs in her long, unruly black mane now; she'd studied magic for two winters through at Braer's side, praying to Mystra each night. . . without reply. Hastarl and her days as a thief seemed almost a dream to her now, but she could still remember the faces of the magelords she'd seen.

"Some folk worship out of fear. Is their respect any the less?"

The elf nodded. "It is," he said simply, "even if they do not know it." He rose, as smooth and silent as ever. "Now put away that fire and come and help me find evenfeast."

He strode away through the trees, knowing she'd follow. Elmara rose, smiled a little, and did so. They spent their days thus, talking while she practiced magic under his direction, and then foraging in the forest for food. Once the elf had shown her how to take the shape of a wolf, then bounded off to run down a stag, with her stumbling along behind. In all their days together, she'd never seen him do anything but guide her, though he left her side every nightfall and did not return until dawn. He always chose the spot where she slept, and her mage-sight told her he cast some sort of magical ring about her.

Braer never seemed tired, or dirty, or less than patient. His garb never changed, and there was never a day when he did not come to her. She saw no other elves, or anyone else . . . though he'd once confirmed they were somewhere in the High Forest, supposedly home to the greatest kingdom of elves in all Faerun.

On her first morning in the forest, he'd brought her a rough gown of animal hide, glossy high boots of unexpected quality, a thong for tying the Lion Sword around her neck (she kept it wrapped in a skin to avoid cutting her breast), and a trowel for digging her own privy-holes. To clean herself, she scrubbed with leaves and moss and washed in the little pools and rivulets that seemed to be everywhere in the endless forest. When she commented that one seemed to find water unexpectedly around every third or fourth hillock or gully, Braer had nodded and replied, "Like magic."

That memory came to Elmara suddenly. She looked ahead at the elf gliding among the trees like a silent shadow, and suddenly scrambled to catch up with him. As always when she hurried, twigs cracked and leaves rustled under her feet. Braer turned and frowned at her.

She matched his frown, and asked the question that had arisen in her. "Braer ... why do elves love magic?"

For a fleeting moment, a grin of exultation washed across his face. Then it was gone, and his face held its usual expression of calm, open interest. Yet El knew she'd seen that look of delight, and her heart lifted. The elf's next words sent it soaring. "Ah ... now you begin to think, and to ask the right questions. I can begin teaching you." He turned and walked on.

"Begin teaching me?" Elmara asked his back indignantly. "So just what have ye been doing these past two seasons?"

"Wasting much time," he told the trees ahead calmly, and her heart came crashing down.

Tears welled up in her, and burst forth. Elmara sank down on her knees and wept. She cried a long time, lonely and lost and feeling worthless, and when the tears were all gone she finally sat up wearily, and looked all around. She was alone.

"Braer!" she cried. "Braer! Where are you?" Her shout echoed back at her from the trees, but there came no reply. She sank down again, and whispered, "Mystra, aid me. Mystra... help me!"

It was growing dark. Elmara looked wildly in all directions. She was in a part of the forest they'd never walked in before. With sudden urgency she called forth mage-fire, and held up her blazing hand like a lantern. The trees around seemed to rustle and stir for a moment-but then a tense, watchful stillness fell.

"Braer," she said into the darkness. Please ... come back!"

A tree nearby wavered and bowed-and then stepped forward. It was Baerithryn, looking sad. "Forgive me, Elmara?"

Two running steps later, Elmara crashed into him and threw her arms around him, sobbing. "Where did ye go? Oh, Braer, what did I do?"

"I-am sorry, Lady. I did not mean my words as a judgment." The elf held her gently but firmly, rocking her slightly from side to side as if she were a small child to be soothed. With infinite tenderness, his hands stroked her long, tangled hair.

Elmara pulled her head back, tears bright on her cheeks. "But ye went away!"

"You seemed to need a time to grieve ... a release," the elf said softly. "It seemed churlish to smother what you felt. More than that: sometimes, things must be faced and fought alone."

He took hold of her shoulders and gently pushed her away until they stood facing each other. Then he smiled and raised a hand-and it suddenly held a steaming bowl. A heavenly scent of cooked fowl swirled around them both. "Care to dine?"

Elmara laughed weakly and nodded. Braer whirled his other hand, and out of nowhere a silver goblet appeared in it. He handed it to her with a flourish. When El took it, Braer spun his hand grandly again, and this time two ornate forks and dining-knives appeared. He gestured for her to sit.

Elmara discovered she was ravenous. The forest bustards had been cooked in a mushroom sauce and were delicious-and the goblet proved to be full of the best mint wine, incredibly clear and heady. She devoured everything; Braer smiled and shook his head more than once as he watched.

When she was done, another flourish of the elf's hands produced a bowl of warmed vinegar-water and a fine linen cloth for Elmara to wash her face and hands with. As she wiped grease from her chin, she saw his grave expression had returned.

"I ask again, Elmara: do you forgive me? I have wronged you."

"Forgive-of course." El stretched forth her newly cleaned hand to squeeze one of his.

Braer looked down at her hand on his, and then back up at her. "I did to you what we of the forest consider a very bad thing: I misjudged you. I did not mean to upset you . . . nor make it worse by leaving you to your grief. Do you recall just what was said between us?"

Elmara stared at him. "Ye said ye'd wasted much time these past two seasons, and only now could begin to teach me."

Braer nodded. "What question did you ask, to make me say so?"

El wrinkled her brow, and then said slowly, "I asked you why elves love magic."

Braer nodded. "Yes." He waved a hand. All the dinner-things vanished, and a vivid ring of blue mage-fire raced into being around them. He settled himself cross-legged, and asked, "Do you feel up to talking the night through?"

El frowned. "Of course ... why?"

"There are some things you should know ... and at last are ready to hear."

Elmara met his grave eyes and leaned forward. "Speak, then," she whispered eagerly.

Braer smiled. "To answer one of your questions directly for once: we of the People love magic because we love life. Magic is the life energy of Faerun, la.s.s, gathered in its raw form and used to power specific effects by those who know how. Elves-and the Stout Folk, too, deep in the rocks beneath us-live close to the land... part of it, linked to it-and in balance with it. We grow no more numerous than the land will bear and shape our lives to what the land will support. Forgive me, but humans are different."

Elmara nodded and waved at him to continue.

Braer met her eyes with his own and said steadily, "Like orcs, humans know best how to do four things: breed too rapidly; covet everything around them; destroy anything and everything that stands in the way of any of their desires; and dominate what they can't or won't bother to destroy."

Elmara stared at him. Her face had paled, but she nodded slowly and again gestured for him to continue.

"Harsh words, I know," said the elf gently, "but that is what your kin mean to us. Men seek to change Faerun around them to suit their own desires. When we-or anything else-stand in their way, they cut us down. Men are quick and clever-I'll give them that-and seem to stumble on new ideas and ways more often and more swiftly than any other people ... but to us, and to the land, they are a creeping danger. A creeping rot that eats away at this forest and every other untouched part of the realm .. . and at us with it. You are the first of your race to be tolerated here in the depths of the wood for a very long time-and there are some among my folk who would rather you were safely dead, your flesh feeding the trees."

Elmara stared silently at him, face white and eyes very dark.

Braer smiled slightly, and added, "Death is a goal too few of your race strive for, but one more laudable than many they do pursue."

Elmara let out a long, shuddering breath, and asked, "Why then do you ... tolerate me here?"

The elf reached out a hand slowly and tentatively, and as Elmara watched in wonder, he squeezed one of her hands just as she had done to him earlier. "Out of simple respect for the Lady, I undertook to guide you," he said, "and to turn you into ways that could do us the least damage, down the years, if the G.o.ds willed that you should live."

His smile broadened. "I've come to know you ... and respect you. I know your life's tale, Elminster Aumar, prince of Athalantar. I know what you hope to do-and it would be mere prudence to aid one dedicated to fighting our most powerful and nearest foes, the magelords. Your character-especially your strength in setting aside your hatred of magic long enough to agree to serve the Lady and in clinging to sanity and dignity when she made you a woman without warning-have made my task more than a duty and prudence; you have made it a pleasure."

Elmara swallowed, feeling fresh tears well up and run down her cheeks. "Ye-ye are the kindest and most patient person I've ever known," she whispered. "Please forgive me, for my tears earlier."

Braer patted her hand. "The fault was mine. To answer the question that has just occurred to you: Mystra made you a maid both to hide you from the magelords and to make you able to feel the link between magic, the land, and life; women are able to feel it better than men. In the days ahead, I can show you how to feel and work with that link."

"Ye can read my thoughts?" Elmara cried, drawing back from him sharply. "Then why, by all the G.o.ds, didn't ye just tell me what I needed to know?"

Braer shook his head. "I can only read thoughts when they're charged with strong emotion, and when I'm very close by. More than that: few folk can truly learn by having every idle thought answered in an instant. They don't bother to think about or remember anything, but merely come to rely on the one answering them for all wisdom and direction."

Elmara frowned, nodding very slowly. "Aye," she said softly. "Ye're right."

Braer nodded. "I know. It's the curse of my race."

Elmara looked at him for a moment, and then whooped with laughter. After a few helpless breaths of mirth, she broke off at a sound she'd never heard before: a deep, dry sound . . . Baerithryn of the People was chuckling.

Dawn was stealing through the trees when Braer said, "Too tired to go on?"

Elmara was stiff with sitting and swayed with weariness, but she whispered fiercely, "No! I have to know! Say on!"

Braer inclined his head in salute, and said, "Know then: the High Forest is dying, little by little, year by year, under the axes of men and the spells of magelords. They know our power-and being insecure in their own, feel they can only win the safety of their realm by destroying us."

He waved one hand in a slow arc at the silent trees around them. "Our power is rooted in the shiftings of the seasons. It is drawn from the vitality and endurance of the land-and is not a thing of flashing battle spells and destruction. The magelords know this and how to force us to fight in ways and places where they know they can defeat us, so we often dare not fight them openly . . . and they know that, too. I've lost many friends who would not admit the magelords' power rivaled or overmatched our own."

Braer sighed and continued, "You, and others like you, we can aid in your own battles against them ... and we will. So long as you respect the land and live with it, our ways lie together, and our battles shall, too. When you need aid against the magelords and call to us, we shall come. This we swear."

A moment later, half a dozen trees around them shifted and stepped forward, and his words were echoed by a fierce chorus. "This we swear."

Elmara stared around at all the solemn elven eyes, swallowed, and bowed her head. "And I, in turn, swear not to work against thee or the land. Show me how to do this, please."

The elves bowed in return and melted away again into the forest.

El swallowed. "Are they always here, as trees, around us?"

Braer smiled. "No. You happened to pause and weep in a special place."

El gave him a fierce expression, but it slid into a smile and a weary shake of her head. "I am honored... and understand your people enough, now, not to step wrongly with each stride." She yawned helplessly and added, "I think I'm more than ready to sleep now, too. Promise to show me-finally-some earth-shaking spells in the days ahead?"

Baerithryn smiled. "I promise." He reached out and stroked her cheek, and as his spell sent her instantly to sleep, caught her shoulder and lowered her tenderly to the mossy ground.

Then he settled down beside her and stroked her cheek again. In her little time left in the forest, he would keep careful watch over this weapon against the magelords. More than that: he would keep careful watch over this precious friend.

Nine.

THE WAY OF A MAGE.