of passing the Tower guards.
Three years ago, he thought, we would have laughed at the notion that Evermeet's Towers required guards.
But in the Year of the Unstrung Harp renegade sun elves had joined forces with human sea-wolves and drow from the deep tunnels of the Underdark to launch a great assault against the island kingdom. A terrible spell launched from a traitorous Tower had obliterated the Tower of the Sun, home to the greatest mage circle of Ev- ermeet. Queen Amlaruil and her supporters had defeated the attack, but a third or more of Evermeet's best mages did not survive the battle against the invaders. Since then soldiers of the queen protected the invaluable remaining Towers against any future attacks… and perhaps kept an eye on the circles themselves to make sure that no more scheming mages could gather undetected.
The great doors of blueleaf wood, bound with mithral, opened silently for Araevin. Hesitating only to draw a deep breath and calm his nervousness, he strode into the hall and stood before the Circle of Reilloch Domayr.
Three high mages awaited him near the center of the tall chamber, standing beneath the theurglass and mithral dome that crowned the hall. In Araevin's experience, high mages had no need to resort to trappings such as ceremony or thrones in order to express the power they wielded. Each was a wizard of tremendous accomplishment, the youngest more than five hundred years old, the least among them capable of dueling a dragon and perhaps living to tell the tale. Araevin could sense the Art they wielded as a bright white flame, hidden from sight but powerful nonetheless.
He bowed and said, 'You sent for me, Eldest?'
'Welcome, Araevin,' said Philaerin. The Eldest of Reil-loch Domayr, Philaerin was a moon elf, pale of skin and dark of hair. His expression was grave, but his eyes were kind and thoughtful. He was almost six hundred years old, a very great age for a moon elf, but his face was smooth and unlined. Elves were not truly ageless, of course. The spirit grew stronger, burning brighter and clearer as the years passed, until at last the frail body was no more than a thin envelope through which a brilliant soul shone. 'I hope we didn't interrupt anything important.'
'Not at all,' Araevin replied. 'I was inscribing a new wand to sell in Leuthilspar, but it will wait.'
'How is Ilsevele?'
'I have not seen her for some time. Her duties lie in Leuthilspar. When I finish the wand I am working on, I think I will visit her.'
Araevin smiled as Philaerin's courtesy reminded him of Ilsevele Miritar, his betrothed. It had been several months-or was it a year already? — since Araevin had last seen her. Too long, he decided.
'Your talents as an artificer are well known,' said High Mage Kileontheal.
Araevin turned his attention to Philaerin's companions. Kileontheal was a small sun elf seemingly no more than a girl, but she was an illusionist of great power. High Mage Aeramma Durothil was a proud sorcerer from the highborn Durothil family, utterly confident in his powers.
'Crafting wands and such devices supports my studies and travels. High Mage,' he answered.
'Your studies and travels,' repeated Aeramma.
His manner was brusque and direct. Araevin felt an
He was keenly interested in everything he saw, and he habitually studied his surroundings with an uncanny intensity.
His face set in a small frown, he came to the marble steps leading up to the great hall. Four elf warriors stood watch at the main door, dressed in green cloaks embroidered with a silver starburst insignia over coats of shining mail-Queen's Guards, assigned to Reilloch's garrison.
'Good day,' Araevin said to the warriors. 'Philaerin has summoned me.'
The guard sergeant, a lithe young moon elf, nodded and replied, 'Go on in, Mage Araevin. They're expecting you.'
He returned her smile awkwardly, then swiftly took the last steps. He was still unused to the simple routine of passing the Tower guards.
Three years ago, he thought, we would have laughed at the notion that Evermeet's Towers required guards.
But in the Year of the Unstrung Harp renegade sun elves had joined forces with human sea-wolves and drow from the deep tunnels of the Underdark to launch a great assault against the island kingdom. A terrible spell launched from a traitorous Tower had obliterated the Tower of the Sun, home to the greatest mage circle of Ev- ermeet. Queen Amlaruil and her supporters had defeated the attack, but a third or more of Evermeet's best mages did not survive the battle against the invaders. Since then soldiers of the queen protected the invaluable remaining Towers against any future attacks… and perhaps kept an eye on the circles themselves to make sure that no more scheming mages could gather undetected.
The great doors of blueleaf wood, bound with mithral, opened silently for Araevin. Hesitating only to draw a deep breath and calm his nervousness, he strode into the hall and stood before the Circle of Reilloch Domayr.
Three high mages awaited him near the center of the tall chamber, standing beneath the theurglass and mithral dome that crowned the hall. In Araevin's experience, high mages had no need to resort to trappings such as ceremony or thrones in order to express the power they wielded. Each was a wizard of tremendous accomplishment, the youngest more than five hundred years old, the least among them capable of dueling a dragon and perhaps living to tell the tale. Araevin could sense the Art they wielded as a bright white flame, hidden from sight but powerful nonetheless.
He bowed and said, 'You sent for me, Eldest?'
'Welcome, Araevin,' said Philaerin. The Eldest of Reil-loch Domayr, Philaerin was a moon elf, pale of skin and dark of hair. His expression was grave, but his eyes were kind and thoughtful. He was almost six hundred years old, a very great age for a moon elf, but his face was smooth and unlined. Elves were not truly ageless, of course. The spirit grew stronger, burning brighter and clearer as the years passed, until at last the frail body was no more than a thin envelope through which a brilliant soul shone. 'I hope we didn't interrupt anything important.'
'Not at all,' Araevin replied. 'I was inscribing a new wand to sell in Leuthilspar, but it will wait.'
'How is Ilsevele?'
'I have not seen her for some time. Her duties lie in Leuthilspar. When I finish the wand I am working on, I think I will visit her.'
Araevin smiled as Philaerin's courtesy reminded him of Ilsevele Miritar, his betrothed. It had been several months-or was it a year already? — since Araevin had last seen her. Too long, he decided.
'Your talents as an artificer are well known,' said High Mage Kileontheal.
Araevin turned his attention to Philaerin's companions. Kileontheal was a small sun elf seemingly no more than a girl, but she was an illusionist of great power. High Mage Aeramma Durothil was a proud sorcerer from the highborn Durothil family, utterly confident in his powers.
'Crafting wands and such devices supports my studies and travels. High Mage,' he answered.
'Your studies and travels,' repeated Aeramma.
His manner was brusque and direct. Araevin felt an unspoken exchange between the three high mages, as if their thoughts darted one to the other in a tangible but unseen form.
They mean to test me, he realized. Not a test of skill, or knowledge, simply… personality. What qualities are they looking for? he wondered. What recourse will I have if they do not approve of me?
He calmed his mind with a conscious effort of will as Aeramma continued, 'Tell us a little of your journeys in Faerun, Araevin. You have spent many years away from Evermeet, and we are not familiar with your interests.'
Araevin met Aeramma's measuring look with a steady gaze, refusing to show any lack of confidence. 'I have spent some years studying elven portals and spell structures throughout northwest Faerun. Most are relics of Illefarn or Siluvanede.'
'Evermeet's libraries were not sufficient for this task?' Kileontheal asked.
'The old elfgates are in Faerun, not here. Besides, while the Tower's records have often provided me with useful clues, there is no substitute for experience.' Araevin glanced at the tiny high mage and added, 'As it turns out, our libraries are in need of some updating.'
Aeramma Durothil folded his arms across his chest as if the remark had affronted him.
