Blackstaff (5 page)

As a senior apprentice, Tsarra was privy to many of the command words to access certain places and things within Blackstaff Tower, so she said the command again, louder, only to have a force field remain around the belt and niche.

She sighed loudly and said, “Sorry to interrupt you, Lord
Arunsun, but I cannot get the niche to release its burden to me for this test.”

Khelben did not even turn toward her as he began vaulting the steps.

“Adkarlom.”
The niches all briefly flashed and Tsarra’s hand closed around the cold metal belt. Khelben dashed upstairs and spoke as he spun from sight. “Wait for me in the lower library. I’ll be there … soon.”

Tsarra was stunned. In sixteen years at the tower, she had never seen Khelben run for any reason. While she’d heard the rare snort or chuckle, she’d also never heard Khelben laugh, which he seemed to be doing from up the stairs.

“Something weird is going on, Danthra,” Tsarra said as she entered the library. “Did you hear that? Khelben laughing!”

Danthra blanched, her porcelain skin paling even more than normal. Tsarra placed the belt on the table, and put her arm around her friend in support. Danthra hugged her fiercely, almost squeezing the air from her. After a few moments, she relaxed, and Tsarra held her shoulders as she asked, “Gods … What’s the matter, Dreamer? You can’t be
that
nervous about this spell.”

“It’s not that … it’s that vision … I didn’t know it before, but Khelben’s laugh was in my vision too.”

“You’re kidding me! Well, tell me—”

“Ladies, good morning. Let us proceed.” Khelben walked briskly into the room, his face cloaked in its usual stone-seriousness.

Tsarra saw what had gone unnoticed in the dark stairwell. Instead of his normal dark robes, Khelben wore modern-cut robes of deep crimson wool. His trademark black staff that he often carried with him was not the usual trim staff shod in silver on the ends. Instead, he bore a gnarled and blackened piece of wood that seemed more a small sapling blasted from the ground. As Khelben closed the door, Tsarra also noticed that blue sparks danced among the cluster of roots at the staff’s top. He also had a broad smile
on his face, and his steel-blue eyes danced with delight.

Khelben turned, noticed his apprentices’ stares, and within a heartbeat, his face returned to its normal impassive countenance.

“Why is it so surprising that I am not wearing my usual dour robes? I have of late been at the Tchazzam villa for mornfeast,” he said in a low monotone. “Now, I believe the Dreamer has a spell to show us. Tsarra, please place the item before her so she may begin.” Khelben spoke quickly, leaving them little room to respond or question. “Center yourself, Danthra, and educate us as to the parameters of your spell.”

“Uh, Master,” Danthra interrupted. “I had a vision this morning that concerned you.”

“Indeed? Fascinating. You can tell me all about it after you’ve performed this spell, yes?”

Danthra looked at Tsarra with a weak smile. Tsarra gave her an encouraging grin. Danthra always got nervous around the Blackstaff, even after spending the past nine years in his home and under his tutelage. He was the one to name her the Dreamer, after her unpredictable and debilitating visions. Each vision could incapacitate Danthra for moments or whole days, but all of them proved prophetic.

Tsarra laid out the belt, smoothing its links and getting slight tingles from the green gems. With her back to Khelben, Tsarra winked at Danthra to set her more at ease, and the girl smiled weakly back. Tsarra took up a parchment and quill to record the spell test and all things said during it.

Danthra released a long breath then stood and placed her hands on the table without touching the belt. “The spell has no name as yet, but it’s an extension of the divination theories behind basic detection and identification spells. It can divine anyone who crafted the item or anyone who used it for extended periods of time. Most often, it deals with concrete factors about an item, not ephemeral legends or historical information. With concentration and time, this spell should allow its caster to learn as much about the physical and
magical properties of any item she encounters.”

“What is the spell’s range?” Khelben asked, his fingers steepled before his lips.

“Less than an armspan, sir. I limited it, as this is a spell for study, not combat.”

Khelben nodded his approval then rose. He seemed lost in thought but waved his hand for her to move along. Oblivious to how he was distracting her, the archmage moved behind Tsarra and placed his gnarled staff against the outer wall, leaning it against one of the bookshelves.

As he returned to his seat, he explained, “Best I get any other magical items from your sight, lest they disrupt the casting. Please continue, but go slowly so our sorcerous friend—” Khelben gestured toward Tsarra—“may record the nuances of the casting.”

Danthra coughed nervously, took a drink of water, and resumed. “The older an item is, the longer the casting can take to divine all its properties, but unlike the common identify spell, this can root out all of an item’s abilities with enough time. If an item is made of many different materials, that may slow the effects as well, since the magic will take the caster through all the information on all components. Again, depending on the time spent casting and concentrating, this spell could potentially show you where an item’s metal was shaped, forged, or perhaps even where the ore was mined for it.”

Khelben interrupted her. “Intriguing, young lady, and certainly research of some merit. Be warned that the item before you could take days to reveal all its secrets, but it should suit for this test. Begin your casting, for theory can only get you so much of my praise.”

Danthra nodded and breathed deeply to center herself. She took a handful of incense—“This is purified olibanus resin”—and dropped it into a small brazier at the table’s center, its sweet smoke wreathing her and the table’s contents. She traced mystical movements in the air within the incense smoke and around the belt. Danthra drew one finger in a perimeter around the belt and brazier, and the
smoke stayed within that boundary thereafter. She then picked up a small pouch and said “This is powdered ivory and pearl mixed together.” She poured the powder into her palm, intoned her incantations, and dusted the item with the powder in her hand. The dust undulated within the incense smoke before settling in a light layer upon the item. After a number of incantations, the dust glowed a variety of colors, all reflected in the smoke and the eyes of the entranced caster.

Danthra’s voice dropped an octave due to deep concentration and relaxation. “The belt is made of platinum, steel, gold, and beljurels, all of different ages and constructed at different times. This item’s primary purpose is defense both physical and mystical. It augments physical armor with magical defenses but cannot aid other mystical defenses. It can add lightning’s touch to one weapon wielded by its wearer.” With each revelation and comment, the dust and the smoke sparkled and one color among the many dissipated.

Still deep in her spell trance, Danthra’s brow creased in confusion then surprise, and she smiled. “This belt has held other dweomers and other powers … other names. The dominant magic is no more than three centuries old, and the stones were enchanted centuries before that … cut even longer centuries ago.”

Tsarra’s nose itched due to the incense, and she scratched while Danthra paused in her monologue. While the cloying sweet smoke prevailed, Tsarra caught another scent—the smell of air after a lightning strike. Tsarra’s thoughts were interrupted as Danthra began again, her words coming at a swifter pace.

“Zelphar Arunsun changed this belt. He added the buckle, repaired its scale.…”

Tsarra looked over at Khelben, but their master reacted not at all to the name of his long-dead father.

Danthra continued, “A half-elf warrior wore this belt last, eleven decades ago. His name was Dakath of Nesmé, and he died wearing it. His squire brought it to Blackstaff
Tower and delivered it unto Zelphar.… His family knew it as the Shield Belt of Storms.… A dark wizard crafted the weapon scales with a dwarf centuries before.”

Danthra touched nine of the individual scales across the belt as she spoke. “Ryttal Ghalmrin forged the metals, and Theod Darkwhisper laid in the enchantment of weapons … they twisted an older magic to bond their work to the belt.… Seven warriors wore it in lands cold across many years.”

Tsarra stretched her cramped hand and refreshed the ink on the quill. Danthra remained in her spell trance, concentrating for long moments. Khelben looked at Tsarra, glanced down at the parchment, and looked back toward Danthra without a word. The sharp smell of lightning’s wake remained with Tsarra. She noticed the belt was sparkling even more brightly, shooting off sparks that bounced off the spell boundary hemming in the incense smoke.

“Must be part of the spell,” Tsarra mused, as she reached for another sheet of parchment.

Danthra flinched and her brow knotted again in frustration. “The belt was filled with darkness … spiders crawling … drow held this for some time … muted the light it once held … this belt was made for elves in sunshine.… It was the—
ow!
”

Danthra’s concentration broke when a stream of sparks and crackles came from the belt, striking her and arcing past her to Khelben’s gnarled staff. Tsarra noticed that it too crackled with blue energy. She put her quill down, staring in wonder at Danthra and the two items.

Danthra looked up, shaken from her spell trance. “Master?”

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Khelben lunged from his chair toward the table and yelled, “Down, both of you!”

Tsarra saw brilliant blue crackles coalesce around the belt and the staff. She felt paralyzed as the energy engulfed them all.

She and her chair were both launched from the floor. She
saw fear and confusion in Danthra’s eyes, but only anger in the glare of their mentor. The wall behind them exploded inward. Tsarra felt as if she were sinking in a whirlpool then suddenly jerked skyward, and she heard lightning filling the air above a soul-rending scream.

Energy crackled all around them, making their bodies jerk spasmodically before it bolted upward, lightning stabbing the crystalline sky. Wracked with pain, Tsarra lay where she fell, staring through the ragged hole in the tower and outer courtyard wall. In the middle of Swords Street, Tsarra saw the young man she met earlier that morning. He was down, clutching a short sword, smoke and blue sparks surrounding it. The only details she could make out were his dark, close-trimmed beard, ponytail, red shirt, and three golden diamond designs set into the blade of his sword. Her sight darkened around those diamonds, the three glints of gold playing with blue lightning as she lost consciousness.

T
he rogue had walked by Blackstaff Tower nine times in the past four days. His encounter earlier with Tsarra and her apprentices was only his second time being seen by denizens of the tower, both times of his design. Raegar looked for hidden doors in its courtyard walls, though to any watching he appeared only to wander among the wagons and carts scattered around the streets. In late autumn, the guilds, Guard, and Watch turned blind eyes to the many foreign vendors who spread carts beyond the Market, anxious to unload the last of their wares before leaving the city and returning to their homes for the coming winter. A bundle of southern traders crowded Marlar’s Lane and Tharleon Street, providing Raegar with ample distractions. As he dickered with an Amnian weaver over the price of a traveler’s cloak, he felt a tingle
on his hip where his sword rested—the new short sword Damlath had given him only a few tendays ago.

Raegar broke off negotiations with the trader and moved in his planned path across the street and close to the wall surrounding Khelben’s tower. He expected to walk across the front, then turn at the southeast corner to urinate in the midden behind Jhrual’s Dance, the festhall adjacent to the tower. But the sword’s tingling increased with each step. Raegar wanted to stop before it got worse, but a noble’s carriage barreled down Swords Street, forcing him and other pedestrians to the roadsides. Raegar’s right hip brushed up against the outer gate of Blackstaff Tower’s curtain wall. The gate’s intricate ironwork—its bars shaped into a mixture of wands, staves, and vines of metal—unleashed an explosion of magic on contact. The sword shattered its own scabbard with a blast of lightning that did the same to the gate and part of the wall. Raegar bent down to pick up the fallen sword but hesitated as the sword stood up, balanced on its pommel, and crackled with energy. At the same time, bolts of lightning blew away the wall at the base of the tower. Those bolts zeroed in on the sword, unifying and launching skyward from it as a massive lightning strike. The energy and booming thunder threw Raegar and his weapon into the street.

Ears still ringing, Raegar quickly grabbed the fallen blade as thunder echoed down the street. He stared at the three gold diamonds emblazoned into the blade, wondering what might have happened if he’d held onto the sword.

“So much for subtlety,” he muttered.

All around him, people yelled and pointed at him or stared upward at the path the lightning took. Others still stared at the uncharacteristic holes in the defenses of Blackstaff Tower. Raegar also looked through the hole in the wall, straining to see what secrets he could glean from this distance. All he saw through the settling dust was an injured woman in a gray woolen dress lying on the floor, staring at him with deep hazel eyes—Tsarra Chaadren, the half-elf who had caught his eye earlier. Until she fell
unconscious, Raegar froze in place, kneeling as the magic and dust swirled around him. Once he shook his head clear, he slipped the short sword into the torch loop on his belt and got to his feet.

The thief looked across Swords Street, and his stomach sank. He stared directly into the face of the Blackstaff as the archmage staggered from the smoking crater in his tower. Break into Blackstaff Tower and plunder its secrets? Raegar thought. Good idea, if done discreetly. Face its master? Better idea to leave quickly.