A curl of smoke drifted up. El watched and grinned in sud¬den exultation. She blew ever so gently at the kindling, and then shifted some twigs and a leaf so that they'd catch, if only the gods smiled—yes! A tiny flame rose, a tongue of faint amber that licked at the leaf and spread brown over it as it fed, grow¬ing higher.
El trembled, suddenly aware that a painful throbbing was beginning in her head, licked her lips, and said over the flame, "My thanks, great Mystra. I shall try to learn, and serve thee well."
The flame soared suddenly, almost burning her nose, and then winked out, gone as if it had never been. Elmara stared at where it wasn't, then sat back, holding her suddenly splitting head. No normal flame would behave that way; Mystra must have heard her.
She knelt there for a few breaths, hoping for some sign or word from the goddess, but there was nothing but darkness under the trees, and a faint whiff of woodsmoke. But then, why should she expect anything more? She'd never seen Mystra in all her life before last night. . . and there were other folk and other doings in Faerun besides Elminster of Athalantar.
Elmara, she corrected herself absently. What did gods spend their days at, anyway?
And then a booted foot came down softly on the ground she was staring at, treading firmly on the Lion Sword. She gasped and looked up. Proud eyes—elven eyes—stared down at her, and their gaze was not friendly. A hand was extended toward her, and there was a sudden glow of light from its palm. The bright radiance grew, stretching out straight down at her, until the tip of a sword of light was in front of her chin.
"Tell me," a light, high voice said calmly, "why I should let you live."
*****
Delsaran sniffed suddenly and raised his head. "Fire!" The tree he'd been shaping fell back limply under his hands as his magic faltered. Quick anger turned the tips of his ears red. "Here, in the very heart of the old trees!"
"Yes," Baerithryn agreed, but laid a restraining hand on his friend's arm. "But a small one; tarry." He raised his other hand, sketched a circle in the air with two fingers, and spoke a soft word.
A moment later, an intent face appeared in the air between them, the face of a human woman. Delsaran hissed but said no more as they heard the woman speak: "My thanks, great Mys¬tra. I shall try to learn, and serve thee well."
The flame soared then, and their spell-vision exploded into a tiny twinkling of blue sparks. Delsaran's jaw dropped. "The god¬dess heard her," he said in grudging disbelief.
Baerithryn nodded. "This must be the one the Lady said would come." He rose, a silent shadow in the gathering night-gloom, and said, "I shall guide her, as I promised. Leave us be ... as you promised."
Delsaran nodded slowly. "The Lady grant us success"—his lips twisted wryly—"all three." Baerithryn laid a silent hand on his shoulder, then was gone.
Delsaran stared unseeing at the tree he'd been shaping, and then shook his head. Humans had slain his parents and their axes had felled the trees he'd first played in ... why did the Lady have to send a human? Didn't she want the People to be guided in learning her service and true mastery of magic?
"I guess she thinks elves are wise enough to guide them¬selves," he said aloud, smiled almost wistfully, and got to his feet. Mystra had never spoken to him. He shrugged, set his hand reassuringly on the tree for a moment, and then slipped away into the night.
*****
Elmara stared up at the sword. "There is no special reason," she said at last. "Mystra brought me here, and"—she gestured down at herself, and a sudden blush stole across her face— "changed me, thus. I mean no harm to you or to this place."
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 un¬dertone that might have been satisfaction or quiet amusement. "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 understand¬ing, 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 breasts 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 un¬pleasant." 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 fin¬gers 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 pa¬tiently 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 mo¬ment 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 be¬fore she even had time to wonder how Braer knew his—her—fa¬ther 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 ges¬tured, 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 them¬selves up in little rooms and become crabbed and crazed, chas¬ing 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 god¬dess, 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 win¬ters 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. El¬mara 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 to¬gether, 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 com¬mented 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 sud¬denly scrambled to catch up with him. As always when she hur¬ried, 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 fi¬nally 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 for¬ward. 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.
