Blackstaff (29 page)

“Raegar, sweetums,” Kyri teased, “you’re going to make me think I’ve lost my touch. I asked you nicely where Damlath is and you’ve ignored me.”

“Sorry, Kyri,” Raegar whispered. “Damlath’s dead, and I’m going to help take out the bastard who killed him.”

Kyri’s playful teasing and the laughter in her eyes stopped instantly. She whispered a prayer to Selûne then kissed Raegar on the cheek before whispering, “Avenge our friend, Stoneblade. If I could help you, I would, but the Blackstaff demands other tasks of me tonight.”

“What is
he
doing here, Laeral?” The tall man’s voice boomed across the room as he pulled his hood back, revealing a strong, clean-shaven face and long, dark hair. “Bad enough I’ve had to work with—”

“Patience, Malchor,” Laeral interrupted. “We all have our roles to play here, whether planned, foretold, or otherwise. He has a stake in this too, and one far more personal than yours.”

“Raegar has met the foe who drives our plan forward and will face him where you won’t.” To Raegar’s surprise, Khelben appeared on the stairs. He bore none of the wounds he’d suffered only hours before, and Tsarra was nowhere
to be seen. Raegar glanced toward Laeral and cocked an eyebrow, and she shook her head. Raegar knew life among wizards could be puzzling, but he found himself distracted by the missing Tsarra Chaadren.

“Who is our foe, exactly?” Winter Zulth asked, his voice soft and barely heard among the general buzz of muttered conversations.

“Time,” Khelben said, as he descended the stairs into the chamber. “Time and Priamon Rakesk.”

Kyriani asked, “How can you expect Raegar to survive alone against that creature? Frostrune even managed to surprise Halaster!”

“Using the honorific that fool gave himself just feeds his arrogance.” Khelben said. “That said, Raegar shall not face him alone. He and I do this together along with Tsarra Chaadren and her familiar.”

Nameless sat up and promptly snapped his wings open when Khelben drew the room’s attention to him.

Khelben moved to the center of the room, holding one blackstaff shod with silver caps on each end in his right hand. Another staff was slung across his back, a thick ruby set one foot down its shaft and intricate carvings crawling the length of its surface. Crooked in his left arm, he carried a large oaken box similar to the one Laeral had placed on the floor behind them. Khelben turned and nodded greetings to everyone in the room, eight visitors in all beyond himself, Laeral, and Raegar. By the time he’d finished greeting the others, he stared at Laeral and said, “Gamalon can remain secluded a bit longer, until you truly need him, dear. But where’s Nain? I thought he had arrived earlier this afternoon. It’s not like him to be late.”

A sneeze from up the stairs heralded the arrival of Nain Keenwhistler. Coming into the light, his chalk-white hair and pasty appearance set him apart from the shadows of the stairwell. The wizard was gangly, a well-dressed scarecrow in well-appointed russet robes and shining black boots. He bore a massive tome in his hands, and his attentions were on that. He did not see the room or the persons there until
he looked up. Raegar noticed the man looked sickly and wan, but Nain blanched even further when he saw the blackstaves standing at attention in the chamber. The large tome fell from his hands and tumbled down the stairs.

“Oh no,” Nain whispered. “No, Khelben. Not again. You promised. Never again.”

“If there were any other way, I would do it. There is no other option,” replied Khelben.

“Then find another to do my part.” Nain’s voice quivered with tension and desperation.

“Khelben, do you really think it’s …?” a tiefling mage unknown to Raegar asked, but a glare from the Blackstaff stopped his inquiry cold.

“Yes, I do, Tulrun, and Master Keenwhistler knows it as well. You all know that I do not trust easily.” Khelben’s pause rested in a pointed stare at Maaril. “Each of you has talents, abilities, and proclivities we need for this plan to succeed. Each of you will contribute more than you even know to a work of utmost importance. So much depends on you all on this Feast of the Moon.”

“I don’t want to touch one of those things ever again, Khelben! Haven’t I given enough? How many times can you ask me to do this?” Nain Keenwhistler sat down, his face ashen in despair.

“Only this one last time, Nain,” Khelben said, placing the box in Nain’s lap. “Mystra has vowed it be so, and our Lady of Mysteries smiles on those who bear their burdens with trust in her.”

“Easy for you to say, Blackstaff,” Nain wailed. “You haven’t died
four
times in her service. Twice by
your orders
.”

“True. I’ve only done so
seven
times, and countless others have given their lives for our plan to reach this point. Any sacrifices are worth it, and you all know it. The stakes and what we do—what we gain for the Realms—are too high to not risk all we can … all we must.” His tone softened, and he reached out to rest a hand on Nain’s shoulder, who flinched in response. “You are far stronger than you ever
believed yourself to be, Nain Keenwhistler. Do not doubt, when this night shall show you what true strength and character can do. Believe in this and yourself.”

Maaril snorted behind Khelben and said, “If I’d known I would be working with simperers, I would never have left my tower.”

Laeral snapped back at him, “Maaril, this man needs no dragons to bulwark his power.”

Maaril opened his mouth to protest but stopped as Laeral narrowed her eyes at him and continued, “In his lifetimes, Nain has faced terrors you could not without soiling your oh-so-splendid robes. Now hold your tongue, lest someone here volunteer to hold it for you.”

Khelben said, “Well put, my dear. Now, we must away. Laeral, Malchor, I trust you two can ready our allies and the site.” He turned on his heels, heading toward the door. “Raegar, tressym, both of you come with me, now.”

Khelben moved to the door and opened it, finally turning around to face the crowd of assembled Art-wielders. He bowed from the waist, tipping his staff to his forehead in salute. “We shall all meet on the Plains of Kahyraphaal before moonrise tomorrow at Malavar’s Grasp or its environs. Milady and Malchor Harpell speak for me in the meantime. Good luck, the speed of gods, the wishes of Those who Watch, and the Moon’s Benison upon us all. We shall meet in the eye of the storms before dawn.”

Raegar didn’t understand half of Khelben’s farewell, but the tone was hopeful, and most heads in the room nodded agreement. Nameless leaped off the wardrobe and settled around Khelben’s shoulders, tucking one wing under the wizard’s chin to stabilize his perch.

The Blackstaff’s pace forced Raegar to dash after him, and the two of them left Blackstaff Tower at a fairly good clip. Raegar drew up the hood of his cloak as rain pelted down on him. He glanced up and saw lightning bolts play across the sky, thunder booming in response. Five more lightning bolts zigzagged across the clouds and struck the peak of Mount Waterdeep. The thunder rattled shutters
and startled many a horse in the City of Splendors that night. Raegar wondered if the weather was an omen of worse things to come.

“Um, Lord Arunsun?” he asked, as Khelben moved far more quickly than he expected. The mage was already five paces ahead of him and marching straight down Swords Street. “Where are we going?” Raegar noticed that the rain seemed too afraid to touch the Blackstaff, as he and his clothes remained dry despite the downpour.

“To the Eightower.”

“Isn’t that tower haunted?”

“Indeed.”

“And we’re going there because …?” Raegar finally caught up with Khelben.

“Because its mistress has cause for revenge against Priamon, as do I.”

Raegar put on a tight, toothless smile. “Good. I’d hate to be the only one.”

Raegar and Khelben made their way down past Tharleon Street, and the pyramidal top of the Eightower loomed above them. It shone in the stormy night, but its light barely spread beyond the edges of the tower itself. Raegar had heard of the tower and passed it by many times. The pyramid on top was Shoon-inspired architecture that marked the building as the home of a wizard or sorcerer. He heard that anyone who crossed the threshold of the garden gate drew the attention of the spirit who haunted the grounds. Raegar’s father loved telling spook stories, but all his son remembered was that the ghost was a member of House Wands. The Wands clan kept the property undisturbed, aside from having servants harvest flowers and vegetables from the gardens, in respect for their lost ancestor.

“Khelben, are you sure this will lead us to Frostrune?” Raegar asked. As they entered the archway into the garden and stepped onto the slate flagstones of the garden path, the rogue felt a slight chill.

Lightning lit up the sky in a massive triple strike of bolts into Mount Waterdeep. Just as those struck, another bolt
exploded overhead as lightning erupted from the pyramid, joining its brethren in the skies. The crystal facets glowed and crackled, shimmering with energy. Khelben stared upward into the driving rain at the tower, and Raegar barely heard his reply over the wind.

“Indeed.”

T
he three of them walked quickly to the doors of the Eightower, only to find them shimmering with an opalescent gray field of energy. Khelben frowned then looked up, shielding his eyes from the rain with his hand.

“Would you mind a spell that would allow you to climb the walls like a spider?” Khelben asked. “I’d as soon avoid wasting spells to bypass this barrier.”

“Fine by me, Blackstaff. If not for that lich stealing my last pair of boots, I could do that myself.”

Khelben cast the spell and Raegar jumped up, his hands and boots sticking to the stone walls like glue. “I’ll assume you have some way to get us inside once we’re above the main floor?” the rogue said as he started climbing the rain-slick tower.

“Yes, Stoneblade. Now hurry up.” Khelben
flourished his hand and slowly rose into the air. Despite the winds, he levitated straight upward and outpaced Raegar’s climb.

“Show-off,” Raegar muttered under his breath. He thought he heard a strange purr come from the tressym, but the noise failed beneath the crash of lightning. Raegar tensed and waited for the thunder to end, but instead it subsided into a constant rumble. Looking up, he saw no end to the lightning bolts coming from the pyramid.

The two of them stopped at the last arrow slit beneath the pyramid. The smell of burnt air was strong, and lightning relentlessly crackled from the pyramid’s top, linking the tower to the thunderheads above the City of Splendors. Smaller lightning bolts splintered off the pillar of energy and crackled toward Mount Waterdeep and the taller spires across the city.

Three brave griffon-riders swooped from the clouds toward the tower, narrowly avoiding the stray bolts.

“Lord Arunsun! Our attempts to dispel this lightning have failed. Do you have any orders?” Raegar barely heard the rain-soaked Guard captain over the wind and thunder.

Khelben yelled, “Back away, now!”

“But sir—” the captain’s protest was cut short by the crackle of lightning, and the energy slammed into the griffon’s wing, knocking it and its rider into a screaming spiral toward the ground.

“Blast it!” Khelben shouted as he cast a quick spell that slowed the griffon’s fall.

The other guards guided their griffons down to aid their comrade just as two women flew from around the other side of the tower. Raegar had seen both of them in recent days coming in and from Blackstaff Tower—Carolyas Idogyr and Maliantor, former students of Khelben and current members of Force Gray.

“What do you need, sir?”

The redheaded half-elf was impatient, like another half-elf Raegar found himself thinking about more and
more often. Where was Tsarra? The darker-skinned and black-haired Maliantor said nothing, instead casting a spell above them.

“Ah, good.” Khelben looked at her and said, “Go retrieve your uncle Gamalon from my tower. His vengeance is at hand.”

Carolyas’s surprise was evident on her face, but she immediately flew in a straight arc toward the top of Blackstaff Tower.

Raegar had a hard time keeping an eye on the white-clad wizardess and keep his grip on the wall. Magic or not, his muscles ached from the climb and clinging to the tower. He looked at his perch, one foot in the wider well at the bottom of an arrow slit, examining the stonework. He ran his fingers along the mortar and picked at it with his fingernails until his attention was drawn away by Khelben’s yell.

Khelben looked up at Maliantor and shouted, “Mali! We need you here!”

Both men watched her complete a spell, which created a pulsing ring of colored energy. Maliantor looped around the tower and zipped between Khelben and Raegar. Lightning, which once flashed perilously close, went harmlessly into the spell-ring or up into the clouds.

“An interesting spell, Maliantor All-Seeing. What do you call it?”

“It’s still unnamed, but I suppose ‘nyth barrier’ will do for now.” The black-tressed woman, Raegar noticed, was untouched by the rain, a transparent field of magic keeping all the water off of her. “What did you need, old man?”

“A passwall, if you would. I need to conserve spells for the moment.”

“Sorry, Khelben. In accord with your message yestermorn, I prepared for lightning, not stone.”

Khelben’s jaw dropped. Raegar’s and Maliantor’s eyes all widened in surprise. In a heartbeat, Khelben’s usual stony face returned.

Raegar cleared his throat and said, “How strong is that sword you loaned me, Blackstaff?”

“Two balors couldn’t break it fighting over it,” Khelben replied. “Why?”

“Just get some spell ready that can hit it with some force,” Raegar shouted over a gust of wind. He shifted his perch sideways and down on the tower, drawing the sword. The orange flames came to life on the short sword and resisted the rain. Raegar looked back at the two levitating wizards and said, “Once this is set, hit the pommel with whatever force you can.”

He eyed the stonework one last time before he stabbed the short sword’s point into the mortar just beneath the round hole at the arrow slit’s bottom. Maliantor completed a spell, and a massive hand grew from her palm, mimicking her finger movements but soon becoming as large as she was tall. She shoved her own arm forward, and the giant hand hit the sword’s pommel. The sword vanished into the stone wall, and the stone blocks around it also tumbled. A few more blocks above the breach fell from place, their supporting stones gone, leaving a hole three feet wide.