Blackstaff (15 page)

Raegar had fought undead wizards and sorcerers before, and he knew that this lich had been impersonating Damlath, but for how long?

“Ah, Raegar. So now you know, little thief. Inconvenient. You’ve been a useful pawn even more unwitting than that dullard at the temple,” the lich said, its jaws moving without lips and pantomiming magically produced speech. “Still, before this creature strips me of more than base illusions.…”

The lich that was Damlath gestured quickly, and ice-blue bolts rocketed into the free sharn hands. Raegar was close enough to note the rapid drop in temperature and the ice and frost that clung to the once-moist black hide. The purple sparks winked out as the hands receded through them, and Raegar saw some frost appear on the sharn behind the lich, even though Damlath hadn’t cast on it directly.

“Impressive, sharn. Your ability to bypass a spell designed to inhibit spellcasters is intriguing. I will learn
that secret from you as well, but not before you tell me more of the remnants.”

“You merely ssserve to awaken, not to claim any treasssure, little lich. We hide enigmasss far older than you, and thossse who pry never benefit from it.” The sharn seemed to smile, its eyeless heads all turning toward the lich and baring their teeth.

Raegar stepped forward, brandishing both his swords before him in a defensive cross. He knew he didn’t have the power to stop either creature, but he hoped to keep the lich’s attention on him to perhaps allow the sharn to attack again. Raegar felt cold as he realized his friend had either become undead or was dead and had been replaced.

“Are you Damlath and damned,” he asked, “or are you the bastard that killed him?”

Once Raegar stepped fully into the chamber and toward the lich, the Diamondblade spat a shower of blue sparks, as did a ring on the lich’s left hand. Raegar stopped dead in his tracks, and the lich stepped back and behind the fallen chandelier, putting the hovering sharn between them. The sparks ceased.

“Your friend Damlath died swearing oaths too, rather than having useful spells with which to fight for his life. If it’s any consolation, he died with the Binder’s name on his lips.”

Raegar froze as the death of his friend became reality. The only weapon he had that might affect this creature was one he had given him—the Diamondblade. Since it was obvious the short sword was important to the lich, Raegar made a split-second decision and dived toward the doorway. He heard one syllable in the lich’s raspy voice and sensed the magic hit him. Though he remained facing the doorway, unmoving, Raegar felt as if he had been slammed hard against the wall. He stood stunned and trapped in his own body.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the lich mocked. “No, bring that closer, young Raegar. You’ve been such a useful tool these past few months. Show the sharn what we have here.”

The undead wizard gestured again, its skeletal fingers beckoning, and Raegar felt the Diamondblade twist in and rip from his grasp, even though the effort turned his stunned form around toward the sharn. The moment the blade crossed into the larger center of the room, it both reflected some moonlight from the skylight up above and mirrored sparks along with the ring on the lich’s hand.

The lich floated the sword directly into the sharn, point-first, and it unleashed a shriek reminding Raegar of a sword crashing against a shield. The blue sparks joined the other magic and danced across the sharn’s form. The sharn’s own movements pulled the greenish energy globes closer, and their energies also spilled across its liquid form, invoking a mournful moan that sounded like five or six wounded people and animals at once. Raegar flexed his muscles in hopes of shaking off the magic and fleeing into the wilderness rather than face these two creatures. He managed two slow steps before the lich’s magic placed a heavy wall of ice over his exit.

“No, boy. I still have tasks for you, and secrets to cull from this creature as well. Sometimes, though, it’s sensible to make it clear you have your audience’s attentions.”

The lich pulled the sparking ring off its hand while he spoke, setting it on the floor where he stood. He gestured with one hand toward a doorway hidden from Raegar’s sight, beckoning something or someone forward. The lich moved around and set the sparking Diamondblade on the floor as well.

Raegar held back when he saw the sparks building, but stepped around in hope of discovering another exit beyond the front door behind the lich. He spotted the skeleton lurching forward, a small green gem alive with more sparks resting on a dusty, threadbare pillow.

Once the skeleton stepped fully into the chamber, lightning bolts arced among the sword, gem, and ring, and the sharn screamed as bolts slammed through its form. The lightning bolts formed a triangle, and the energies came together into one massive bolt that exploded upward.
Neither the sharn nor the stone and glass ceiling stopped the bolt from smashing out into the night air. What little moonlight there had been disappeared as clouds quickly formed, allowing the lightning a path across the horizon.

“Well,” the lich said, “I might have gained more from it, but at least I know it can be killed, despite some rumors about the sharn. Hmph.” He opened his cloak and reached into the lining with his skeletal hand, pulling a small metal skullcap from its magical pocket. The lich placed the skullcap on his head and turned to stare fully at Raegar. “Now, little man, let’s set your orders in place. I’ve another task for you.…”

Raegar’s mind swam with fear and revulsion as he gritted his teeth.

“I’ll never work for you, you bastard!” Raegar yelled, hoping to keep the lich’s attention on his face, not his foot that edged beneath the ring of the chandelier.

As the lich’s hand rose to cast a spell, the rogue kicked upward, tossing a large shard of the metal chandelier toward his face. At the same time, Raegar grabbed daggers from his belt and threw them at the lich’s chest. All three missiles bounced harmlessly off a shielding spell, and the lich completed his spellcasting gestures.

“Futile defiance,” sneered the lich. “Your will is mine, Raegar Stoneblade, orphan, thief, and holy seeker of Oghma. I allowed you autonomy so long as it aided my disguise, but speed now determines my course. Be still while your master sets your tasks in mind.”

The crimson glints within the lich’s eye sockets flared, and Raegar screamed as the lich’s magic invaded his thoughts, freezing his mind with every passing heartbeat. The last thing Raegar heard as he lost consciousness was the lich in his mind saying,
Yes, a handy scapegoat was the last piece I needed. The Blackstaff will doubtless untangle the truth, but not until far too late … especially if you cannot protest or reveal any truths.…

A
shemmi smiled then spoke in Common. “Her face alone speaks volumes,
evae’n
. The Blackstaff has finally identified us for his precious apprentice.”

“Khelben? How can we possibly ally with
them?”
Tsarra gripped Maornathil’s pommel with white knuckles, staring at her mentor in shocked disbelief. Khelben remained silent.

Nameless shared Tsarra’s emotions, and his back bristled with anger. He landed on a table near Tsarra, loudly hissing at the couple and making himself as threatening as possible, wings fully flared open.

“Khelben?” Tsarra asked, not wanting to meet the mocking eyes of Sememmon or Ashemmi. “What is going on here? How do we know this situation here isn’t his—”

Sememmon laughed. “Honestly, girl, if you believe every rumor you’ve heard about me, you’d best be prepared to swallow every falsehood the masses bandy about regarding your glowering tutor here.”

“At least she’s not one of those who thinks all elves must hide their passions and bottle their emotions.” Ashemmi said, staring Tsarra in the eyes. “The most useful thing a wizard can learn from another’s familiar is their true emotional state. Even the most intelligent animals tend to reflect how their masters feel.”

“That’s enough, all of you,” Khelben snapped. “This is neither the time nor place for this discussion. We shall all meet again two nights hence at the agreed-upon site. You gave him the item I made you?”

Sememmon nodded and said, “Yes, the wand now lies in his grasp. Enamored of Shoon artifacts, that one is, and he wears one of them openly—the Duel-Ring of Ghuraxx, if I’m not mistaken, and I’m not. Given how few Northerners bother with knowledge of the south, he stands out like soot on snow. I could not penetrate his disguise, but it is painfully obvious he cloaks himself in illusion. With patience, one can easily notice such things, don’t you think, little half-elf?”

Tsarra answered Sememmon’s affected smile with a glower, punctuated by the deep growl and lashing tail of Nameless, who flexed his full claws as a warning. Sememmon only rolled his eyes upward and sighed.

“This Damlath stinks of undeath, not that any of you—save perhaps the tressym—could smell it,” Ashemmi added. “Either he’s a necromancer seeking more power or he’s undead himself and passing as a live human.”

Undead? Khelben?
Tsarra sent, her temper rising again.
You owe me—

Patience! Your temper is fraying the edges of my own, apprentice. Explanations are due once we are alone. Now be still
.

Khelben’s sending startled Tsarra by its forcefulness, but his face did not betray the least shift in emotion or attention off the two former Darkholden.

“That fact has been known to me for a time,” Khelben said. “Now, we must all be off before more questions than answers arise from our presence here.”

Sememmon sketched a bow, and Ashemmi nodded at both Khelben and Tsarra. The wizards’ hands cast spells, and the pair of them disappeared. The air imploded behind them with a slight whoosh of air and a soft thump.

Khelben looked around, shaking his head sadly. His eye caught Tsarra looking at him harshly, and he said, “My dear, that temper will force a quick death of you, should you not tame it. I know you have many questions, but like many things in a wizard’s or sorcerer’s life, they must wait until their proper time in the casting.”

He stepped outside of the ruined inn and onto the grass and Tsarra followed. Nameless, however, busied himself with some fallen plates of food.

The trio arrived in the entry chamber of Blackstaff Tower, startling a few younger apprentices who bowed and ran up the stairs. Khelben shed his cloak and placed it in the wardrobe. He and Tsarra kept silent, sending between themselves while Tsarra doffed her cloak as well.

Now what did we learn from our questioning of Spider and Ryssa?

That eyewitnesses are poor judges as to what happens in a spell duel?
Tsarra offered.

True, but hardly helpful. Spider saw a wizard in a cloak and leathern cape cast a massive lightning spell upon the count that punched a hole through the front wall simply to reach him. Does that sound like a normal spell?

While they conversed mentally, Khelben, Tsarra, and Nameless mounted the main stairs of the tower. Tsarra watched Khelben for cues, but he said no command words and touched no stones. Thus, they remained in the physical tower and merely walked to the guest level.

No—it sounds like what happened to us
, Tsarra sent.
That might explain why Ryssa believed the count attacked
some courier with lightning just for being in their way
.

Perhaps her judgment was biased toward the younger man, a malady common among tavern girls. Still, the majority of the inn’s destruction came when the bolts came together and arced skyward, just as happened here. At least I could help with the reconstruction efforts
.

Do you always travel with rubies the size of a small child’s fist, master?
Tsarra let a wry grin spread across her face, dashed by Khelben’s unchanging mien.

Only when I expect collateral damage—thus, far too often. Still, Mystra blessed us with at least one person in Rassalantar who could learn the magic to mend the inn before too long
.

How—why were we in Rassalantar, Master? That’s more than two days of riding north of the city! The last thing I remember was turning onto Selduth Street toward Turn back Court
.

It appears that Danthra’s unpredictable visions are still active, and you succumbed to one of them
, Khelben replied.
Apparently, you lock onto a related memory of mine and it overwhelms you for a time. While you walked through my past, we were summoned by contingency magic I granted Gamalon. When he went off to Tethyr, I gave him an item a few years ago and an oath to answer its call. Strange how Mystra works, isn’t it? The boy survives the entire Reclamation Wars, but fate calls on me now when we are well embroiled in other problems. I could not ignore the ring’s summons, nor could I leave you insensate in your visions on the street. Thus, you and I traveled to the Sleeping Dragon Inn, met your first sharn, and returned here
.

What do the sharn have to do with this? Or the lightning bolts? Is this realizing one of Alaudo’s prophecies to match the year’s name?