Blackstaff (40 page)

I’m so sorry, Tsarra. Sorry for it all. Sorry for the burden the fates have put on your shoulders
. His voice was heavy with nine hundred years of suffering in it. Tsarra wasn’t sure what frightened her more—the fleeting memory of so much death, or the smell of death permeating the illusory chamber as Khelben held the one true Blackstaff out for her.

I thought you said this was what made you the Blackstaff
.

And so shall it make you, Tsarra Autumfire Chaadren
.

Tsarra felt resolve coming from her mentor, but she also felt despair and his resignation to this fate.
You expect to die today? Why are you giving up now, Khelben? Don’t you want your children to know you?

You and Laeral can teach them of me. What we must do today—now—is to preserve as many lives as possible. That only happens with my sacrifice
.

She wanted to argue, but her own understanding wouldn’t let her do so. Her hand reached out for the black-staff, but she drew back before touching it.

Let me sacrifice myself to the working. You’re too important to too many
, she sent.

Khelben reached out and cupped her face, his eyes sad but firm.
No, my dear. You can’t, or else I’d have no body in which to do this. Remember this always—the blackstaff is important, but its bearer less so. And it must be me, or else the ritual will claim the lives of my wife and children or other Chosen. The only way this ritual works is by giving up all my silver fire and my life to keep the Killing Storm from destroying those tempering its fury
.

Does Laeral know this is happening? That you’ll die today?

She suspects, but I dared not confirm it for her. She would lose the focus she needs to do her part in this ritual
.

Tsarra wracked her brain for other options, to argue against Khelben’s cold logic.
There are five gods here! Can’t they do something?

Two of them have saved me from death before, so they
act by my returning their gift. No, they attend to watch only. Their involvement stopped at choosing their priests and changing Nameless earlier to save
your
life
.

Is what we’re doing truly worth giving up your life, Khelben?

Aye, lass, ten times that cost, but I can’t do that without your help. You have a role to play, even in here. Now relieve me of one burden at least. Become the Blackstaff
.

Tsarra’s hand closed around the rough staff, and the silver metal along the staff crackled with magic. She had a sense of Blackstaff Tower in Waterdeep, the location of every student within it, and more. So many secrets lay open before her from Khelben’s memories and the powers tied to that staff.…

I never realized …

You’ll have decades in which to learn more about the powers and responsibilities that have been forced on you today. Truthfully, I expected this burden to fall to Malchor and groomed him thusly. Alas, the fates had other plans
. Khelben suddenly seemed older and weaker than before, and he stumbled as he let go of the staff.
After tonight, the
tel’teukiira
are yours to command. Many of them are in attendance here
.

Tsarra felt a tingling, and beneath her cloak she found a dull metal badge of a scroll surrounded by seven stars.

You should make one of those for Raegar as well. There’s much promise in that boy, don’t you agree?

Indeed
. Tsarra mocked Khelben’s normally grave tone and favored phrase, but neither had the energy to laugh. Tsarra helped Khelben over to a chair and sat across from him before asking,
Why didn’t you stop the Frostrune, if you knew what he set in motion?

Don’t call him that, for the last time. I regret what was lost while we gave him free rein to collect his power. We had to leave the Legacy items in play and allow him access to such levels of magic. The Killing Storm’s binding into the High Moor could only be undone by one not seeking to activate it but having the power to do so. The magic necessary is also
inherently evil, and none of us could bring the items together and cast what needed to be done. Now that Priamon has primed the area for us—I hate to admit, ingeniously—with that pyramid and the lightning bolts, we can now take the activated magic and transform it
.

Why not Sememmon or Ashemmi? Don’t tell me they aren’t evil enough to have done that!

Truthfully, they are not. Ruthless and self-absorbed, to be certain, but wholly and indisputably evil? Nay, lass. They are destined for more than this gambit with the
tel’teukiira.
Besides, with the Legacy as a lure over time, its false leads exposed more than a score of would-be world conquerors who trouble the Realms no longer, including Priamon. You know all this now, Tsarra; it’s in the Blackstaff. You also know what you must do in concert with what I do in the physical world
.

But why unleash the Killing Storm? Won’t this cause more harm than good?

Magic, like all natural forces, likes synchronicities. One of the many keys to unlocking this great secret was the need for this level of magic, power, and the specific forces found only in the Killing Storm. Until the crusted barrens we call the High Moor are cleansed, the secret remains buried. By cleansing the land, we shall reveal the great secret of the sharn. What has been called Malavar’s Hand is the top of the highest tor of Miyeritar’s city of high magic, once called Faertelmiir
.

Khelben had paused a moment, his eyes closed as he conferred with Tsarra inside the
kiira
. He focused his intentions and concentration to the magic ahead of them. After a breath or three, he exhaled, stretched, and approached Laeral. He kissed her deeply on the lips, placed one hand over her abdomen, and gave her some of his silver fire for her protection. When she started to ask him a question, he put a hand to her mouth and backed away. He bowed before her, arms outstretched. She reached into her robes
and pulled the gnarled, tangled blackstaff of Miyeritar from its extradimensional pocket. Blue sparks crackled among the tangle of roots on its apex. Laeral laid the staff across Khelben’s palms.

Khelben centered himself at the dead reckoning of the Grasp. Raising the staff as high as he could, he drove it a foot into the rocky heath.

Inside the
kiira
, Tsarra did the same with the blackstaff, thrusting it into the stones of the library, seeing her place in the work.

Silver lightning bolts and flames erupted around the staff’s impact, but Khelben maintained his grip on the staff, though the flames claimed robes, clothes, hair, and even the flesh on his hands. The blast shattered the sphere of force above their heads, and lightning bolts quintupled in intensity and number around them. The staff drew the lightning bolts from the pyramid, and the air over the structure thickened even more with clouds and storms.

Inside the
kiira
, the plume of silver-green energy lanced upward from the blackstaff. Tsarra realized that action unleashed most of the silver fires Khelben had previously stored in the tower in Waterdeep. The silver magic danced into the clouds as lightning, but she could feel it subtly changing the storms. The City of Splendors would be spared any harm, though much would be said of the night Blackstaff Tower crackled lightning-white till dawn. A fleeting glimpse outside the tower also showed Tsarra that the magic had rebuilt the Eightower anew.

Tsarra pulled her focus back from the blackstaff and felt all the magic in play on the High Moor. Khelben harnessed the lightning bolts on the High Moor and changed them to pulses of silver fire that flickered to the four Chosen and the five curved menhirs behind them. As the fire drew them into the magical effect, Tsarra could feel their minds and souls within reach, just like Khelben’s. She could see the structure of the Working within their minds and hearts.

She and Khelben were the central casters along with
Danthra, making them the three-souled one. Elminster mused about a prophecy of the Three becoming a Reunion of Many.… Alvaerele thought about all the sixteen bloodlines of power represented among the workers in the first three circles, blood that stretched as far back as Uvaeren in five of them and to Miyreritar in three people.… Alustriel carried Silverymoon foremost in her thoughts and its unity and friendship, focusing her hopes into exceeding that spirit herein.… Laeral worried about Khelben most of all and the lightning-wracked Sword Coast. No matter what else, each also had in mind a tiny gem.

Each Chosen reached into extradimensional pockets and withdrew gems pulsing with power in red, orange, black, and brown hues. They let the gems float in the air. A ring of lightning crackled among them, which blasted the blackstaff at the center of the pyre too. That stoked the fires, and the flames engulfed the First Circle and Malavar’s Grasp. The flames leaped higher, and the central bolt of power shattered the crystalline pyramid overhead. The five legacy items at the points of the pyramid whirled into the fires. A greasy cloud of flies, dust, and corruption rose to infest the bound and floating corpse of the Frostrune.

With the pyre lit and burning, the five Chosen urged the
selu’kiira
they unleashed to find their bearers. One zoomed over to Khelben’s forehead and began orbiting a tight circle over the existing
kiira
already there, both
kiira
pulsing with energy. The three other gems flew no farther than the black moat surrounding the flaming Grasp. A massive three-headed sharn rose, and the three gems affixed themselves to its heads. The sharn erupted, fires consuming its oily black form and producing three separate bodies, each as tall as Elminster. The two women and one man still kept the blackened skin of the sharn, but their forms were those of nude elves who easily joined the five Chosen within the pyre. The trio formed a ring hovering over Khelben and around the core plume of energy pulsing from the blackstaff.

The three elves manifested briefly in Tsarra’s
kiira-
library,
and each kissed her, leaving her with their silent sendings:

You have awakened us to our purpose and our pleasure
.

Know you always shall have the gratitude of the
cor’selu’maraar’Miyeritaari.

May your sacrifices be few and your rewards many
.

T
he Chosen of the First Circle, having found the grand mages for the greater Working, harnessed their wills and sent the energy of the pyre out in a wide pulse to link their minds, wills, and hearts to those of the Second Circle. Those who claimed bracers from the sharn stood in the Second Circle. The bracers added their hands and strength to the working, focusing its energies to their highest purpose. The silver flames crackled across the plains and hit every member of the circle simultaneously. The fires held at that circle for a time, as the wielders intuited what they needed to do.

The Central Caster sparks the flame. The First Circle lights the pyre. The Second Circle uses that flame to restore warmth and light
.

Once that message was received, the twelve of
the Second Circle blasted the fires into the heath, scoring the ground among them for the city soon-to-rise.

Four hundred strides separated Tlanchass across the circle from Mentor and the others. She wept openly, knowing that she stood for her fallen love as a student of the Seven Wizards of Myth Drannor. She worked the magic in his name, though her long-bound tears flowed freely due to the embrace and condolences of Mentor Wintercloak. She also bristled at working with corrupt and evil people, but Mentor reminded her they all shared a purpose and a need to be there, even if all was not shared with them.

Tlanchass returned to her normal gold dragon form as the fires engulfed the Second Circle. She felt the mind-touch of the eleven other souls within the circle—the dragons Essioanawrath and the Argentalon, Jhesiyra Kestellharp, High Mage Orjalun, Mentor Wintercloak, Darcassan, Shalantha Omberdawn, Syndra Wands, Ualair the Silent, Maskar Wands, and Rhymallos. They all raised their bracer-clad limbs in unison, but Syndra Wands raised both her ghostly arms. Isylmyth’s Bracer gleamed on her other arm and the two bracers glimmered in sympathetic magic. Each created a massive stream of magical energy, and all twelve blasted away the soil and rock. The energies penetrated the High Moor and traveled away from the Second Circle in magical manifestations of ground fires, unicorns, giant ants, bulettes, or even small dragons that scored the heath with golden claws and fire.

From their actions, the dirt released its poisons and the magic of the Killing Storms. To some, the fell magic looked like greasy fog, to others virulent plagues of flies, and still others saw nishruu of a slate-gray color. All of this magic they released and directed back toward the center of the working. Tlanchass did as the magic directed her. Her energies and her illusory drakes cultivated health back into the blasted heath she had ever known as the High Moor. She only hoped the strength of her comrades would last, engulfed as they all were in the miasmic fog that killed the people of Miyeritar.