Blackstaff (11 page)

The raven-haired woman’s eyes widened then lowered. She turned in his lap slowly, and playfully took a swig from his tankard. Raegar guessed she might have been a thief at one time as well, given how smoothly she blended her passing whispers with her actions. “Spider’s expecting a group of travelers here some time tonight, coming back from Longsaddle on the Long Road—a count and his party, all from Tethyr, I’m told. They stayed here about five tendays back on their way north, and a scout arrived at dusk to ask that rooms be readied for their arrival. Now, did
you
need a room readied, sir?” By that time, she had risen from his lap and straightened her dress, her eyes always locked on his. Ryssa’s clear desire made Raegar even more irritated with Damlath’s plans.

“Alas, no. I’m to be east of here by highmoon, no matter what. As much as I might wish it, I must away after my meal to Stagsmere.” Raegar tried to rekindle hope for both of them. “Mayhaps my errand there will be short, so I might return, should there still be a room for me.”

Ryssa’s eyes confirmed as much but she said, “Wait a breath—Stagsmere? “Why’d you want to go there? That
place has been abandoned for years. Only things out there now are rabbits and ghosts.”

“Not my place to question my duties, I’m afraid. I’ve already said too much, but for your discretions, fair Ryssa.”

Raegar placed three silvers into her fingers as he reached out and put his hands over hers on the tankard. The girl smiled as she slipped the coins into her pocket.

Raegar stood up and made his plans clear to Damlath by sighing loudly and exclaiming, “Innkeeper! That was the finest meal to be had in the North outside of Sea Ward! I thank you and your good serving girl for it.”

He moved toward the bar, noticing that all eyes were on him, including Damlath’s. As he made a show of counting out coin for the meal, he watched in the mirror as Damlath and his companion shook both hands together. Disguised by this motion, the blue-garbed mage slipped the sparkling wand into Damlath’s sleeve while he in turn slid a scroll into the man’s other sleeve. Once that transaction was complete, all three stood and made to leave as well.

Raegar paid Spider a bit more than required, if only to keep his memory sharp on his generous identity as Terrol, servant of House Lanngolyn. He then bowed to him and Ryssa, and headed for the door … only to find it blocked by a large party of dark-skinned armed guards. The foremost guard—clean-shaven but with shoulder length black hair and richly appointed clothes only marred by the grime of the road—smiled at the innkeeper, who greeted him with, “Welcome, Captain. Honored greetings to ye and their excellencies!”

The captain said, more to the party behind them than to Spider, “Your Excellency, our tables are ready.”

The captain and some of his guards moved past Raegar and headed directly toward the fire, creating a perimeter of guards around their tables. Raegar watched them pass and noticed how Damlath’s companions pulled their hoods a little closer and shied away from them.

The guards all wore livery in enamel badges—a green
field with a golden emblem of wheat stalks wrapped by a scroll and a blue ring. While Raegar wasn’t a short man, half of the guards loomed taller over him than he did over Spider. Raegar had seen the badge before in Waterdeep when his surveillance of Blackstaff Tower began. He knew them as the retinue of Lord Gamalon Idogyr, Count of Spellshire and Sage of the Royal Court of Tethyr.

Raegar stepped back toward the stairs to allow them access and realized there was no room at the threshold for six guards, four servants, the entering noblepersons, and himself. Fitting his servant’s guise, Raegar backed up the stairs to clear the way for the party’s entrance. He also realized that the tingling on his back was growing ever stronger, a fact made all the more disturbing when he looked out the door of the inn.

On the porch, a man and a woman stood facing each other, their excellencies Lord and Lady Idogyr. The lady smiled at her husband, and Raegar strained to hear her over the hubbub generated by their party’s arrival. He caught only the tail end.

“—don’t be such a show-off, making your eye glow with blue sparks for a grand entrance.”

She turned away, and when the count faced the doorway, Raegar’s blood froze while tingles ran across his back from the sword. Gamalon, his bald head wrinkled in confusion, had a green gem where his left eye should have been, and the blue sparks spitting from it were easily spotted against his dark skin and salt-and-peppered beard.

Raegar remembered the morning’s destruction and glanced briefly toward Damlath, who seemed just as surprised as Gamalon. When their eyes locked, Raegar nodded and looked directly at the window on Damlath’s left hand. He also made a quick hand signal, long practiced by them, to tell him to toss the item in that direction. He didn’t want everyone in the inn getting blasted by lightning, but Damlath stood, ignoring or misreading the signals.

Raegar shot him a glare and thought, Guess it’s every man for himself.

Raegar backed the rest of the way up the stairs, fumbling with the buckle behind his back that held the blade and scabbard in place and muttering as he went, “Blessed Tymora, free me from Beshaba’s bad luck!”

His attentions shifted between the buckle and the building glow that presaged arcs of lightning between the count’s gem and the sword. Raegar groaned as the buckle caught on one of the other clasps for his armor. The scabbard and sword swung below his right arm, the leather smoldering and charring. Upstairs, he saw a short hallway with doors to seven rooms and windows overlooking the entry, the top of the stairs, and the end of the hallway flanking the chimney. Raegar heard a blade clear its scabbard as one of the count’s guards mounted the stairs after him, having noticed his interest in their party.

Raegar’s mind raced as he tried to judge the best option in a bad situation. He yanked hard on the scabbard to free it just as a small bolt of lightning arced up the stairs to his sword through the guard, dropping him instantly. Knowing even more destruction was to come, Raegar threw the blade as hard as he could out the window over the entrance, praying that the lightning bolts would spare most of the people inside. Just as the sword cleared the window’s frame, the blue sparks coalesced again into two arcs—one leading straight down at Gamalon’s Eye and the other angling to the left, reaching for the wand Damlath had just acquired. The sizzle and flash of three full lightning bolts blasted through wood and stone, and the bolts gathered together to send a fourth blast skyward. Raegar watched the lightning dance across a clear sky, the massive bolt jerking across the horizon and heading toward the southeast.

Below him, the screams of the patrons nearly overwhelmed the groaning noise of the building as the lightning-blasted front began to collapse. Raegar felt the upper floor start to strain and break. He launched himself into a tucking roll backward through the window behind him. He went off the back roof and landed easily on the ground below, landing like a cat on all fours. His plummeting arrival startled a
stable boy who was leading two rearing horses toward the stables.

Raegar had a sudden idea and yelled, “Quickly, boy! Go fetch more of the Guard from their garrison. There’s some evil magic unleashed inside!” Raegar, for his part, ran around the inn to retrieve his sword then flee as fast as he could to reach his horse.

Around the eastern corner, he found chaos. The front porch and a large area of the upper floor lay crumbled and smoldering. Much of the front wall was gone, and numerous people lay dead or unconscious. Others ran screaming from the ruined inn, while two guards remained next to their fallen count. Raegar didn’t see Gamalon’s wife or half the guards, but piles of ash and bone showed him their fate. A pair of young lovers, their rendezvous interrupted, tumbled from their bed by the removal of the front wall, clung screaming and dangling over the remnants of the floor above. Raegar used the distraction to dash past the guards and join the panicked throng heading over the bridge and away from the inn.

He ducked by his horse, which was still lashed to a rail and trying to flee in terror from the lightning strike. Raegar held its reins and soothed it with a quiet voice, all the while looking toward the wreckage of the inn’s front, scanning for his sword. He saw the count’s guard captain had a sword out on Damlath, who stood his ground behind a glimmering spell shield. Damlath’s mysterious companions were nowhere to be seen, and Raegar didn’t feel particularly obliged to help the wizard at present. The flickering firelight lit up the area, and Raegar finally spotted a glint of metal. He saw the short sword lying in the grass, another scabbard burned away entirely around it. Raegar crawled to the sword, keeping himself hidden among the shadows as he heard more guards thundering down the road on horseback from their garrison on one of the nearby farms to the west.

The golden diamonds in the hilt of the short sword glistened beneath the moonlit sky. The ground beneath it was
an inky black and oily, as if a patch of tar had bubbled up beneath the sword. The rogue gripped the pommel, but the ground held it fast. As Raegar fought to pull the sword free, two four-clawed hands formed from the tarlike patch and wrapped around the sword. An eye opened on the back of one of the hands, and a mouth on the other.

“Wakessssss usssssss. Callsssss usssss,” it hissed at the thief.

The tar patch grew beneath the sword, encroaching on where Raegar knelt. He grabbed the sword again and yanked it free from the growing horror, which screamed as he twisted the blade’s edge to cut into the blackness. The scream seemed to echo across the ground and grow louder in two other places around the inn. The sound was instantly drowned out by another crash of lightning, and Raegar looked up, knowing it wasn’t coming from his sword.

Damlath had fired a volley of lightning bolts across the wrecked inn to knock away the count’s guards. Raegar wondered why he attacked and didn’t just leave, but he was shocked to see the wizard close on the now-unguarded and unconscious Gamalon. Raegar watched in horror as his friend reached down and ripped the sparking gem from the man’s eye socket. Darnlath held the gem high, his face triumphant and joyful. He cast a spell as new guards came up the road and surrounded him, and massive hailstones and mists of intense cold engulfed men and horses alike.

“Vengeance!” the captain screamed and swung his sword with both hands at Damlath, but the attack bounced off his spell shield.

Behind them in the ruined taproom, a growing mass of purple energy formed, and a massive black form lunged through a vortex, its surface bristling with teeth, claws, and eyes. Damlath turned to look at it then teleported away before anyone else could react.

Raegar had watched this scene as he unlashed the mare and mounted the saddle. He felt sick to his stomach and leaned over the mare’s shoulder to vomit. That’s when he noticed the blackness on the ground was thickening and
growing toward him, the claws forming strange arms with three hands each. Among those claws, purple sparkles danced and the mouths continued hissing, “Give usssss … Oursssss …”

Raegar flinched from the creature and thought, Got to get away before that grows bigger. I’ll get answers and more chances to be sick later.

He finally allowed the mare her head, and she bolted down the eastern road, her terror giving them the speed to leave whatever horrors they’d unleashed in their dust. All Raegar couldn’t outrun that night were his nagging doubts about his much-changed partner.

K
helben’s words struck Tsarra like a physical blow, and she stopped in her tracks. Her face flushed as she restrained herself from shouting: How dare you ask that of me, master or not? Tsarra’s ears rang, a side effect she attributed to using the
kiira
.

Khelben’s current guise was a fat man in Wands livery, and his abrupt spin on his heels would have seemed comical at any other time.
This is not the time to indulge in childish fears
. Tsarra could feel his irritation with the sending.

Childish? If you’ve already been through my memories, you know
exactly
why I hate undead. Hate, not fear
.

Those around them saw only the fat little guard and his charge—a well-dressed noblewoman in a stunning aquamarine gown—standing and glaring at each other in the middle of Calamastyr Lane.

Fear is the true source of hate, Tsarra. Regardless of what happened in the past, you need to meet Syndra at this time. It’s crucial for your development and all that is to pass these next days
.

You always do that. Do you know how much we hate it?

Do what? Make appropriate decisions when called for?

Oh, snideness too. No—make decisions for everyone around you and automatically assume they’re both right and set in stone as if by godly fiat!

The constant ringing made it almost impossible for Tsarra to hear anything else. Khelben approached her and grabbed her by the arm.

Nameless flew from the darkness across the way, his snarl evident even from two stories up, and he flew directly into Khelben. The feline lashed his wings behind his body and into Khelben’s hood while he sank his claws and teeth into the arm that held his mistress. With his free hand Khelben grabbed the tressym by the scruff and held him so his exasperated yowls and agitated wings were all that disturbed the peace. As Tsarra shrugged herself loose of Khelben’s grip, she noticed the tressym had drawn blood and rent the archmage’s sleeve. She wondered why her familiar wasn’t calming despite her mental urging to do so or why she could hardly feel him in her head. She also wondered about the heavy smell of violets filling her nose, so thick she felt unsteady on her feet.

Khelben whispered, “You forget yourself, child, and with whom you’re dealing.”

“I’m …” Tsarra felt her rage drain from her so quickly she began to fall. All she could manage was a weak whisper before she collapsed on the cobbles. “Khelben, help me.”