'Is it true you led humans and folk of other barbaric races'-Aeramma used the blunt term n'tel-quessir, or 'not-People' in the Elvish tongue-'to secrets we hid from them centuries ago? And that you allowed them to despoil our tombs and sacred places?'
Do not give in to anger, Araevin reminded himself.
His eyes smoldered, but he retained his calm.
'It is true that I traveled in the company of people other than elves,' he said, deliberately referring to them as Tel'Quessir. 'I formed the Company of the White Star from the best folk I could find regardless of race, because I needed stout and loyal comrades to help me. And it is true that we explored some of the forgotten vaults, towers, and libraries of Illefarn and other long-fallen realms. But it is not true that I despoiled elven tombs, or allowed my companions to do so.'
'Did you remove valuables and magical artifacts from places abandoned by the People, or not?' Aeramma demanded.
'What is inherently sacred about a place we have abandoned?' Araevin countered. 'Many of our old cities and palaces in Faerun have become dangerous places. Some are haunted by monsters, some are defended by decaying old spell wards that endanger any who come near, and some were dark and deadly places even before our People left them.' He looked away from Aeramma to the other high mages, and said, 'We opened no tombs, that I can promise you.'
Aeramma seemed unsatisfied by Araevin's answer, but Philaerin chose that moment to step in. The Durothil high mage subsided as the Eldest spoke.
'Ancient ruins and broken mythals are the extent of your interest in Faerun, then?' asked Philaerin.
'To be honest, no. I have spent a great deal of time traveling the human realms, simply to see them. That was not my intent when I first went to Faerun to find our lost portals, but you cannot seek out the old places of Illefarn or other elven lands without coming to know the human cities that have grown up along the Sword Coast.'
'What do you think of our human friends?'
Araevin considered his answer carefully before replying, 'They are a strange folk, so like us in some ways, so different in others… a race of young giants who know not their own strength. Once I thought I was jealous of them. Why should humans inherit the lands where our ancestors lived, after all? But in the course of my travels I made the acquaintance of many humans, and I found among them friends whose wisdom would reflect well on any elf five times their age.'
'I am sure that there are individuals of outstanding character among humans, Araevin,' Kileontheal said. 'Yet, as a race, do they not pose a grave danger? Their numbers grow every year. Their realms spring up with the speed of a forest fire in Flamerule. They have no reverence for those who have gone before them… including us.'
'Yet that is an advantage as well as a danger, High Mage.' Araevin turned to Philaerin and spread his hands. 'We live among the works of our ancestors. We are burdened by their misdeeds, and shackled by their mistakes. What history we write of ourselves in the years to come has already been determined, at least in part, by the wars and grief of ten thousand years. Humans are not bound by the past in the same way we are. Every day is a new beginning for them, an opportunity to discard the mistakes of the day before. We might learn something from that.'
Aeramma frowned and asked, 'Would you also have us copy their squalid cities, their senseless squabbles, or their fickle gods?'
'It seems to me that you see everyone's faults except our own, High Mage,' Araevin said sharply. Despite his determination to remain calm, he was growing angry. The Durothil mage's smug self-assurance was exactly the sort of myopic view that had driven Araevin to seek his answers beyond Evermeet's shores in the first place. 'You don't know humans as well as you think.'
'Nor do you, if you love them so well,' Aeramma retorted.
The noble-born high mage started to frame a more severe reply, but Philaerin raised his hand. He glanced at Kileontheal then at Aeramma. Araevin sensed the lightning-swift flicker of thought from wizard to wizard, and bleakly wondered if Aeramma's thoughts were anything he would care to hear. He settled for clasping his hands before his belt, and waiting. Outside, the surf boomed like distant thunder.
When the high mages appeared to arrive at some consensus, they returned their attention to Araevin.
'We did not call you here to ask you to explain your travels among humans, Araevin,' Philaerin said. 'We have been considering your request to take up the study of high magic for some time now, and we have arrived at an answer.'
Araevin steeled himself against the uncertainty in his stomach. He'd waited two years to hear the response of Tower Reilloch's high mages. He was confident of his lore, and he'd proven himself in his service with the Queen's Spellguard years before, but still… no one was made a high mage unless those who already held that exalted rank concurred in the decision.
This is where Aeramma puts me in my place, he thought bitterly.
'You have demonstrated competence and care with your Art in the years that you have studied at Tower Reilloch. Your skill rivals that of any other wizard in our circle who is not a high mage already, and your scholarship is even more noteworthy,' Philaerin continued. 'All in all, we consider you an excellent candidate for the study of high magic.
'However, you are only two hundred and sixty-six years of age. We would like you to continue your studies here at the Tower for another fifty years or so before we will begin to share with you the power that has been placed in our care.'
'Fifty years?' I have been selected! he thought, with no small relief, but at the same time, he almost groaned aloud at the thought of the wait. He inclined his head to Philaerin and said, 'Thank you, Eldest, for your confidence in me. But that is a long time, even by our measure. What am I expected to learn in that time that I do not know now?'
'To tell the truth, Araevin, I do not know,' Philaerin said with a sigh. 'You have shown an excellent grasp of your studies in the Art, and I believe you could embark on the higher studies tomorrow and not fail. But you know as well as I that, questions of skill aside, we do not make high mages of those who are still young, or those whom we do not know well. Your passion does you credit, but you are so young, and you have spent so much time away from Evermeet. We do not think it unreasonable to see what Evermeet and time might teach you.'
Araevin did not attempt to conceal his disappointment, but he accepted the decision with a curt nod. Arguing his case would certainly not convince Philaerin to let him begin sooner. 'As you wish, Eldest. I look forward to beginning my studies, when it is time.'
'We know you are nearly ready, Araevin,' said Kil-eontheal, not unkindly. 'I do not know of a single high mage who began his studies before his three hundredth birthday, and many of us do not take it up until we are a full five centuries in age.'
'You are, of course, welcome to continue your studies in another Tower,' Philaerin added. 'But I hope you will remain here. You have much you could teach our younger mages. Your time will come, sooner than you think. We will wait.'
Araevin could think of nothing else to add. He touched his hand to his lips and his brow, and bowed again.
'Of course, Eldest. Sweet water and light laughter, until next we meet.'
With his heart a turmoil of frustration and hope, he withdrew from the great hall.
Araevin left Tower Reilloch the next day, following the old track that led east along the steep headlands and forested hillsides of the rugged northeast coast. In the north, Evermeet was covered in dark pine forest, and the trail threaded its way above striking views of the rocky shore and the angry gray sea. Streamers of windblown mist clung to the hilltops and hid the higher slopes above him as he walked, a sturdy staff in one hand and a light rucksack over his shoulders. The seaborne wind was strong in his face, and the forest sighed and rustled with the gusts.
From time to time he found himself glancing up into the treetops, as if to surprise his old companion Whyllwyst. Every time he caught himself at it, he frowned and pulled his eyes back down to the path before him, trying to ignore the stab of sudden grief. It had been more than ten years since his familiar had died, and yet the small gray gyrfalcon still seemed a part of him. Araevin had thought once or twice about summoning another, but
