He sat down again where he’d been, and Lureene came on silent bare feet to sit beside him as he worked, turning the axe in his fingers as if it weighed no more than an empty mug. After a long minute of silence, he pushed the tankard toward her. “Drink something, Lureene. It’s good… you will be the better for it.”
Lureene sampled it, made a face, and then took another swallow. She set the tankard down, two-handed, and pushed it back. “Perhaps if I live to be your age,” she said dryly, “I’ll learn a taste for it. Perhaps.”
Gorstag chuckled. The metal of the axe flashed in his hands as he turned it again. Firelight glimmered down its edge for an instant. Lureene watched, then asked softly, “Where do you think she is now?”
The strong hands faltered and then stopped. “I know not.” Gorstag reached for the brass oil-flask and stoppered it. “I know not,” he said again. “That’s the worst of it!” Abruptly he clenched his hand; the flask in his grasp was crushed out of shape. “I want to be out there looking for her, doing something!” he whispered fiercely, and Lureene put her arm about him impulsively. She could tell Gorstag was on the edge of tears. He spoke in a tone she’d never heard from him before. “Why did she go?” he asked. “What did I do wrong that she hated it here so much?”
Lureene had no answer, so she kissed his rough cheek, and when he turned his head, startled, stilled his sobs with her lips. When at last she withdrew to breathe, he protested weakly, “Lureene! What-?”
“You can be scandalized in the morning,” she said softly and kissed him again.
(…)
The hawk circles and circles, and waits. Against most prey he will have but one strike. He waits therefore for the best chance. Be as the hawk. Watch and wait, and strike true. The People cannot afford foolish deaths in battle. War to slay, not to fight long and glorious.
Aermhar of the Tangletrees
Advice before the Council in the Elven Court
Year of the Hooded Falcon
“I-I am too tired, lady,” Narm said apologetically. “I cannot concentrate.” Jhessail nodded.
“I know you are. That is why you must. How else will you build the strength of your will to something sharper and harder than a warrior’s steel, as the old mages say?”
Jhessail’s smile was wry. “You will find, even if you never adventure from this day forth, that you will almost never have quiet, comfort, good light, or space enough to study as you are taught to do. You will always be struggling to fix spells in memory while over-tired, or sick, or wounded and in pain, or in the midst of snoring, groaning, talking, or even crying. Learn now, and you will be glad of it, then.”
“My thanks in advance, then, good lady” Narm returned as wryly. Jhessail grinned.
“You learn, you learn,” she said. “Well… why are you not staring at the pages before you? The spells will not remember themselves, you know.”
Narm shook his head, a half-smile of frustration on his face, as he said, “I simply can’t! It’s not possible!”
“So says the warrior when told to learn spells and become a great mage,” Jhessail countered, sitting suddenly in a smooth swirl of silver-gray robes. “So, too, the thief. But you already cast spells! I have seen you… the smallest cantrip you work says you can. ‘Can’t’ died when you read your first runes, lad! You sit there and lie to me with open face and open spellbooks both? You can do better than that!”
“Aarghh!” Narm answered in frustration, striking the table with his fist. “I cannot think with you talking to me, always talking! Marimmar never did this to me! He-”
“Died in an instant because his foolishness was far greater than his art,” Jhessail replied. “I expect more of you than that, Narm. Moreover, you must expect different ways of mastering art whenever you seek a different tutor. Question neither the methods nor the opinions freely given, even if they make you flame within, and do not belittle the knowledge imparted. It will shut off, as one shuts off a tap, and you will get no more for all your pleading and coins. You would be a mage, and know not what sort of pride you will have to deal with, yet? I know well-I’m dealing with your pride, right now!”
“I-my apologies, Jhess-Lady Jhessail. I have no wish to offend you. I-”
“-can avoid such offense by looking to your pages and trying to study through my jabber, and not wasting my time! I am older than you by a good start, lad. I have less left to me than you do, by far, if you have the wits enough to live to full growth-an increasingly doubtful prospect, it is true, but one that I will cling to nonetheless.”
Narm tossed up his hands in wordless despair and bent his head to the spellbook open in front of him. Jhessail grinned again. “Well enough. Remember-no, don’t look up at me. You know I’m beautiful, and I know it, too, but the art of Mystra is far more beautiful. Its beauty lasts where mine will wither with the years. Remember that I have learned some art from Elminster himself-” Narm looked up in surprise. Jhessail scowled and pointed severely down at his book again, “-and I’m fast running out of severe things that he said to me, to parrot back at you. So for the love of Mystra, Narm, look down at your spells and try. That way I can lecture you on the kings of Cormyr, or the court etiquette of Aglarond, or recite the love songs of Solshuss the Bard, and not have to tax my wits so.”
“Aye, I-I’ll try. One question of you if I may, lady, before I do.” Narm looked up at her. Jhessail smiled and nodded. “Elminster spoke so to you? Why?”
“Because he considered it necessary, as I do, at this stage in the training of one who wields the art. Your Marimmar obviously never knew such discipline. Illistyl, who wields far less powerful spells than he did, has known it, and is the better for it. Elminster considered his tutoring remiss if a mage did not know such frustration.
“The art is a thing of beauty in itself, and it can also be helpful and creative. Too many spellcasters neglect such facets of art in their haste to gain wealth, and influence- and enemies-by mastering fire and lightning. Remember that, Narm. In years to come, if you forget everything else I taught you, remember that. You saw The Shadowsil’s death. Elminster trained her for a long time. You saw what a fascination with power, and power only, can do.”
“Aye… but why else become a mage?”
“Why? Why!? Why become anything other than a farmer, a hunter, or a warrior? Those three professions the world forces upon any born here, if they try to scratch out a living for themselves in the wilderness. All else-carpentry, painting, weaving, smith-work-one does because one has the aptitude and the desire.
“If power is all you want, become a warrior-but mind you always strike at the weak and unprotected. Your arm may grow weary with all the slaying, but power you’ll have and power you’ll use over others-until, of course, you fall before the greater power of another. Keep up questions of this ilk, Narm, and you’ll find I can keep up the testy temper of Elminster! Why aren’t you looking at your books?”
“I-aye. Sorry, Lady Jhessail.” It was Jhessail who threw up her hands in despair this time.
“Gods above,” she sighed. “To think that I once behaved as this one does! It is a wonder, indeed, that Elminster did not deem the form of a slug or a toad would do me more fittingly, to end my days! Patience, above all, patience! Pity the poor student of art; he still has this lesson ahead of him! Pity the little laurite, indeed!”
Narm looked up, alarmed. Jhessail winked, and then screamed, “Again you allow meaningless noise to distract you! You call yourself a magic-user!?
“Have you ever seen a rat? Oh, they’ll crouch back to avoid a stick-but if you run about yelling, and they are eating in the grain sack, they’ll go on eating as long as they can. If they must run, they’ll run with mouth full, and fully intending to return! Have you no more brains than a rat? Study, boy, study! Kings are born to their station; rats are born to theirs, too. All the rest of us must work for it! Study, I say!”
The door opened and Illistyl peered in. “Too lite a performance,” she remarked mildly. “Now, if you could only imitate Elminster’s voice…” She closed the door again hastily as Jhessail hurled a quill stand in her direction.
After the crash, the door popped open again, and Illistyl looked in again, rather anxiously. “You don’t have any more of those at hand, do you?” she inquired, looking down at the unharmed brass at her feet. Jhessail grinned at her.
“Unfortunately not,” she said. “He’s using it.”
“Using it? Whatever for? He hasn’t written a line all this time. He seems to have been otherwise occupied,” Illistyl declared, with exaggerated innocence. Her eyes found Narm, staring up at them both in astonishment, and she grew a head taller upon the instant. Her hair rose about her head, and her eyes grew the size of thumbs. “What’s this? A few words we exchange, and this student breaks off his studying? Is he weak-minded? Is he a prankster? Or is he just wasting his teacher’s time?”
All this time, as she shouted, Illistyl was rushing toward a frightened and dumbfounded Narm, until she was only inches away. Whereupon she smiled sweetly, and added in a normal voice, “Narm, how are you ever going to advance your art if you can’t concentrate as well as any three-year-old playing in the mud?”
Narm looked as if he was about to cry, and then burst into helpless laughter. “I’ve never learned art like this before!” he said, when he managed to speak again.
“You must be used to a lot of ponderous dignity and mystical mumbling,” Illistyl said. “Now look down at your book again… you can’t read runes while you’re looking at me.”
Narm sighed loudly and feelingly, and bent to his books once more. “Mystra aid me,” he muttered.
“She’ll have to. But give her a little help in the task, eh?” Illistyl responded. She turned to Jhessail. “Well, it’s nice to know I wasn’t the only one to climb stone walls in my frustration at this stage of your teaching.”
Jhessail raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t, in my turn? Elminster continuously threatened to spank me with an unseen servant spell while I studied. Then he threatened to force me to battle him with the spells I’d managed to memorize through all of that.”
Illistyl chuckled. “You never told me that! Did he make it any more than a threat?”
“No. I learned to study through nearly anything, with astonishing speed.”
“Think he’ll do as well?” Illistyl asked quietly, nodding at Narm’s bent head. Jhessail shrugged.
“For himself, aye. But as protector and mate to one who will be attacked day after day because she can wield spellfire-that’s less certain. Are you listening again, Narm?” •
Narm looked up. “Sorry, did you ask me something?”
“Much better/’ Jhessail replied. “See that you apply yourself in this, Narm. Your life-and your lady’s life-will certainly depend upon it.”