Blackstaff (6 page)

Raegar used the magical ring on his left hand to wrap the street in a shroud of fog. As always, the ring allowed him to see through it, and he slipped backward to the edge of the cloud and behind the Tavern of the Flagon Dragon. Whispering thanks to Tymora, he watched Khelben and realized the archmage was too stunned to notice much, let alone note him and his part in the chaos. Raegar heard someone yelling across the alley.

He had rented rooms for the past two months at Sapphire House, an expensive rooming house across Swords Street from Blackstaff Tower. The speaker was a neighbor—Kemarn, a professed scribe buying materials for a wizards’ consortium outside of Nesmé. He showed his true colors boldly, as he hissed, “The tower is breached, men, and the Blackstaff is wounded! Take them both! That sword shall be mine!”

Kemarn pointed at the tower, but his attentions were on the fog.

Raegar had met many wizards before and found most to be arrogant, over-reaching, and convinced beyond all reason of the rightness of their causes. He stayed cautious, as he knew he was a target. Even if he didn’t know his sword’s capabilities, the thief knew that anything that could make a hole in Blackstaff Tower was something every power-mad fool in the North would want.

Raegar thickened the fog, filling Swords Street with it to keep from being found too soon. Panicked vendors abandoned their carts, and even the natives backed away from
the fog and the troubles that once again enveloped their city’s archmage. Raegar climbed up the side of the tavern and hid among the roof eaves to watch and wait.

Let’s see how this plays out before I get an explanation from Damlath, he thought.

The Blackstaff slumped against the shattered gate, his robes scorched and smoldering. Kemarn cast an intricate spell from his third floor balcony above the fog cloud. Raegar watched four jet-black wolves leap from the mists in the wizard’s hands, growing as they descended until they were much larger than normal wolves. The massive beasts loped across the street, undeterred by the fog, and surrounded the wounded Blackstaff

Sudden movement from above drew Raegar’s attention to two young men flying down from the tower’s roof. He pulled himself a little closer under the eaves as the older one shouted, “Duty patrol to the wall! Tower under attack!” The younger one’s hands twisted in casting, and the fog cloud dissipated. He spotted Kemarn across the way and pointed a wand directly at him. A green ray struck the balcony, but the wizard no longer stood upon it.

Raegar smiled ruefully as he heard the roof above him creak. Kemarn had blinked to the back slope of the tavern’s roof, just out of sight of the tower’s defenders. Raegar pulled a small mirror from his belt pouch and held it carefully to watch what the wizard did without revealing his presence there.

His grin increased as he overheard Kemarn mutter, “Where did that man and his sword go?”

On the tower wall, the apprentices skillfully dispatched two of the fiendish wolves.

I don’t know what those wands are, Raegar thought, but I want one.

The other wolves bowled Khelben over, biting and clawing at his robes and outstretched arms. Raegar found himself almost feeling sorry for the archmage, who seemed incapable of defending himself at the moment. From his vantage point, Raegar could also see a few figures moving
among the tower’s shadows. Even without the fog, he knew they would not be seen by the two apprentices, who were distracted by the danger threatening their master. Raegar followed their progress along the northern wall away from the gate and the battle there to slip into the northwestern shadows. Raegar smiled as more apprentices—two young women and a halfling male—appeared atop the wall with wands at the ready. In seconds, they used their wands to dispel the summoned wolves. The halfling leaped off the wall to land by the Blackstaff in a defensive crouch.

Blackstaff Tower’s students are well trained to respond to trouble, Raegar thought. Too bad their master seems incapable of living up to his reputation today.

The thief’s attention returned overhead when Kemarn began casting a spell. From his robes, he drew a red, fist-sized globe, which glowed for a moment then blinked out of existence. The tower’s young defenders yelled. A red haze grew around the shattered gate and the two figures there. Raegar shuddered at the writhing mists filled with teeth, eyes, and grasping claws—a nishruu. The halfling used his wand quickly, but its purplish ray melted into the nishruu’s growing scarlet mists, its claws and teeth happily pulling the magic apart and into itself. The eater-of-magic engulfed Khelben and his apprentice, swiftly wrenching magic and life from them. The stunned archmage grunted, and his young aide screamed in pain under the assault, as the monster ripped magic from their minds and bodies.

The elder boy shouted orders easily heard from Raegar’s vantage point.

“Triam, be sure that no one’s trying to breach the walls from other sides. Send up a signal if there is. Jalarra, Sarshel, destroy that thing before it gets into the tower! Pikar, do what you can from there!”

The trio blasted the creature beneath them. The nishruu drank up the magic, its floating mouths smacking disembodied lips with sounds that reminded Raegar of gutting and cleaning a hog. The nishruu growled as the halfling slashed with two glowing daggers. The blades reduced
some maws and hands to mist, only to have them reform in other places.

The nishruu moved over the fallen wizards and drifted toward the tower, which was a vastly more powerful source of magic than any wielders in or around it. Khelben had collapsed, but Pikar still slashed away at the creature’s tendrils and teeth, yelling in anger and pain, “Keep it from the tower!”

In swift response, Sarshel gestured, and a mist rose at the breach in the tower itself. By the time the nishruu reached it, the opening was sealed by a wall of solid ice.

Two more apprentices joined the others atop the wall in the blink of an eye—gold elves both.

“Foolish humans—don’t feed that thing magic! That’s all it eats!” The female’s voice dripped with disdain toward the others.

“Watch and learn,
n’tel’quess
. This rod of absorption should kill it, Maeralya,” the male said proudly, “and the master will know which students of his deserve his praise.”

Raegar had tailed a number of wandering apprentices of the Tower over the past tenday. He had seen that haughty gold elf before—Fhaornik. The elf threw the magical rod into the nishruu, and it appeared to burst one of its floating eyes as it entered with a muddy splash … and the mist continued forward, stretching thinly as if torn between feeding more on Khelben’s internal magic or the powerful forces in the stones of the tower.

Fhaornik sputtered, “But—that’s supposed to kill it on contact!” His face bronzed in fury and embarrassment.

At the same time, Triam yelled from behind the tower, “Elkord! Back here! Someone’s climbed the wall!

The tall Tethyrian shouted back, “I’m coming!” He turned to the four standing near him and snapped, “Sarshel, get to the library and find out what kills this thing. Jalarra, go find Laeral. You two,” he barked at the two elves, “slow it down or get Khelben and Pikar from it!”

Elkord flew over the courtyard and around the tower to
help his young student. Fhaornik and Maeralya both readied quarterstaves aglow with magical auras and leaped into the red mists. Raegar heard them both muttering angrily in Elvish, but while he didn’t understand the language, he knew they resented being shown up by human and halfling alike. The two women both said something too low for Raegar to hear, and they teleported off of the wall.

Pikar Salibuck was a very young halfling, and he fascinated Raegar the most. While spying on the apprentices, Raegar heard that Pikar’s father had lost his life working for the Blackstaff. Pikar was among the rarest of hin to be able to touch the Weave, and Khelben took him in as recompense for his father’s sacrifice. Raegar watched as the strong halfling grabbed the Blackstaff under his arms and dragged him toward the sundered gate as quickly as his short legs allowed.

The smoky tendrils of the nishruu stretched to reach them, but it relinquished its grip to wrap its mists around the tower. As Pikar pulled the unconscious archmage toward the street, argent flames flashed around Khelben and blazed through the tower. Pikar fell back, screaming, and Khelben’s form spasmed as the fires seared away bits of the nishruu and destroyed the ice wall that sealed the tower as well.

“Intriguing. Absolutely intriguing, don’t you think, thief?” Kemarn knelt behind the peak of the roof, watching the fray across the street, but Raegar knew he spoke to him. “I don’t know what that last effect was, but I trust the creature and my agents can fend for themselves a bit. I for one have learned enough today. The students use preset trigger words to move from the walls into the tower, yes? They probably use many such preset magic to quickly move throughout the tower. What else did you learn while watching them and the tower this past tenday, skulking one? I heard the Sapphire House barmaid last night and another two nights ago in the Flagon Dragon call you Raegar Stoneblade.”

Raegar grimaced and wondered how Kemarn had
detected his presence. “What gave me away?” he asked.

Kemarn replied, “Your familiar face kept wandering past my own reconnaissance people, so we started to watch you as well. You’ve shown no obvious connections to the usual interested parties who might harass the Blackstaff. You inadvertently helped us figure out the best ways to follow the wizard’s apprentices while they wander the city, skulking for news to bring their master. As for how I found you just now, you’re not as good as you assume, and all of your magic comes from items. Now, I can roast you in your little perch beneath the eaves or we can negotiate. Give me that sword—the one that punctured the tower’s defenses—and I’ll let you live. Refuse and you suffer the wrath of Kemarn Darkthrush of Nesmé.”

Raegar, smirking at the wizard’s overconfidence, used his enchanted boots to cling to the wall like a spider. “Here’s all you’ll get of the sword, Kemarn,” he said, and he shoved the short sword with all his strength through the eaves and the roof above him.

Kemarn shouted in surprise as Raegar’s sword stabbed through the roof and gashed his shin. The wooden shingles erupted beneath him and clattered down the steep roof, taking the cursing wizard with them. Raegar heard Kemarn’s painful landing in the dusty street below as he pulled his sword free from the damaged roof.

The rogue sprinted across the Flagon Dragon’s outer wall, leaped over Marlar’s Lane, and ran up Sapphire House’s walls. Once he scaled the inn’s five-stories-tall roof, he dropped onto the empty rooftop terrace adjoining it. Raegar raced across the veranda of the opulent four-story townhouse of the Delzimmer clan. He vaulted down into the rooftop gardens of Sablehearth, the Irlingstar mansion adjoining it to the north. Both were vacant for the coming winter, but he couldn’t hide there without drawing attention. Raegar knew he had to get out of sight before either Kemarn or the Watch caught him.

“Raegar, old son, you’ve got to get a few more answers before this continues,” he muttered to himself while he ran.
“Stick to your rules, man, as you broke two of them today. ‘Never get into a game if you don’t know all the players,’ and ‘Make sure you know what you’re carrying.’ Damlath’s plan will have to wait until he coughs up some answers.…”

The thief dropped the final eight feet onto the corduroy surface of Zelphar’s Walk and headed east to lose himself among the Market’s throngs on Bazaar Street.

b
lindingpainoverwhelmingsensesfloatingdrifting

falling

soaring

the brilliant gold-white sunrise over the towers of Deshkant

swelling pride of accomplishment in the building

scent of marble dust and brimstone as a demon tears away at the base of Phalam’s Tor

anger boiling up and quenched immediately in cold resolve

Laeral’s face contorted in a grimace of hatred and evil laughter as blackened horns erupt bloodily from her forehead and temples

horror and despair flooding

scent of jasmine upon silk sheets still warm from her body

running through the underbrush, leaves and twigs snapping and lashing at my face and arms and exposed body, the spring of untrammeled deadfall beneath my feet, the pleasure of the hunt and the chase alive in me

her slim hand reaches in earnest toward me, the glistening magic closing the portal around me and wrenching me from her saving grasp

confidence and determination to return

feeling the tingling and the subtle warmth of the silver fire crackling along arms and fingers, interlacing together with the fires from Dlaertha, Vethril, and Myroune, all ablaze to hem in the otherwise fire-immune demons of
Manth’ehl’nar Ascalhorn

happiness at love felt through the fires

Laeral’s face shines with tears, her emerald eyes a stormy sea of happiness and apprehension, determination and fear

bliss and peace, a smile soul-deep overtakes me

I feel her touch and that of the wind, tickling the light hair only recently grown and rarely exposed to the sun, and I ache for more

curiosity and lust mixed, a teenager’s crucible of confusion and fear

“I know a storm is coming, Master. I can smell the rain on the wind as it wafts up from south of the Vowstone.”

“Tsarra?”

whirling mist and a flood of faces, stopping at almond eyes of hazel offset by a green gem with tattoos around it, confusion of long-standing clearing

Shock of recognition—that’s my face, but older! Why do I have tattoos on my face?

Pains soul-deep release under the warmth of the silver fire, bones mend, and man and goddess laugh together

“You shall serve us well, son of Arun. Try not to discern all the secrets our fires place in you. Know simply that they are things of import to us.”