Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [77]
Elmara discovered she was ravenous. The forest bustards had been cooked in a mushroom sauce and were delicious-and the goblet proved to be full of the best mint wine, incredibly clear and heady. She devoured everything; Braer smiled and shook his head more than once as he watched.
When she was done, another flourish of the elf's hands produced a bowl of warmed vinegar-water and a fine linen cloth for Elmara to wash her face and hands with. As she wiped grease from her chin, she saw his grave expression had returned.
"I ask again, Elmara: do you forgive me? I have wronged you."
"Forgive-of course." El stretched forth her newly cleaned hand to squeeze one of his.
Braer looked down at her hand on his, and then back up at her. "I did to you what we of the forest consider a very bad thing: I misjudged you. I did not mean to upset you… nor make it worse by leaving you to your grief. Do you recall just what was said between us?"
Elmara stared at him. "Ye said ye'd wasted much time these past two seasons, and only now could begin to teach me."
Braer nodded. "What question did you ask, to make me say so?"
El wrinkled her brow, and then said slowly, "I asked you why elves love magic."
Braer nodded. "Yes." He waved a hand. All the dinner-things vanished, and a vivid ring of blue mage-fire raced into being around them. He settled himself cross-legged, and asked, "Do you feel up to talking the night through?"
El frowned. "Of course… why?"
"There are some things you should know… and at last are ready to hear."
Elmara met his grave eyes and leaned forward. "Speak, then," she whispered eagerly.
Braer smiled. "To answer one of your questions directly for once: we of the People love magic because we love life. Magic is the life energy of Faerun, lass, gathered in its raw form and used to power specific effects by those who know how. Elves-and the Stout Folk, too, deep in the rocks beneath us-live close to the land… part of it, linked to it-and in balance with it. We grow no more numerous than the land will bear and shape our lives to what the land will support. Forgive me, but humans are different."
Elmara nodded and waved at him to continue.
Braer met her eyes with his own and said steadily, "Like orcs, humans know best how to do four things: breed too rapidly; covet everything around them; destroy anything and everything that stands in the way of any of their desires; and dominate what they can't or won't bother to destroy."
Elmara stared at him. Her face had paled, but she nodded slowly and again gestured for him to continue.
"Harsh words, I know," said the elf gently, "but that is what your kin mean to us. Men seek to change Faerun around them to suit their own desires. When we-or anything else-stand in their way, they cut us down. Men are quick and clever-I'll give them that-and seem to stumble on new ideas and ways more often and more swiftly than any other people… but to us, and to the land, they are a creeping danger. A creeping rot that eats away at this forest and every other untouched part of the realm… and at us with it. You are the first of your race to be tolerated here in the depths of the wood for a very long time-and there are some among my folk who would rather you were safely dead, your flesh feeding the trees."
Elmara stared silently at him, face white and eyes very dark.
Braer smiled slightly, and added, "Death is a goal too few of your race strive for, but one more laudable than many they do pursue."
Elmara let out a long, shuddering breath, and asked, "Why then do you… tolerate me here?"
The elf reached out a hand slowly and tentatively, and as Elmara watched in wonder, he squeezed one of her hands just as she had done to him earlier. "Out of simple respect for the Lady, I undertook to guide you," he said, "and to turn you into ways that could do us the least