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his arm. "Know, Elminster, that I believe in you far more than most. I felt the Lion Sword's enchantment stripped away by dragonfire that day when Undarl destroyed Heldon, and looked to see what befell, and saw a young lad swear vengeance against all cruel wizards and the magic they wielded. A man of great wits and inner kindness and strength, who might grow to be mighty. So I watched over him as he grew, and liked the choices he made, and what he grew to become… until he came to confront me in my temple, as I knew he would in the end. And there he had the courage and the wisdom to debate the ethics of wielding magic with me-and I knew that Elminster could become the greatest mage this world has ever known, if I only led him and let him grow. I have done that-and El, lovely man, you have delighted me and surprised me and pleased me beyond all my hopes and expectations."

They stared into each other's eyes, and Elminster knew he'd never forget that calm, deep gaze of infinite wildness and love and wisdom, however many years might lie ahead.

Then Mystra smiled a little and bent to kiss his nose, her hair brushing his face and chest. El breathed in her strange, spicy scent anew for a moment and trembled with renewed desire, but Mystra lifted her head and looked southeast, into the quickening breeze. "I need you to go to Cormanthor and learn the rudiments of magic," she said softly.

Elminster raised an eyebrow. " 'The rudiments of magic'? What have I been hurling about so far?"

Mystra looked down at him with a quick smile. "Even knowing what I am, you dare to speak so-I love thee for that, El."

"Not what you are, Lady," Elminster dared to whisper, "but who you are."

Mystra's face lit up with a smile as she went on, "Power, yes, but without discipline or true feeling for the forces you're crafting. Ride south and east from here to the elven city of Cormanthor… you'll be needed there in time to come. Apprentice yourself to any archmage of the city who'll have you."

"Aye, Lady," said Elminster, sitting up eagerly. "Will the city be hard to find?"

"Not with my guidance," Mystra said with a smile, "yet be in no haste to rush off. Sit with me this night and talk. I have much to tell you… and even gods grow lonely."

Elminster nodded. "I'll stay awake as long as I can!"

Mystra smiled again. "You'll never need to sleep again," she said tenderly, almost sadly, and made a complicated gesture.

A moment later, a dusty bottle stood between them. She wiped its neck clean with one hand, teased out the cork with her teeth like any serving-wench, took a sip, and passed it to him.

"Blue lethe," she said, as Elminster felt cool nectar slide down his throat. "From certain tombs in Netheril."

Elminster raised his eyebrows. "Start telling," he said dryly, and then glowed in the midst of her tinkling laughter.

It was a sound he treasured often in the long years that followed…

Thus it was that Elminster was guided to Cormanthor, the Towers of Song, where Eltargrim was Coronal. There he dwelt for twelve summers and more, studying with many mighty mages, learning to feel magic, and know how it could be bent and directed to his will. His true powers he revealed to few-but it is recorded that when the Mythal was laid, and Cormanthor became Myth Drannor, Elminster was one of those who devised and spun that mighty magic. So the long tale of the doings of Elminster 'Farwalker' began.

Antarn the Sage

from The High History of Faerunian Archmages Mighty

published circa Year of the Staff

This file was created with BookDesigner program

bookdesigner@the-ebook.org

12/17/2007

LRS to LRF parser v.0.9; Mikhail Sharonov, 2006; msh-tools.com/ebook/

Table of Contents

Scanned, proofed and formatted by BW-SciFi

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

"I-"

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Epilogue