Blackstaff (35 page)

So let’s keep climbing, then. How long has it been since we left the Eightower?

Not even a half-bell. Remember that we communicate far more swiftly enmind than we do in mundane ways. Now, the sharn have their abilities to slip through the ethereal and broach nearly any protections or barriers. Focus on watching the Gathering, Tsarra, and participate where you can. Every chance to work cooperatively will help you in the working to come in a few hours. I need to converse more with the grand mages
. With that, Khelben’s presence drifted away.

Tsarra turned her attentions outward, again trying to see through the multitude of eyes of the sharn. She realized that the sharn had always been one form that budded off a seemingly separate form that remained part of the collective group mind. She saw through three different forms at once and marveled at how much more vast it was to see through seven or more eyes at once to take in each scene. She settled into hunting mode, and a number of centauran minds and a few dwarves sparkled in around her, all of them focused on the gathering of other hidden remnants of Miyeritar. She smiled, understanding all of them enjoyed the hunt. Tsarra opened her eyes and let her sharnsenses scan the Realms.

Tsarra understood that, like the items and relics they had collected thus far, there were shards and pieces of Miyeritar all across Faerûn, hidden away by accident or design. Very few were whole items, and fewer still held enchantments from that time. What she did know is that the sharn were awake to their true purpose. The last time the sharn acted with such focus of purpose was to construct the Sharnwall around the Phaerimm of Anauroch. Most often, magical fields or internal conflicts among their groupmind made the sharn act unpredictably or madly. The sharn tracked by scent and by magic, and everything they sought had a shared scent

Every single thing exposed to the Killing Storm brought down on Miyeritar by the Vyshaanti of Aryvandaar was touched by a singular magic unused since then. Thus,
everything held a scent, even after all these millennia and even if forged or changed anew. All those touched by that magic reacted to the storms engulfing the Sword Coast and much of the rest of Faerûn. Depending on its location, items rattled or hummed or vibrated or sparked in relation to the storms and the rising magic involved within them.

A belt buckle here that was once an ore-laden rock on the High Moor hummed curiously, its Sembian wearer thought, though he fainted dead away when the sharn stuck its head and arms through its portals to claim its prize. Tsarra felt the cold as a sharn materialized in an ice cave far to the northeast to snatch a small broken dagger from the ribcage of its victim, who lay embedded in the glacial ice. Tsarra actually felt the sting of many magical missiles when a sharn infiltrated a meeting of the Arcane Brotherhood, smashing its meeting table to bits to claim the carved wood tile at the table’s heart. She heard the snores and smelled the peaty breath of a green dragon as a sharn quietly pulled fifteen seemingly random coins out of a rather proud treasure hoard.

Each time a sharn reclaimed an item, it was drawn into the sharnform, but then Tsarra felt a shifting and the item was almost immediately dropped out onto a wet and storm-blasted heath she had never seen, save in Danthra’s vision. Each item, with or without any power of its own, needed to be in place for the rituals to come. Luckily, none of them were dropped near the vicinity of any of the others, so no additional lightning bolts crackled to life to reveal the items’ existence there. Every time Tsarra tried to focus on the pattern they were putting in place, the collective’s attention moved on to the next item.

Only once did Tsarra pull the collective sharn’s attention toward the storms overhead, and they all saw their enemy. The Frostrune flew standing atop the base of his pyramid, the point blasting the ground below with eldritch lightning and power. The four corners of the pyramid also connected to the storms by four constant streams of lightning linking to the clouds. She ached to lash out at him, using her
new connections to the sharn to attack, but calmer voices prevailed around her.

Soon. Soon. He still has one last role to play here
.

Tsarra accepted that and shifted her focus to an even darker place—a web-covered crypt, where their sharn encountered resistance. A vampire held fast to a metal-shod tome, blasting the sharn back with effective spells of black fire. Stranger still, she recognized him—Asraf yn Malik el Kahaman yi Manshaka. She asked the collective for help, and she willed two of the sharn hands to trace glowing sigils in the air. Once she completed the star-enclosed scroll mark of the
tel’teukiira
, the vampire stopped and stared.

Tsarra spoke and her words came out in the hollow voice of the sharn, “The Blackstaff has need of that, but you have his gratitude for being an able guardian. A reward shall be forthcoming.”

She reached out, snatched the tome with three claws, and pulled the book into the sharn as it dematerialized and returned to the central form. Tsarra helped reclaim more than a dozen items in this manner, everything from a vambrace off a suit of armor in Dhedluk to a dungsweeper’s shovel from Arabel, until they finally encountered two places even the sharns’ magic could not penetrate.

Khelben? Grand Mages?
Tsarra and a number of her fellow hunters asked to the collective.
We’ve found most of the remnants and delivered them into place. Priamon is nearly at Malavar’s Grasp. There are only two things that are not in place—and when we push against the magic screening these places, the mark of the Blackstaff flickers to life in silver flames
.

Ah. Tsarra, it is our time to leave the collective then. Hopefully, this was enough of an education to guide you through the working we have later today
.

That’s the one thing I don’t understand. I saw myself at the center of a great working, but I didn’t see you. Why didn’t I see you there?

Khelben’s eyes grew sad, and his visage turned away for a moment.
All in good time, my dear. Now, simply push
yourself at—no, not that one, the other barrier. Push yourself against it and will your
kiira
to rest on the sigil
.

Tsarra concentrated on moving forward and focused her attention on her forehead. She saw her own magical mark in her mind, aglow from the
kiira
’s energies, and when she touched the flaming sigil, the barrier bent and flexed around her, snapping behind her like the string of a bow. She fell hard onto a stone floor and coughed as a thick layer of dust erupted into a cloud around her. Lights whirled around her, and Tsarra coughed more when she realized the lights were shaped to be muscular men no more than a few fingers’ length tall with birds’ wings.

“There you are.” Tsarra’s head snapped up and she had her scimitar half-drawn before she saw the woman who spoke. Tsarra had never met her, but she’d seen enough paintings and likenesses for sale in the Market to know the woman anywhere.

Tsarra sheathed her weapon and remained on her knees as she greeted, “Lady Alustriel, forgive our intrusion.”

The silver-haired woman sat atop the flat bier at the center of a dust-choked and webbed crypt, her purple linen gown immaculate despite the mess around her. Her feet were clad in fine wine-colored slippers. Her eyes danced and her smile was infectious. Over her heart was a pearl brooch of a unicorn’s head, its horn and mane shining in polished silver. She appeared every inch the queen she was, though Tsarra was distracted at how similar she and her sister Laeral were in appearance. Even so, each one’s bearing and carriage made a totally unique impression on those they met.

The crypt, aside from being small and dust-choked, was nondescript. One spiral stair of stones led down into it in the far corner, and there was only the one large sarcophagus in the center of the room. There was room for two men to walk around it, but nothing else seemed to be in the tomb. Tsarra read the inscriptions on the bier and realized it was a husband and wife buried together:

“Don’t be silly, my dear. Stand up. ’Tis no intrusion, as this isn’t a place of mine. I’d make a comment on how awful a housekeeper my brother-in-law is, but I suppose one need not keep a tomb tidy.”

“I’ve never found it necessary to do so, dear sister.” Khelben’s voice sounded before he appeared, stepping from a wall. “After all, why clean if you only intend to visit once every two centuries? Now, I realize we are in your city, but how did you know we would be here?”

“Mystra,” she said. “We should know by now that the only times I fall asleep without meaning to are when she needs to send a message via our dreams. You’re to give me something, and I’ll assume it has to do with our Moor working? I’ve a council quite irate with me for postponing two meetings and a city disappointed I shan’t be on hand for any of the fetes tonight.”

“Not so loud, milady.” Khelben barked. “There might be prying ears and eyes around.”

“Unlikely. I cleared the Chapel of the First Magister earlier this morning and my Spellguard keeps watch outside. Besides, we’re two cellars beneath it as well. Who’s likely to overhear?” Alustriel floated over then giggled, and hugged Khelben and kissed him on the cheek.

“Wh-what are you about, woman?” Khelben sputtered.

“It’s been years since I’ve been either mother or aunt, so let me be a little excited in private, you grump,” the Lady Hope chided. “Even if Laeral had kept it secret, our Mother did not. Your mate bears the children of two Chosen. Blessings, indeed, and happiness deserved.”

Khelben’s face betrayed nothing, but Tsarra felt him pass
through a maelstrom of emotions—pride, love, happiness, gratitude, wistfulness, sadness, grief, and resignation—in the space of a breath. All Alustriel knew was that her brother-in-law gruffly shrugged her off and hobbled around the bier. His, “Thank you, sister,” was barely audible at all.

“Khelben! You’re wounded!” Alustriel gasped.

While their clothes had been restored when they exited the sharn, Khelben’s wounds had only been cloaked by his robes.

“Let me help you.”

Alustriel’s arms lit with silver fire, and she knelt by Khelben’s missing left leg. Her hands dripped with silver fire, and Tsarra felt a rush of life, power, and warmth, but it did not linger. From Khelben, she felt only felt his sadness, as his wounds did not heal. Alustriel looked up at him, puzzled, and he rested a hand on her shoulder.

Khelben said, “My thanks, but things are as they must be. Save your strength for the working.”

Khelben hobbled around the bier, and his hand trailed briefly over Halver’s and Lyia’s names both. He cleared his throat and said, “Saproath Khar,” as he touched an empty torch sconce on the far wall. The sconce flipped forward off the wall, exposing a small recess behind it. Khelben reached in and pulled out a dusty, web-choked box. He blew off the worst of the dust and handed the box to Alustriel.

The ruler of Silverymoon opened the thin box after motioning for Tsarra to join her. Inside, atop a bed of velvet, lay a white ash wand with a scarlet gem set into its top. The glow alone attracted the attentions of Alustriel’s male-lights, who flocked atop the box’s open side. The gem was flat on one side and perfectly rounded on the other, as if it were cut for another purpose.

Alustriel looked up at Khelben. “Hosskar’s Blinding Baton?” she asked.

“Yes, but what it’s been constructed from is more important—that gem is a
selu’kiira
of a grand mage of Miyeritaar. You, the Aumar, and Alvaerele shall bear them
in the first circle, even though our foe unwittingly holds the third of the three. Given Laeral’s condition, I dare not allow her a
kiira
’s touch.”

Alustriel nodded and closed the box, much to the mute complaints of her lights. “Very well. You need to visit this chapel more often or at least make a donation. It’s only Master Paral, his relatives, and a few loyalists. Most prefer the larger temples to Azuth and Mystra at the university grounds.”

Khelben moved to another part of the wall and tapped another hidden panel open with the head of his staff. A shelf slid from the recess, holding four dusty black leather-bound books. He handed them one at a time to Tsarra and Alustriel.

“So far as I am aware, this is the only complete four-volume set of these prayerbooks, penned when Azuth’s faith was less than two centuries old,” said the Blackstaff. “They can go to Master Paral after your scribes make four copies over this winter—one for the Vault of the Sages, one for my Silverstars, another for Gamalon to take to Tethyr, and one copy for Candlekeep. After that, the originals remain here among Mystra’s and Azuth’s faithful. The
Codici Magistiri
should draw in a few zealots and many mages, once word gets around. Fair enough?”

“And they say the Blackstaff knows naught about quiet statecraft,” Alustriel teased, winking at Khelben. “Shall we be off then? Are we to worldwalk to the moor?”

“No. We take the—what did Dove call this? Ah—‘Dead Man’s Walk.’ ”

“Dove always did have a sick sense of humor,” Alustriel observed, “but never as sick as your wife’s.”

Khelben nodded, and both of them chuckled.

Khelben, what’s this Dead Man’s Walk you’re talking about?
Tsarra sent silently, rather than disturb the two Chosen’s banter.

Simple. We just travel across the Realms using portals at my graves
.

“What?” Tsarra yelled. “Tell me you’re joking!”

“Oh, he doesn’t joke, girl,” Alustriel teased. “You know that.”

Khelben’s sigh was felt as well as heard by Tsarra.
None of them are truly my grave, as would be obvious. They are simply where I chose to mark the passing of previous identities. I also set portals at the graves of my aliases to allow me secure hiding places for things. Only a senior Harper, Moonstar, or a Chosen of Mystra who knows the names of my aliases can use these portals. This makes them easily but little used. We use this as we have yet one more item and two agents to retrieve
.