The Making of a Mage

by Ed Greenwood

  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

  The way of a mage is a dark and lonely one. This is why so many wizards fall early into the darkness of the grave—or later into the endless twilight of undeath. Such bright prospects are why the road to mastery of magecraft is always such a crowded one.

  JHALIVAR THRUNN

  TRAIL TALES OF THE NORTH

  YEAR OF THE SUNDERED SHIELDS

  A flame was suddenly dancing above the rock, in air that had been empty a moment before. Elmara caught her breath. “Mystra?” she asked, and the flame seemed to brighten for a moment in response—but then it faded away into nothingness, and there was no other reply.

  Elmara sighed and knelt beside the pool. “I hoped for something more.”

  “A little less pride, lass,” Braer murmured, touching her elbow. “ ’Tis more than most of my folk ever see of the Lady.”

  She looked at him curiously. “Just how many of the People worship Mystra?”

  “Not many … we have our own gods, and most of us have always preferred to turn our back on the rest of the world and all its unpleasantnesses and keep to the old ways. The problem is that the rest of the world always seems to reach out and thrust blades into our backsides while we’re trying to ignore it.”

  El grinned at his words, despite their tragic meaning. “ ‘Backsides’? I never thought to hear an elf say that.”

  Braer’s mouth crooked. “I never thought to see a human hear an elf say it, if it comes to that. Do you still think of us as unearthly tall and thin noble creatures, gliding around above it all?”

  “I—aye, I suppose I do.”

  The elf shook his head. “We have you fooled with the rest, then. We’re as earthy and as untidy as the forest. We are the forest, lass. Try not to forget that as you walk out into the world of men.”

  “ ‘Walk out’?” Elmara frowned at him. “Why d’ye say that?”

  “I can’t help but read your thoughts, Lady. You’ve been happier here than ever before in your short life—but you know you’ve learned all you can here that’ll make of yourself a better blade against the magelords … and you grow restless to move on.”

  He held up a hand as she made a small sound of protest, and went on. “Nay, lass; I can see it in you and hear it in you, and for you it is right. You can never be free, never be yourself, until your parents have been avenged and you’ve set Athalantar back to what you think it should be. You’re driven by this, and it’s a burden no one in Faerûn can lift but you, by doing the deeds you’ve set yourself.” He smiled wryly. “You didn’t want to leave Farl, and now you don’t want to leave me. Are you sure you shouldn’t stay a woman the rest of your days?”

  Elmara made a face and added softly, “I didn’t know I had a choice.”

  “Not yet, perhaps, but you will … when you start to become a realm-shattering archmage. Thus far, you’ve become familiar with magic, and by the grace of Mystra call up and shape what slumbers in the land around. Did you truly think this prayer, now, and all the others each night, were wasted?”

  “I—”

  “You’ve begun to fear so, yes. I’m telling you differently,” Braer said almost sternly and stood up in a single smooth movement. He reached down a hand to assist her to rise and added, “I’ll miss you, but I won’t be sad or angry; ’tis time for you to move on. You’ll return when you must. My task hasn’t been to teach you spells that’ll blast magelords and their dragon steeds out of the sky, but to teach you familiarity with magic and wisdom in the use of it. I am a priest of Mystra, yes—but there’s a priestess of Mystra greater far than I am. You must go to see her soon, outside the forest. Her temple is at Ladyhouse Falls, and she knows more of the ways of men … and of where you should go in the days ahead.”

  Elmara frowned. “I—ye are right, I do grow restless, but I don’t want to leave.”

  The elf smiled. “Ah, but you do.” Then his smile vanished, and he added, “And before you go, I’d like to see that revealment spell cast properly for once!”

  Elmara sighed. “It’s just a spell I’ve a little trouble with, one among—what is it?—two score and more?”

  Braer raised eyebrows and hands together. “ ‘Just a spell’? Lass, lass. Nothing should ever be just a spell to you. Revere magic, remember? Else it’s just a faster sword or longer lance to you—only a grubbing after more power than you can grasp by other means.”

  “It’s not that to me!” Elmara protested, turning on him angrily. “Oh, before I came here, perhaps! Do you think I’ve learned nothing from you?”

  “Easy, lass, easy. I’m not a magelord, remember?”

  El stared at him for a moment, and then managed a laugh. “I did hold my temper and tongue better when I was a thief, didn’t I?”

  Braer shrugged. “You were a man, then, in a city of men—with a close friend to joke with—and you knew, every moment, that lack of iron control would mean death. Now you’re a woman, attuned to the forest, feeling its flows of emotion and energy. Little things are more intense outside the crowded city, more raw, more engaging.” He smiled and added, “I can’t believe I’ve started babbling so much—and like a human sage, too!—since you’ve been here.”

  Elmara laughed. “I have done some good, then.”

  Braer flipped the tip of one of his ears back and forth with a finger, a gesture of mild derision among elves, and said, “I believe I mentioned a revealment spell?”

  El rolled her eyes. “Didn’t think I could lead ye into forgetting about it forever.
…”

  Braer gave her an imperious wave that she knew meant ‘get on with it,’ and folded his arms across his chest. Elmara assumed an apologetic little-lass smile for a moment, then turned to face the pool. Spreading her arms wide, she closed her eyes and whispered the prayer to Mystra, feeling the power within her surge up her arms and outward, expanding.… She opened her eyes, expecting to see the familiar blue glows of magic on the pool, perhaps on the rock where Mystra’s flame had manifested, and when she swung around, here and there on Braer’s body, where he wore or carried small tokens of magic.

  “Ahhh!” Staggered, she stepped back, letting her hands fall. Everything was bright and blinding blue wherever she looked—was the whole world alive with magic?

  “Yes,” Braer replied calmly, reading her thoughts again. “At last you’re able to see it. Now,” he went on briskly, “you were still having a little trouble with casting a sphere of spells, were you not?”

  She turned angry eyes on him, but recoiled again, astonished. The tall, dignified elf she knew stood watching her, but in the special sight the spell gave her was revealed ablaze with magic of great power, and the blue-white glow around him rose into the shadowy shape of a dragon. “Ye—ye’re a dragon!”

  “Sometimes,” Braer shrugged, “I take that shape. But I’m truly an elf who’s learned how to take on dragon shape … not the other way around. I’m the last reason the magelords did so much dragon hunting in Athalantar.”

  “The last reason?”

  “The others,” he said tightly, “are dead. They saw to it very efficiently.”

  “Oh,” Elmara said quietly. “I’m sorry, Braer.”

  “Why?” he asked lightly. “You didn’t do it—’tis the magelords who should be sorry … and I and my kin are counting on you to make them so, someday.”

  Elmara drew herself up. “I intend to. Soon.”

  The elf shook his head. “No, lass, not yet. You aren’t ready … and a single archmage, no matter how mighty, can’t hope to succeed against all the magelords and their servant creatures, if they whelm against you.” He smiled and added, “And you haven’t even learned to be an archmage yet. Set aside revenge for a time. ’Tis best savored when one waits a long time for it, anyway.”

  Elmara sighed. “I may die of old age with the magelords still lording it over Athalantar.”

  “I’ve read that fear in your mind often, since we first met,” Braer replied, “and I know it will drive you until your death—or theirs. It’s why you must leave the High Forest before it starts to feel like a cage around you.”

  Elmara took a deep breath, then nodded. “When should I go?”

  Braer smiled. “As soon as I’ve conjured up crying towels for us both. Elves hate long, sad farewells even more than humans do.”

  El tried to laugh, but sudden tears welled up and burst forth.

  “You see?” Braer said lightly, stepping forward to embrace her. Elmara saw tears in his own eyes before they embraced fiercely.

  The night was soft and still and deep blue overhead as El left the familiar shade of the forest and headed across the rolling hills toward distant Ladyhouse Falls. She felt suddenly naked, away from the sheltering trees, but fought down the urge to hurry. Folk in too much haste made excellent targets for outlaws with bows … and with no foe in sight and a heavy load of sausage, roast fowl, cheese, wine, and bread riding between her shoulder blades, she really had no need to hurry.

  She struck the Hastarl road and almost immediately passed by the last marker cairn. It felt marvelous to set foot outside the Kingdom of the Stag for the first time in her life.

  Elmara breathed deeply of the crisp air of fast-approaching leaf-fall, and looked at the land around as she went. She was wading through waist-deep brush, where the Great Fires had been set ten years agone to drive the elves out of all these lands and take them for men. But men huddled in ever-more-crowded cities and towns along the Delimbiyr, and summer by summer, the forest crept back to reclaim the hills. Soon the elves—more bitter and swifter with their arrows than they’d once been—would return too.

  Here shadowtops rose like a dark stand of halberds; there two hawks circled high in the clear air. She went on with joy in her step, and did not halt until it grew too dark to go on and the wolves began to howl.

  She’d expected more than a few ragged stone cottages and a tumbledown barn—but the road ran on and up through the trees toward a distant roar of water; this must be Ladyhouse Falls.

  The road narrowed to a deep-rutted cart trail and turned east. A little path led off it into the trees, along which came the sound of water. Elmara took the way it offered and came out in a field broken by a huge, fire-scarred sheet of rock, with the rushing river hard by, and a high-peaked hall in front of her.

  Ivy was thick on its old stones, and its door was dark, but to Elmara’s magesight it blazed blue, the heart of a web of radiant lines sweeping out across the fields and down the trail she had walked upon. That strand blinked beneath her feet; she stepped aside hastily and advanced thereafter by walking on the mosses beside the trail.

  She almost fell over the old woman in dark robes who was kneeling in the dirt, planting small yellow-green things and covering them over deeply.

  “I was wondering if you’d stride right through my bed without seeing me at all,” she said without looking up, her voice sharp-edged but amused.

  Elmara stared, and then swallowed, finding herself shy. “My—pardon, Lady. In truth, I saw thee not. I seek—”

  “The glories of Mystra, I know.” The wrinkled hands patted another plant into its resting place—like so many tiny graves, El thought suddenly—and the white-haired head came up. Elmara found herself looking into two clear eyes of green flame that seemed to thrust right through her like two emerald blades. “Why?”

  El found herself bereft of words. She opened her mouth twice, and then the third time blurted out, “I—Mystra spoke to me. She said it’d been a long time since she’d met such a one as me. She asked me to kneel to her, and I did.” Unable to meet that bright gaze longer, Elmara looked away.

  “Aye, so they all say. I suppose she told thee to worship her well.”

  “She wrote that, aye. I—”

  “What has life taught thee thus far, young maid?”

  Elmara raised steady blue-gray eyes to meet that glittering green gaze. The old woman’s eyes seemed even brighter than before, but she was determined to hold them with her own, and she did.

  “I’ve learned how to hate, steal, grieve, and kill,” she said. “I hope there’s more to being a priestess of Mystra than that.”

  The wrinkled old mouth crooked. “For many, not much more. Let’s see if we can do better with thee.” She looked down at the bed in front of her and tapped thoughtfully at the loose earth.

  “What must I do to begin?” Elmara asked, looking down at the dirt. There seemed to be nothing of interest there, but perhaps the priestess meant that she should tend plants, as Braer had wanted her to learn the ways of the woods. She looked around … hadn’t there been a shovel thrust into the earth nearby?

  As if the old woman could read her thoughts (as of course she doubtless could, El thought wryly) the priestess shook her head. “After all these years,” she said, “I’ve learned how to do this right, lass. The last thing I need is eager but careless hands mucking in or a young, impatient tongue asking me questions morn and even through. Nay, get ye gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Go and walk the world, lass; Mystra doesn’t gather toothless, chanting men or maids to kneel to stones carved in her seeming. All Faerûn around us is Mystra’s true temple.”

  She waved a bony hand. “Go and do as I bid, thus; and listen well, lass. Learn from mages, without yourself taking the title or spellhurling habits of a wizard. Spread word of the power of magic, its mysteries and lore; make folk you meet hunger to work magic themselves, and give those who seem most eager a taste of spellcasting, for no more payment than food and a
place to sleep. Make maids and men into mages.”

  El frowned doubtfully. “How shall I know when I’m doing right—is there anything I should not do?”

  The priestess shook her head. “Be guided by your own heart—but know that Mystra forbids nothing. Go and experience everything that can befall a man and a maid in Faerûn. Everything.”

  El frowned again. Slowly, she turned away.

  That sharp voice came again. “Sit down and eat first, fool-head. Bitterness lends the weak-witted wings … always try to make a stop to eat into a time to think, and you’ll think more in a season than most think in all their days.”

  Elmara smiled slightly, threw her cloak back, and sat, reaching for the shoulder sack Braer had given her.

  The old woman shook her head again and snapped her fingers. Out of nowhere, a wooden platter of steaming greens appeared in front of El. Then a silver fork blinked into being above it and hung motionless in the air.

  Reluctantly El reached out for it.

  The old woman snorted. “Frightened of a little magic? A fine advocate of Mystra you’ll be.”

  “I—have seen magic used to slay and destroy and rule through fear,” Elmara said slowly. “Wherefore I’m wary of it.” She took firm hold of the fork. “I did not choose to look upon Mystra—she came to me.”

  “Then be more grateful; some wizards dream of seeing her all their lives and die disappointed.” The white-haired head bent to regard the dirt again. “If you hate or fear magic so much, why have you come here?”

  Silence stretched. “To do a thing I am sworn to do,” Elmara said finally, “I’ll need strong magic … and to understand what it is I wield.”

  “Well, then … eat, and get you going. Mind you try some of that thinking I suggest.”

  “Thinking of—what?”

  “That, I leave to you. Remember, Mystra forbids nothing.”

  “Think … of everything?”

  “ ’Twould be a welcome change.”