Blackstaff (9 page)

“Indeed.” Khelben said blankly. A few days earlier, Tsarra would not have recognized the slight tone shift that revealed Khelben’s amusement, given how stolid his public persona appeared.

As a female cat rubbed up against Tsarra’s ankle in the passage, Nameless tensed to jump down and pursue it. Tsarra grabbed one of his paws, mentally apologizing for interfering with his love life. The familiar growled openly at her but quickly settled down.

They arrived at a small sitting room in the back, its furniture mostly lounging chairs and chaises. Yaereene said,
“We shan’t be disturbed here, as no staff uses this chamber for Reverie until late tonight. Its magical defenses also prevent any attacks or eavesdropping, as is your usual concern, milord. Now, will you continue to be discourteous, or will you introduce me to the young half-elf on your heels? Her familiar is certainly a handsome one.”
She chuckled and reached to touch the tressym.

Nameless hissed loudly and flew up to the exposed beam overhead, his back was up.

“My apologies, milady. He’s had a rough day, and he’s not very sociable right now.”
Tsarra said, careful to speak in Elvish in deference to her hostess.
“I am—”

“Her name,” Khelben intoned in Common, a touch of irritation in his voice, “as you well know, Yaereene, is Tsarra Chaadren, and she is Malruthiia’s daughter, as she appears. We don’t have time to dredge up the past, save for this, Tsarra. Yaereene Ilbaereth is your mother’s
elder half-sister, and the family had a falling out with your mother well past a century ago, over what I choose not to know. Thus, your shared sylvan elf heritage brings you back together for this crisis.”

“Don’t belittle matters you choose to ignore, Blackstaff,” Yaereene snapped back at him, “and don’t insult my hospitality by being rude. Surely you remember some manners from your elven upbringing, even if you prefer folk to assume you’re a far younger namesake. Even my half-human niece shows better etiquette.”

Elven upbringing? But sir
—
?
Tsarra asked mentally.

Khelben didn’t even look at her, his glower saved for Yaereene.

“Scant few know more than a smattering of truths about me, dear lady. Do not be so blithe with entrusted secrets.” Khelben said, his whisper angry enough to stun those listening.

Tsarra could feel his ire through the link they shared, and it seemed to spread to Nameless, who began hissing up above them and darting around, looking for something to hunt.

“Can we all please just calm down?” Tsarra pleaded. Her head swam from Khelben’s revelation. She reclined on the nearest divan, trying not to smile as she luxuriated in its overstuffed comforts. “I am pleased to meet you, Lady Ilbaereth, but now isn’t the time for family matters. We have other issues at hand, even if milord Arunsun has not told me of them either, correct?”

The seats were all arranged around a low table, and Khelben settled into one so all three of them could see each other while talking. They remained silent, questions lingering in the air. The only sounds were those of a moon elf maid bringing them wine and food and the tressym’s scratching and marking of the roof beams. Nameless only halted his vandalism when Tsarra tossed him a shred of silverfin.

Khelben cleared his throat and said, “True enough. My apologies to you both. Like the tressym, the past day sits
unwell with me. I hope you too can later learn more of each other, for your family’s sake, as reunion and healing old wounds was my reason for coming here.”

“I was not aware you and I had wounds between us, Blackstaff.” Yaereene said.

“We do not, personally, but the debts and wounds run older than us both. I call to account the blood debts of House Maerdrym, as I need the help of the elves on matters that affect us all.”

As Khelben spoke, he withdrew a heavy metal badge from his cloak and held it in his left palm, his right hand casting over the object. The metal badge multiplied in his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, Khelben floated one into Yaereene’s lap and eight others landed in an arc on the table between them. Tsarra saw that all the badges carried a seal of four roses entwined around three staves—the mark of the elven House Maerdrym.

Yaereene flipped the badge over in her fingers. “I am hardly the elder or heir of my House, Blackstaff. Why bring this to me?”

“I have neither the patience nor the time to politic with your uncle in Neverwinter Woods, nor could Malchor Harpell deliver these in my stead. Besides, it was long between meetings for us, as you said.”

“Even so, I find it odd. If rumors are true, you have a gate to the Fair Isle in your tower, Lord Arunsun. Why not ask these favors of Queen Amlauril?”

“Evermeet cannot know of our work here until done is done. This matter must be handled discreetly outside the notice of its irresponsibly political noble Houses.”

“No doubt they think as highly of your approaches to matters of import, Blackstaff.”

Khelben shrugged off the veiled barb and leveled his stare at Yaereene. “Your own family’s debt came in the Year of the Dusty Shelf, when my parents rescued Ryul Ilbaereth and his followers from ignominy and death on the shores of Lake Eredruie. I trust I need not reveal to Tsarra the secrets that bind our names and honor?”

Yaereene’s face paled and she gripped her gown in a fierce fist, then she relaxed and cast her eyes down. “No, Lord Blackstaff. I am at your beckons, last Maerdrym. How may my House serve yours?”

Khelben kneeled by her and put his hands over hers, the elf’s eyes widening at the supplicating gesture. “I need you to assemble a company—yourself included—and travel to
Manth’ehl’nar Malavar
before Selûne is full in the sky in three nights. Relay these same biddings to the Houses on the other badges, an easy task as highly placed scions of all of them frequent your establishment and the City of Splendors. Request their utter discretion and that each family send one or two wizards bearing each of their family’s long-dead or long-dormant moonblades.”

Tsarra gasped, and Yaereene stood up sharply. “You dare much, archmage, and even more to ask the People to move with such haste. I’ll need more than oaths and honor debts to a nigh-dead House to goad them to action
and
to part with fabled House heirlooms.”

“None in twenty elven generations have wielded those blades among those Houses. They simply hold them as holy relics, as if they mean more than failure.” Khelben sighed then swept his hair back from his face. “Tell them those heirlooms shall soon bless them with use and honor in the coming days. A great time is upon us, lady, for the People’s redemption. We do not do this work for any mortal partisans. What we dare requires elves and others to work in accord to undo the damage of millennia past. I make the request in the names of Sehanine Moonbow and Corellon Larethian. You know the vows they made when Ivossar’s House strayed from the path of true
tel’quessir
. Hold the badge to your heart if you truly doubt me.”

Yaereene’s face remained impassive, but she placed the gold badge over her heart, and immediately she whispered,
“Faer’tel’miir?”
Khelben nodded solemnly and tears flowed over the elf woman’s porcelain features. She replied, “Very well,
akhelben
. It shall be done. We shall be honored to share this burden with thee,
ol ahnvae Sehanine
.”

Setting the badge down on the table, Yaereene stood. Tsarra saw the disk also had the Ilbaereth seal on the other side—a pegasus rearing over six wands, a sun surrounding all from behind. From her studies of elven Houses, she recognized that the mark combined elements of the seals of Houses Ealoeth and Ildacer, suggesting a long-ago marriage created the Ilbaereth line. Tsarra bowed to her aunt as Khelben also rose. Yaereene took Tsarra by the shoulders. A growl resonated from above, but she ignored the tressym warning the elf away from his mistress.

“A’su’nys
, you are half-blood, and our family regrettably tolerates that less than some. Still, you walk beside an honored elf-friend. That alone tells me more than you know. I and others would know more of you in times to come. Malruthiia is sorely missed and I would know her daughter, regardless of my family’s views on the matter.”

Tsarra tried to respond but only managed to nod after her throat swelled up. Tears flowed on both women’s faces, and they embraced briefly. As Yaereene dipped her forehead toward Tsarra’s in familiarity, Tsarra drew back and cleared her throat, startling Yaereene.

“No disrespect intended,
osi’nys
,” said the appreatice. “I wished you no harm from touching this.” Tsarra pulled her hair back from her forehead to reveal the gem and tattoos there.

Yaereene inhaled sharply. “The Blackstaff provides his apprentices with
kiira
as well? You must be special indeed, niece. I look forward to learning more about you soon. Even so, when next we meet, politics demand we not acknowledge each other openly. Do not be offended but rather realize that elven ways differ from those of your father.”

Tsarra nodded in response, guessing that the moments of closeness were only for private times, not public display.

“We thank you for your aid, Lady Ilbaereth,” Khelben said. “May our next meeting be even more harmonious.”

He drew his cloak back around his shoulders and donned the hood. They exited the Elfstone’s front door out onto the Street of the Sword. They turned south to Waterdeep Way
and headed north again. Tsarra wondered why they went through so much trouble to cover their tracks. Anyone looking to follow the Blackstaff would hardly look at a much-scarred half-orc in a muddied wool cape and a female gnome in red leathers and a bright pink silk cape.

Master?
Tsarra sent as they dodged two pair-carts, their four drunken noble passengers racing them full tilt around the corner from Selduth Street and down the Street of Silver.
What was that meeting all about? And are there any other family members you’re going to spring on me?

Nay, Tsarra. No more hidden family. Now pick up your pace. We’re running from time even with three days to work
.

Khelben hurried his pace, and even with her half-elf’s grace, Tsarra had a hard time keeping up with him.

Can you at least tell me with whom we’re meeting and why you’re in such a hurry? The person’s not going to die before we get there, is he?

Doubtful, lass
. Khelben replied.
She has been dead now for nearly seven score years
.

“H
aulaurake, Damlath! Don’t hand me that ‘You knew everything you needed to know’ garbage!” Raegar whispered at his companion. “That sword summoned lightning powerful enough to blast a hole through Blackstaff Tower! You didn’t think a power like that was worth mentioning?”

The two men turned off Swords Street and into Melody Mount Walk, the tunnel that led to the New Olamn barding college on the city’s western cliffs.

“Talk to me, Damlath!”

“Quiet. I’m concentrating.” Damlath said, dismissing his companion.

The mage willed his flying carpet to hover closer to Raegar’s horse. He’d brought the item back from the city of Llorbauth with him and had ever since refused to use horses for travel. The mare, recently
purchased from Fetlock Court, shivered and shied away nervously until Raegar held her in check with leg and reins. Raegar seethed as he stared at his friend.

What happened to him? he asked himself. Ever since he returned from Erlkazar in Mirtul, he’s been dismissive and almost as mysterious as those we’ve stolen secrets from.

Despite their differences as rogue and wizard, the two men had worked together for three years. The Holy Church of Oghma united them in purpose—both men worked furtively to break the hold some wizards had on secrets and to spread those same secrets by the will of the god of knowledge. Raegar had enjoyed the past few years, working with both the Font of Knowledge, Oghma’s grand temple in Waterdeep’s Castle Ward, and the dark-skinned wizard. Still, things had changed and their missions had grown more dangerous with each passing month.

Damlath had originally come from the south, a small country called Erlkazar on the shores of the Deepwash east of Tethyr. The wizard was a pious devotee of Oghma from the Lore Halls in the city of Llorbauth. He ventured to Silverymoon twenty-four years ago with his wizardly master to work with Sandrew the Wise. When Sandrew began building the Font of Knowledge in Waterdeep, Damlath helped in the temple’s building. Damlath had an acerbic personality that few warmed to, but Raegar enjoyed the edge in his humor, and they worked well together.

The younger Raegar had grown up in Waterdeep’s South Ward as the son of a stone carver and a sailmaker. His parents died during the undead assault on Waterdeep in the Time of Troubles, and Raegar had been on his own since then. Surviving as a street thief and later a stone carver, Raegar grew bitter at the mages who infested the City of Splendors. He saw disaster after disaster brought down upon them by wizards who rarely bothered to explain to the people what had happened or why. His abilities as a thief—necessities when fighting to stay alive—came back into play as he began filching some scrolls and books from the homes of wizards and selling them. He did that
infrequently enough that people never suspected the stone crafter who carved new gargoyles outside their windows was the culprit. When Raegar found work helping to finish the construction of the Font of Knowledge, he befriended some of the priests there. For the first time he found a voice that spoke to his heart in Oghma’s teachings. They also confirmed that his mission in life was to honor Oghma in taking secrets from the hands of those who would abuse them and spread the knowledge. For six years, Raegar worked unofficially for Loremaster Gustyl “the Curious,” a gnome priest whose knowledge of wizards of the North astounded the young man. The only wizards Raegar could not spy upon, by Gustyl’s insistence, were Maaril the Dragonmage and any wizards directly associated with the Wands clan or Blackstaff Tower. Recently, those rules had changed, and that made Raegar nervous.