Blackstaff (28 page)

This won’t harm Danthra, will it? She seems so fragile, Khelben. Are you sure we can’t help her before we do this?

Resolving our tasks in the physical world will be the best help for her now. Concentrate on my eyes and my voice. Ignore the flames. They’re just a manifestation of the magic and thought behind this
.

Just make sure that you don’t shove any spells into my head along with this plan. You wizards always make mountains from molehills to craft spells, and I don’t want you mucking up my sorceries
.

Khelben’s mouth dropped open in surprise until Tsarra winked at him. He smiled, and his eyes danced with amusement.

You have a pleasant smile when you don’t hold it back, Khelben
.

So my mother used to tell me
. Khelben had a brief far-away look then stiffened. His stony face returned as he cleared his throat and focused his eyes on Tsarra, muttering his incantations.

Tsarra relaxed and allowed the magic to flow around and through her. She suddenly had memories and knowledge she’d never read but had fully experienced through Khelben’s senses. She gasped as the enormity of their task unfurled before her mind, and tears of joy and sadness flowed freely on both their olive-tinged faces.

Raegar paced around the round chamber, cat nervous. Nameless kept pace with him, as if he were a watchdog gliding from perch to perch around the room, never taking his eyes off the rogue. Both had followed Laeral from the chamber and back into the main entry hall of Blackstaff Tower. She went to a small cabinet near the base of the stairs, flipping its top up after muttering some words and knocking on it twice.

“Does he always stare at people like that?” Raegar asked.

“Only those he’s uncertain about. Like my husband, he watches those he cannot predict, but never betrays how he feels about someone until they need to know,” Laeral said. “Despite that, he’s one of the most forthright tressyms I’ve ever met.” While she talked, Laeral took out a number of oilcloth bundles from the lower cabinet, as well as a wooden box intricately carved with runes and set with gems of all colors.

“Well, I would’ve had a few scars from his claws, if not for the Binder’s forgiveness and healing, so I know how he feels about me.” Raegar rubbed his healed face and scowled at Nameless. In response, the tressym yawned, and flared and stretched his wings and back all at once.

“No, lad, I don’t think you do. He’s actually on your side, despite Tsarra’s protests.” Laeral stood up and faced Raegar.

“What’s that supposed to mean? On my side about what?”

“Gods, you children complicate things so. In time, you’ll know. For now, let us prepare for tomorrow’s work. Can you remember anything else about the lich?”

Raegar thought a moment. Shuddering as he conjured up the memories of the past night, he said, “All of his spells were cold. Bitter, biting cold. I’ve not met many undead, and never any liches before him, but the air grew chilled like Auril’s kiss near him.”

Tsarra stepped into the room, her stride confident and quick. She said, “Of course it did. We face Priamon
Rakesk, traitor in exile and former Tower apprentice.”

Laeral grimaced as she said, “The Frostrune.”

“How do you both know that? Who is he and why did he kill my friend?” Raegar asked, his attention bouncing between the two women.

“Remember a few Highharvestides ago, when Undermountain vomited its creatures into the streets?” Tsarra asked. When Raegar nodded, she added, “He caused it by ripping Halaster from his home. Lord Arunsun believes he used that gambit to join a conclave of other liches in the south called the Twisted Rune.”

Raegar let out a low whistle. “I’ve heard rumors of them, and nothing good.”

Tsarra made a few odd hand gestures at Laeral, who nodded. “Laeral will tell you more,” she said and dashed up the stairs into the tower, leaving Raegar alone again with the Lady Mage of Waterdeep.

“I’ve been meaning to learn a hand language, one of these moons,” Raegar said. “They’re so useful for speaking without seeming to do so.”

Laeral raised an eyebrow at him and said, “Yes, well, you should expect secrets aplenty in Blackstaff Tower, lad. You can’t expect us to trust a thief, even one who works in the Binder’s name, do you?”

“No, but it’s just rude. I expected better manners from ladies,” Raegar said, and both smiled.

“The message,” Laeral said as she opened a taller wardrobe by the door, “was from my husband, who speaks to Tsarra even while in that necklace she wears. It wasn’t for your ears or understanding, even if you are proven trustworthy. Now here, take this and this.” She held out a burgundy-colored cloak, russet-colored boots, and a silver ring set with a sapphire for him. Raegar took the items but did not put them on.

“Don’t be so suspicious, Raegar Stoneblade.” Laeral said. “Those will protect you from some of the cold that Frostrune might throw at you. His affectation is to use cold and ice in all his spells, hence his name.”

Raegar’s eyes went wide, and he slipped the boots then the ring on and donned the cloak.

“Any chance you’ve a spare sword around here I could use too?” he asked. “This Frostrune took both the blades I had. I’ve only one dagger, and I expect we’ll be heading into a fight soon enough, right?”

Laeral stopped, whispered a few words to an empty corner as she turned away from Raegar, and smiled as she turned back to him. “Yes, and Khelben agrees it’s appropriate.”

She closed the wardrobe and tapped on its door in three places. She opened the wardrobe and brought out a short sword in a deep red leather scabbard. With a gesture from Laeral, the weapon and its scabbard flew across the room and lashed itself to Raegar’s belt.

“That is Perivaernikerym. Wield her with honor and earn our trust. Know that the Blackstaff and I expect much from her wielder. The word you’ll need to know is carved in her quillons.”

Raegar drew the blade from its scabbard, and flames flickered to life along the blade. “No need for torches anymore.” Raegar looked at the word on the quillons. “Eye … gan …”

Laeral clapped her hands sharply to grab his attention then warned him, “Don’t say that word unless you mean to throw up a shield of flames, boy! That power only works once a day, so don’t waste it playing. Wielding the blade makes you immune to flames, but it doesn’t protect your own clothes or surroundings.” Her tone lightened as she added, “She’s a good blade to use against Frostrune, and she is balanced so you can throw her if you need to.”

Raegar admired the delicate runic carvings along the light, thin elven blade. He swung the sword a few times, getting used to its weight and balance, and nodded his approval.

“May I look into its history and lore later, Lady Arunsun, should I prove worthy enough to keep this?”

“Ah, a true Oghman. The blade is yours, Raegar, by
Khelben’s say-so, and I have seen inside your head and heart. You will wield her with honor, just as her two other wielders did long ago, the first being Khelben’s mother.”

“A blade wielded by Lhestyn, the Masked Lady of Waterdeep …” Raegar stared at the blade. “You do me too much honor, lady.”

“More than you know, Raegar Stoneblade,” Laeral said, as she continued to take large bundles from the wardrobe. “Learn more later, but sheathe her now and help me.”

A breath later, Raegar and Laeral stopped as the tower and all its stones suddenly hummed, the tone reverberating through every stone. The edges of every block glistened with silver magic before returning to normal.

“What was that?” Raegar asked, turning in amazement.

“Khelben, no!” Laeral whispered. “It’s not possible. Not now, beloved!” Tears flooded down her cheeks as she stared up the stairs.

“What’s going on?” Raegar asked. “Is something wrong? What are they up to up there?”

“Shut up, fool!” Laeral snapped and yelled up the stairwell. “Khelben! Don’t you ignore me! Talk to me!” She seemed not to notice the stream of students coming down the stairs, abuzz with questions and confusion.

Laeral seemed furious in her conversation with empty air. “Khelben, you owe me a far better explanation …” Her shoulders fell and she slumped to the floor, two teenaged students catching her as she fell.

The flood of questions overwhelmed Laeral and in a daze she said, “Return to your rooms, students, for your own safety.” Amid the protests and offers of aid from older students, Laeral repeated her request, which went unheeded again. She drew herself up, and her eyes blazed.
“Parekalrath!”
she exclaimed, and the entry hall once again was empty save for herself, Nameless, and Raegar. Laeral shot a look at Raegar that seemed almost as cold as Frostrune.

“Sometimes students need to be put in their places. We have a cell downstairs for you, if you’re going to argue with me as well.”

Raegar swallowed hard and shook his head as she approached him.

Laeral reached into the tall wardrobe. She shoved a large parcel into Raegar’s arms that was taller than he was but only two handspans around and wrapped in a woolen cloak. “Place that in the center of the room, and stand back from it.”

Raegar did as instructed, and he was amazed that what seemed like a bundle of tall sticks stood upright without support.

“Step over toward me, quickly.” Laeral said with some urgency as a bell began chiming up the stairs. “
Now
, Raegar!”

Raegar jumped across the room to stand next to her. She stared into the room’s center and gestured, magic crackling among her fingers, and the woolen wrap snapped taut and unspooled from around the bundle as if pulled. Raegar gasped when he saw what lay beneath that covering—blackstaves!

T
he exposed blackstaves spun and whirled, propelled by the unfurling of the cloak, which swooped back into the wardrobe. The thin black wooden staves grated and scraped across the stones of the chamber, each moving to a different point in the room, stopping about a footstep away from Laeral and Raegar. Raegar stared, never having been close to the legendary black-staff and in awe as he watched thirteen position themselves around the room. All seemed to be made of duskwood or some other darkened wood and were black as night. That’s where their similarities ended. Some were shod in metal or had it infused in them. Others held large gems embedded in their tips or elsewhere. Still others were carved to appear as sinuous snakes or a collection of fists. Raegar was fascinated by the
staves, most of which were polished to a glossy sheen, though a few were dull or apparently burnt to achieve their blackened status.

“I never knew there was more than one blackstaff,” Raegar remarked.

“No reason you or any outsider would, boy,” Laeral said. “Khelben rarely shares secrets unless time or expediency demands it.”

Raegar, entranced by the blackstaves, only realized Laeral had moved when she spoke. He heard the door to the tower open and turned to see five figures enter silently and quickly to take their places around the room’s perimeter. Raegar kept his face impassive but even he knew some of these notables of Art within the city. His mind boggled at the thought of a plan that required the Blackstaff to join forces with the arrogant and preening purple-cloaked wizard Maaril the Dragonmage. While he didn’t know him well, Raegar nodded in greeting to a surprised Winter Zulth, the half-elf wizard they’d met the previous summer in Dock Ward when Damlath insisted they visit the Horizon’s Sails to find some magically created navigational maps. Two other wizards—one male elf and one human woman—Raegar didn’t recognize, but he certainly knew the final entrant.

The half-elf woman walked with a slight limp, her gnarled white ash staff providing her with support. The mistress of Selûne’s Smile had the ample curves of humanity with the aquiline features and pointed ears of elvenkind. Her clothes, as always, were daringly tailored with ample décolletage to flatter her figure. The steel blue and dark purple of her clothes accented her floor length dark hair, which seemed to gleam with starlight save for a stripe of white along her temples. Her purple eyes beamed at the thief after she’d given a quick hug to Laeral and turned to face the room.

“Raegar, darling! Whatever are you doing here, and where is that rascal Damlath?” Kyriani Agrivar moved quickly to his side and snuggled close to Raegar.

“ ’Tis crowded enough here, lass. Don’t wish for more, especially strangers,” Maaril growled at her. Kyriani stuck her tongue out at Waterdeep’s infamous Dragonmage.

Nameless, from his perch atop the wardrobe, hissed down at Maaril, who twisted his dragon-headed staff toward the tressym, its eyes glowing with malice.

A whoosh of displaced air and a twinkle of blue sparks placed a tall man in iron-gray leathers and a sky-blue cloak between Maaril and Nameless. The man’s back was to Raegar as he faced Maaril, who glared then stared away and appeared to find interest in the blackstaves still spinning around the room. Two crackles of green energy and a whirlwind of gold dust heralded the arrival of others by teleport magic. Raegar tried to identify them, but Kyriani distracted him by slipping her hand inside his shirt and rubbing his chest.