Blackstaff (19 page)

“I’ve never seen this blackstaff, Master.”

“That only leaves this chamber in the most dire of emergencies.”

“Why? It looks like it’s got powerful magic in it.”

“It does, but that power comes with costs and is not for idle use. In fact, it’s the true blackstaff that ties my strength to the tower here.”

“When was the last time you used it?”

“Not since the day I truly entered Mystra’s service. Now, enough of things past. With some luck, you’ll never know the burden of touching that staff. Let us go.”

“It’s a good thing we know you love us, dear, or we’d be irritated by your half-answers and dismissals,” Laeral teased him as they stepped around to the landing.

“I’ve no doubt he loves you with every fiber of his being, lady.” Tsarra whispered to Laeral.

“I know,” Laeral smiled, “so it’s a wonder it’s taken us over five hundred years to have our first child together.”

Tsarra gawped a moment and hugged Laeral fiercely.

“Laeral!” Khelben snapped, but his face softened. “I thought that would be our secret a while. Have you told anyone else?”

“Only Sylune and Alustriel. I couldn’t help it. Happy news is so rare among us, I had to share.”

Khelben sighed and nudged the two women ahead of him. “I just hope our enemies don’t get wind of a child of two Chosen before we’re ready for them.”

“Isn’t he sweet? Worried about them already.…”

“Them?” Khelben asked, his eyes wide.

“Dear,” Laeral caressed Khelben’s face as they all descended the stairs, “do you honestly think I don’t know when I’m carrying twins? I may not have borne as many children as Alustriel, but please. Besides, I’m glad you’ve no need to brag, but you’ve twice in the past bred twins. It seems you’ve done so again.”

T
sarra, disoriented by her dreams and the unfamiliar bed, ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. She could tell from the angle of the sun through the window she had slept far later than usual. Her pillow and face were moist with tears. Remnants of her dream returned, a frustrating kaleidoscope of Malek, thrusting sword points, lunging and roaring mummified faces, chains, and the spirit of Danthra moving through it all with a look of tremulous fear on her face. Tsarra had tried to comfort her, but her friend remained out of reach. The final dream image terrified her—a sharn suddenly erupted between her and Malek Aldhanek and engulfed Danthra, her face screaming at Tsarra from beneath the black, oily skin.

Tsarra shifted slightly to extricate her feet from
beneath Nameless. The tressym bit her toes through the blanket, complaining that she was disturbing his sleep.

“Ow! Blast you! Long time we were up anyway.”

The tressym narrowed its eyes at her and she felt rather than heard his response:
“Been a-hunt. Tasty mouse. Played with the happylittlemanPikal up top. Sleep now. Mistressfriend tired too. Sleepgood … unless food?”
He yawned, arching his back and stretching claws, tail, and wings all at once.

“I have to eat too, but we need to go with Khelben to the Wands villa,” Tsarra said, getting out of bed with a loud yawn.

As she suspected, the tressym perked up when she mentioned the Wands villa and began to groom himself with vigor. Tsarra smiled, remembering the lovely white tressym Lady Olanhar Wands had as her own familiar. She also remembered the arrival of five black and gray tressym cubs months after their last visit to a Wands gala early last year.

“Promise me you’ll behave with some restraint while we’re there?” she asked the familiar. His only response, as if on cue, was to cough up a large hairball onto the woolen blanket.

Tsarra stretched her body in the sunbeam then paused to look at the belt she’d been wearing all night. It had seemed odd to leave it on, since she preferred sleeping unclad. Still, the belt was warm from her body, and its green gems glinted in the sunshine. She ran her fingers over the metal, its texture and lightness far finer than any her fingers had ever touched before. It felt like the belt lightened and became part of her skin the longer she wore it. Tsarra made a mental note to do some study of elven artifacts when she had the time. All she knew at that moment was that it was an ancient artifact of the elves and it had something to do with their current dilemma.

She looked around for her clothes, which she had dumped on the floor before collapsing abed. She found her leathers piled neatly on a side table across the room.
A scrap of parchment on them said, “Meet Khelben next door after you rise. I had your students clean your armor and better waterproof it. L.”

Tsarra dressed quickly in the clean, supple leathers. As she buckled on her sword belt and grabbed her quiver and bow, Nameless growled deeply. She turned to see him standing on the bed’s footboard, his claws digging into the woodwork and every hair on his body tensed and up. The emotions hit hard, as a wave of anger suddenly washed over her, carrying with it frustration, impatience, and sadness. The emotional eddy swirled around her and her familiar for seconds, both of them not knowing what caused it until a voice came into their heads.

Khelben sent,
Apologies. My concentration slipped a moment. Things are tense with the count
. Tsarra happened to notice in the mirror that her
kiira
glowed slightly when that power was used.
Now that you’re awake, come meet our guest, since none of us can breakfast without tending to him first
.

Tsarra nodded.
I’ll be right there, Master
.

Tsarra, you’re a colleague now, given how many of my secrets you now hold
, the Blackstaff sent.
I think you can drop the formality imposed on younger charges. Khelben will do. Leave Nameless out of our interview, as Gamalon seems to have a feline allergy
.

Tsarra ran a reassuring hand over the tressym’s body, smoothing out his fur. He began a light purr then sneezed, and forced his head under her palm once to mark it.
“Not staying inside. Sunnywarm morningflyabout, chase more food. Goto happymateplace to play?”

“Not yet, friend, or at least not me.” Tsarra replied. “I have to stay with Khelben, but we’ll meet you at the Wands villa soon enough. Enjoy your flight, and let me know if you find any trouble.”

“No
preythoughtfear, mistressfriend. Flyfast and strong-claw. I nofear. I fightwell.”

The tressym leaped off the bed onto a table and launched himself out the window, his wings taking him aloft over
the City of Splendors. Tsarra felt how happy he was to have a sunny morning, a sentiment she shared. Winter would soon bottle the city in with clouds and cold for months. She slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and exited the guest chamber. A few steps to her right brought her to a closed door.

Khelben enchanted every door in Blackstaff Tower to prevent the room’s noises from traveling. The only way for occupants to know someone knocked was to use the metal knocker set at the door’s center—Khelben’s elaborate wizard mark set in brass over a plate of the same. Tsarra rapped once lightly and entered. If she was not welcome, the door would not budge at all.

She opened the door and smelled smoke just before she heard the roar of expanding flames. Using the door as a shield, Tsarra began casting a defensive spell.

If it weren’t safe, girl, I would have warned you thusly
.

Tsarra stepped fully into the room, confused by finding flying spells instead of a sick bed for the injured count. He stood with his back to her, his sleeveless tunic revealing his wiry, tattooed arms as he wove another powerful spell. On the far side of the room, a wardrobe, chair, and side table smoldered with light smoke, the charred blast points on the wall suggesting one of the two wizards had unleashed something earlier.

The morning sun did not diminish the glowing shimmer at the room’s center. The magical creation was new to her, and she looked to her mentor, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. He merely inclined his head back at Gamalon, who unleashed his spell into the shimmering area. The fireball exploded at its center but did not expand to its full potential. It highlighted a ring of invisible menhirs around the shimmering area, all of which absorbed the magic of his spell. Once the roar of the spell died down, Tsarra could hear the count’s ragged but deep breathing.

The totally bald wizard was obviously exhausted, sweat gleaming on his scalp and running down his neck. He turned, and Tsarra smiled as she bowed to him, happy his
wounds from the previous night were all healed, save a long-standing injury covered with an eye patch. He nodded to her in return, coming over to grasp both of her hands in his as a typical Tethyrian greeting.

“Well met, young lady. I regret I am not at my best.” His dark face showed the strain of heartache, his eye bloodshot. Still, he attempted a slight smile, easily seen around his salt-and-peppered beard, fully regrown and neatly trimmed.

“No regrets, your excellency, save my own. I am sorry not to have been of more assistance to you last night and this morning,” Tsarra said. Remembering another Tethyrian custom, she took his hands between hers, folding them together over her heart in honor of his grief.

His only response was to drop his head as tears flowed freely from his right eye. He bowed his head to hers, his voice choked with emotion. “You honor me with that mourner’s prayer. Thank you.” He dropped his hands and collapsed into the nearest chair, his shoulders and head slumped in grief.

Tsarra looked to Khelben for a cue as to what she should do. He walked around the glistening spell construct, his face an unreadable mask, and spoke up from across the room: “A worthy and intriguing spell, Gamalon. If not for its overlong casting, it would be a boon on the battlefield. Still, truly a spell that needs carry your name.” His pacing brought him close to where Gamalon and Tsarra were, and his face relaxed into a look of compassionate concern. Speaking to neither one of them, Khelben looked at a wall and said, “Laeral, please bring the globe if it’s ready.” He knelt down and placed a hand on Gamalon’s shoulder, and the wizard looked up.

“My anger’s spent, as are my spells, Blackstaff. I’m just … I can’t believe Mynda … Why didn’t her necklace protect her? Why? I … I don’t understand …” Gamalon began a series of wracking sobs that did not stop when Laeral entered the room.

In her hands, she held a wooden box. She went directly to a small table near Gamalon and placed the box on it,
opening the latch and letting the box’s hinges open to reveal its contents. Set into each of the hinged covers was a scroll tube. Inside the box on a velvet cushion rested a globe of rose quartz about two hand spans in diameter. Its surface was polished smooth save for a few sigils lightly etched into it. Laeral and Khelben both murmured the same spell, which Tsarra did not recognize, and their palms glowed as they placed their hands upon the globe, their faces a mixture of sadness and compassion.

Tsarra shuffled around the room, opening windows to let out the lingering smoke. She busied herself with the mundane tasks of tidying the bed and moving the smoldering furniture beneath the windows. Hearing Gamalon cough, Tsarra poured him a cup of water from his bedside pitcher. She sent the clay cup over to him with a minor cantrip. Gamalon looked at her and nodded.

“Aha. ‘Use every occasion to sharpen your magic, even the most mundane. It is not vanity or laziness that makes a mage use his skills in all things, but to honor the gods Azuth and Mystra for their gifts and their trust in him.’ That still holds true?” Gamalon asked.

Tsarra smiled in return. “It would seem Khelben’s lectures remain the same across the years. You were an apprentice here, your excellency?”

Gamalon said, “Never an apprentice, but kin and a intermittent student over the years. Poorer in magic would I be, were it not for my great-grandfather.”

Tsarra asked, “So you too know he’s not who he claims to be?”

“Less than one per twoscore who have studied within these walls realize Khelben knows too much to only be a mage of fifty-odd winters. I always knew my paternal grandmother Kessydra was born in the Year of the Bright Sun as the daughter of Khelben the Elder and Cassandra Simtul-Arunsun. Mind you, I called him cousin for many years before I uncovered the truth. His secrets are there, but only decipherable if he trusts you enough to show you the trail that leads to them.”

“Enough, Lord Idogyr,” Khelben intoned from across the room. “Here is another secret, though it is pale recompense for its costs.”

Gamalon turned to look at Khelben, and stood up, his face paling as he said loudly to the mages Arunsun, “A Nykkaran Mourninglobe?”

The spell’s glow shifting from their hands into the globe, Laeral and Khelben pulled their hands away. Both opened their eyes, and Khelben spoke. “Yes. Laeral and I spent the night preparing this one while you healed and slept. This one is for you—for Mynda.”

“Khelben,” Gamalon said, “these are priceless, their secrets lost.”

“Not exactly true on either account,” Laeral returned. “You have four scrolls here with the mourning spell on them—enough for you and your children to mourn her within the globe.”

As Laeral spoke and Gamalon sat down at the table with them, Khelben looked at Tsarra and sent to her,
You’re usually better at keeping your emotions off your face, Tsarra. Your confusion is apparent
.

Well, I don’t usually see this much new or old magic this quickly. I’ve seen more secrets in two days than I’ve studied in a dozen years here. I’ve never heard of either mourninglobes or Nykkaran before—was he the wizard who made them?

I forget my days can seem overwhelming to those unused to such tumult. You’ll have to get used to this, I’m afraid. As for Nykkar, it is a place. Calimshan has always had Nykkar, a city dedicated to funerary practices and the dead. Some funeramancers of this city first created these globes back when the Shoon dominated the south
.

Khelben’s lecture went much faster, as Tsarra received images, memories, and knowledge relating to his topic as he sent.