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others, but he had never pressed the question. “I found him in the astrolabe an hour after the raiders fled. It looked like he destroyed a number of those who came against him. I found shadows shaped like demons blasted into the walls there.”
    “So one high mage is dead, one missing, and one incapacitated,” Araevin sighed. “And three of us are dead, as well. What of the initiates and the other folk of the Tower?”
    The initiates were the lesser wizards and sorcerers, those who were still new in their studies and not yet accounted members of the Circle. There had been fourteen of them.
    Jorildyn, a seasoned battlemage, stepped forward. He had human blood—something that was quite unusual on Evermeet, and regarded with great suspicion in some quarters—and was thickly built compared to the others, with a gray-streaked beard and a gruff manner.
    “Four initiates are dead,” the half-elf reported. “We also lost nine of the Tower Guards and several more of the Tower folk. About twenty are wounded, but all should recover with care.” His face was grim. “We must see to our defenses at once, and make sure this cannot happen again.”
    “We will need a high mage for that, and none are available,” Araevin observed. “We must suffice, then. Quastarte, you are the eldest among us. I will be content to follow your orders.”
    “You are a more skillful wizard than I, Araevin. I would not presume to command you. Or any of you, for that matter. I can only suggest what seems wise to me.”
    “Then let us hear what seems wise to you, loremaster,” Jorildyn said, “and we will take your suggestions as commands.”
    Quastarte fell silent, thinking for a moment, then said, “Very well, then. First, someone must carry word of the attack to the Queen in Leuthilspar, the sooner the better. Does anyone have a spell of teleporting prepared?”
    “Not I,” said Yesvelde.
    “I am afraid I used mine to return to the tower when Kileontheal called,” Araevin said. “I cannot ready another for hours.”
    “I have a scroll I can use,” said Faelindel. “I will leave at once.”
    The abjurer bowed to the other mages and left the chamber, striding quickly.
    “Jorildyn and Eaglewind—take charge of the Tower defenses. I do not think our attackers will return, but we must not be caught off guard again if they do.”
    “It will be done,” Jorildyn replied.
    “Yesvelde, you are a skilled diviner. See if you can learn who our attackers were, and where they came from. We may be able to organize pursuit, if we can learn these things.”
    The diviner bowed her head, accepting her task. “What of me?” Araevin asked.
    “I want you to carefully examine the vaults, armories, and libraries,” Quastarte said. “The hellspawn and their winged masters did not come here simply for mayhem and murder. They must have been looking for something. You know the vaults as well as I. Determine if anything is missing.” The old loremaster looked at the other mages. “In the meantime, I will search for Philaerin. If he is not here, perhaps he was cast into another plane or banished to some far realm by our enemies.”
    Araevin nodded and replied, “I will report back at once if I find anything amiss.”
     
    *****
     
    Over many centuries, the mages who had dwelled at Tower Reilloch had accumulated many magical devices: mighty staves, deadly battle-wands, rings that stored or deflected spells, crystal orbs, enchanted cloaks, and tomes of perilous lore. Many of them had been crafted, forged, or scribed by the circle’s own sorcerers and wizards, while others were prizes of battle, or long-forgotten artifacts that had been brought to Reilloch for safekeeping. Araevin had created a few of the things himself, since he was a skilled artificer of magical devices, and he had brought even more to the Tower from his explorations of old elven ruins in Faerun. His intermittent research into the magical artifices of lost elven realms had required a