Blackstaff (22 page)

Palron leaped to defend his vampiric mistress, while Ahaud clambered up the wall like a spider, drawing two very ornate black short swords as he ran. Only the Leiran priest watched their smiling captive as he flexed his arms and legs then clenched his grip, magical energies surging from his hands. The priest brought up his triangular holy
symbol to start a spell when the mage drew his knee across his body as he pulled his left leg up. Luuthis crumpled, never seeing the flagstone smash into his head.

“Interesting maneuver, child.” Ahaud remarked. “We’ll have that secret as well before you free yourself.” The drow touched the tips of his short swords together, and a purplish-black bolt of magic exploded toward the defenseless mage.

“Indeed?” The mage’s steel-blue eyes sparkled with contempt for the drow as the blast hit him full force. The color of the magic shifted immediately to light blue, and the magic leeched into the magical webbing that spread-eagled the man in the center of the tower. Suffused in blue energy, the mage kicked his right leg out and yanked his right arm down and across his body. Two stone blocks attached to the webs hurtled toward Ahaud.

The drow disappeared with a
pop
, reappearing a few yards up the wall, still clinging to it like a spider. “You missed, boy!” he crowed. “Enjoy your freedom a few heartbeats more.…”

“It will last longer than your life, Ahaud of House Tanor’thal.” The young mage spun in mid-air, and the three stones still attached to the spell webs that once held him scraped and rebounded against the walls below him.

“Don’t count on that, wizard!” Xaerna cried, her face twisted in anger as she flew toward him. “Your death will be as miserable as that whisper of a beard on your chin.”

Down below, the wizard could see Palron Kaeth hunched over the body of Saquarl, the illithid’s neck obviously broken. The scraps that once possessed the illithid swarmed around the male vampire.

The young wizard pulled with his anchored left arm, which drew him into the tower’s upper reaches and dislodged the stone. He floated of his own volition, but his final anchor stone crashed into Xaerna’s left wing and slowed her pursuit. Ahaud continued the chase, easily running up the smooth black stone walls.

Ignoring his pursuers, the wizard began a new spell. He spun rapidly, the arcane webbing and stones it trailed all glowing. Ahaud and Xaerna avoided the stones, and they too cast spells. The fireball left her fingers a few seconds after the drow unleashed his lightning, and while the wizard reflected the bolt right back at Ahaud, the fireball exploded just above him, slamming him against a wall and burning away his hair.

“Pity the much-vaunted Seven Wizards of Myth Drannor failed to teach you better.” Xaerna flew to where the naked man smoldered in one of the upper windowsills, and she began casting a paralyzing spell.

Despite the distractions, the young wizard uttered the spell’s final syllables looking into Xaerna’s eyes.

“Xymmaoth Piurasjk Atox!”

Wincing from the pain of burnt skin, the wizard pulled all his limbs together, tucked himself into a ball, and fell backward through the window. The magic he cast remained on the windowsill and the wall, gold and red energies leeching into the stones.

“All that effort to escape, and he wishes to fall to his death? And what is that? Ahaud, do you know this spell?” Xaerna demanded. “It’s seeping into the stones, and I can’t dispel it!”

“I don’t know, Xaerna. I’ve never seen its like.” Ahaud glanced out the window, scanning down then up toward the tower’s peak. “The boy’s atop the roof!”

The mage shivered as wind and rain lashed against his naked form, but he smiled back at Ahaud as the drow clambered out into the night and started walking up the outer tower. The silent wizard took to the air and looped swiftly once around the tower. Then he slammed into it with his shoulder, screaming in pain as he hit. Ahaud could see the human’s shoulder was broken with bones jutting partly from his skin.

The drow’s satisfied smile lasted only moments as he realized the tower had shuddered beneath the impact. He saw the results of the earlier spell. Red and gold magic
weakened mortar and stone. With the magically enhanced impact, the tower fell inward on itself.

In a matter of moments, Silorrattor lay in a huge mound of rubble and dust. The son of Arun barely even heard the screams of his former captors over the din of grinding stone. By the time he reached the ground as well, all was silent. Arun’s son groaned as even the slight jar from landing sent spasms of pain through his shattered shoulder. Still, he smiled grimly as a cloud of stone dust settled in the rain.

“They taught me enough, witch. They taught me architecture, to be sure.”

“Easy, Tsarra. I’m sorry—I thought the visions would ease on you in time.” Khelben’s voice penetrated her consciousness before her vision cleared.

“I don’t recall your other apprentices being so inclined to faint, Blackstaff.” Lord Wands chuckled as he held her on the opposite side. “Are you afraid of heights, my dear?”

Tsarra gulped as she got her bearings. They were back in Maskar’s study, and she lay on a divan in one corner beneath the windows. The sun was muted and much closer to sunset. “No, Lord Wands, I’m not. I think it was the smell that triggered the vision … or perhaps the sound of scraping stone …”

Maskar asked, “What visions are those? From that
kiira
you wear?”

“She sees my past, Maskar” Khelben said. “Amazingly, even before I was Chosen.”

Tsarra felt his concern and admiration, then was surprised as her master’s eyes rimmed with tears.

“I’m sorry this onus fell to you, Tsarra.”

Maskar had also moved closer, and he touched Tsarra on her shoulder. “My dear, are you wearing the Coronal’s Beljureled Belt?”

Khelben and Tsarra noticed the belt had become exposed from beneath her leather top. Maskar stared at the glowing green gems and gold scales alone, as did Tsarra—the
gems and the buckle were the only things that didn’t seem to be part of her flesh! She touched it, and the gold scales shimmered, but they felt like skin.

“Yes,” Khelben sighed. “I’d not told her, as I didn’t want her intimidated by bearing one of Eltargrim’s gifts. Do not worry—its wearer can remove it at will. The merging is just another way to hide the belt from thieves.”

Tsarra smiled and ran a finger along the belt. “My mother taught me not to revere things over people, milords, and that all items are meant to be respected as tools and used, not feared or venerated.”

Khelben said, “That woman continues to earn my respect long after her untimely death. Yes, Maskar, you know I would only bring that item from the shadows for one reason.”

Lord Wands cleared his throat again and said, “So it’s that time, Blackstaff? Rhaelnar’s Legacy is to be fulfilled?
That’s
the third favor? Do I need to hide a Nether Scroll for you, should a foolish treasure hunter actually reform one?”

“No, old friend,” Khelben replied. “Rhaelnar’s Legacy is a blind that hides a greater secret, one I’d hoped to forestall for another three-score years yet. As my hidden foe now has two components I’d never expected uncovered, an inheritance more powerful than Netheril’s writings will soon rise. I need you—we shall locate the scabbard in our own way—to participate in a high magic ritual out on the High Moor on the Feast of the Moon.”

“High magic?” Maskar said. “I have neither elf blood nor that kind of intimacy with the Weave, old friend.”

“I have it on good authority we’ll have help in that regard.”

“Who can promise you that?”

The air around Khelben’s head shimmered slightly, a hazy halo of stars coming into view. His eyes were rimmed with silver, and Maskar and Tsarra both gasped as Mystra’s symbol manifested clearly for a breath before dissolving into the remnants of the sunbeam.

“Very well,” Maskar said. “What’s the task—fully restoring Myth Drannor?”

“No, though a few worthies of that realm may join us for the working. No, ’tis something older still. We need your wisdom as much as your knowledge of the Art for our ritual. Besides, you’ve little delight in these galas of overstuffed shirts. Join us at Malavar’s Grasp, and help us tame magic that has slept for millennia.”

“Getting away will take some doing, Blackstaff, especially if it needs to happen without undue notice. For me to disappear from my villa during a birthday feast in my honor will draw attention.”

“You’re capable of slipping away without anyone the wiser, Maskar. Besides, it has been a score of years since you reminded people you’re a wizard of power with many secrets they dare not invade.”

“Good point. My reputation is in need of repair, and it’s been longer since I’ve been well and truly surprised by magic. What you’re hinting at sounds too intriguing to miss. You have my promise to meet you at the Fallen One’s Fingers, aye. I cannot break away earlier than daybreak on the Feast, but I shall meet you at Malavar’s Grasp by moonrise, regardless of my family’s wish for a three-day-revel.” Lord Wands smiled as he shook both Khelben’s and Tsarra’s hands.

“Are you well enough, Tsarra? We need to move quickly now.” Khelben helped her into a sitting position.

“I think so,” Tsarra said, standing up and stretching. Her balance was restored, and she readjusted her top to cover the belt again.

“All right,” Khelben said. “Many thanks, Lord Wands. It is now time we consulted with another god. I’ve a feeling there’s much for us to learn at the feet of Oghma. Summon your tressym, Tsarra, and let us make haste for the Font of Knowledge. In the interests of both safety and propriety, we owe Sandrew the Wise a visit.”

R
aegar woke abruptly as the slap tore him from an exhausted slumber. What kept him conscious was the flesh-chilling cold from the lich’s touch, the marble floor, and the many other pains across his body. The stunning effect had long worn off, but the beatings and lack of sleep were having a cumulative effect on him. The late afternoon sun lit the upper dome of the Stagsmere entry chamber through its shattered skylight, but the rays were intermittent as clouds still gathered overhead, as they had all through the night and morning. While Raegar enjoyed the fleeting warmth of it, the afternoon sun in his eyes had lulled him to sleep for a time.

Raegar hated feeling helpless, but he could only turn his head from left to right. The night before, the lich had summoned and morphed a trio
of skeletons into a bone cage that anchored him spread-eagled on the floor. Turning his head away from the lich, he could see his broken short sword, two of his daggers, and his magical rings in a clump against one wall, tossed aside when the lich’s spells overwhelmed and disarmed him. He couldn’t see where the lich had taken the Diamondblade, but he was glad he didn’t need to dodge any lightning because of it.

“I realize you’re not genteel, Raegar, but you must stop falling unconscious when I’m talking.” The creature’s skull loomed close to his face, its soulless features even more disturbing up close. “You’re young, but Waterdhavians were made of sterner stuff in my day.”

Raegar spat a stream of invectives at the lich foul enough to make a Dock Ward sailor blanch. To his chagrin, no sound came from his throat due to a magic placed on him a few hours before. Raegar had been hurt many times by people and circumstances in the past. Never once had he ever felt so helpless. He pushed against the bone cage, but his efforts were less effective than they had been hours before. He was weak from exhaustion, but his hatred for his situation and his captor burned bright. The thief entertained methods of revenge and stored them away for more appropriate times to exact them.

“Yes, this is better … much easier with you incapable of interrupting me,” the lich gloated. “Besides, don’t you wish to learn more for those little scribes of the Font of Knowledge? Laughable, that they think themselves worthy to take for themselves the secrets wizardry has wrested from the cosmos. At least this venture has proven fruitful with a number of new pawns and Rhaelnar’s Legacy itself within my grasp.” The lich paced around the chamber, sprinkling an area with powders and herbs, gesturing mystically at various points, and obviously focusing on a major work of magic while simultaneously torturing the captive Raegar.

The lich had spent the past eighteen hours magically building something in this chamber and torturing Raegar for
more information on Khelben and modern-day Waterdeep. The creature also lectured on the superiority of southern magic and the gentrific elegance that was the Shoon Imperium and its magical works. One thing the lich did not do was reveal his name to Raegar, which was fine. Raegar had more colorful names for him in his head.

I would gladly kill this lich simply to spare anyone else the boredom and pain, Raegar mused to himself. At least he’s taken off that skullcap and I’m able to think without him stealing my thoughts.

The thief shuddered when he felt the lich invade his mind and mine every detail of his life, significant or otherwise. His only pleasure came when the lich discovered how many insulting swear-word-filled names Raegar had silently given him.