Both men looked into each other’s eyes and nodded. The human finally settled back down onto the sphere as his system fought back against the phaerimm poison.
“No matter what you believed these fifty years, I am proud of you, my son.” Arun handed his son the Duskstaff as spells began to crack, splash, and thunder at the outer surface of the sphere. “I only wish we could have found your name in this lifetime.”
The human wizard nodded, blinking away tears and setting a grim resolve on his face. He whispered, “Sweet Lady of Mysteries, let this not be in vain.”
He seated the staff hard against the sphere’s bottom, hooking one foot around it to brace it. He leaned against it, pulling as hard as he could with his uninjured arm to snap it over his back and shoulders.
Arun grabbed the Lupinaxe, the blade worked to resemble the profile of a snarling wolf’s head. He smiled grimly as he hefted it, saying only, “For Arielimnda and the Harpers in Twilight, my son.”
Arun swung the axe at the staff’s bending point as his nameless son replied, “Indeed.”
Neither man heard the furious explosion that destroyed them instants before turning the surrounding desert dell into a glassy crater.
Awaken, Son of Arun. Know that you are Chosen.
Mother? Is that you?
In a way, child, though not of your first body.
Where am I?
Between life and death. Are you prepared to serve me?
Who are you?
Our mysteries have touched you. Our name you revere. Your prayers are answered.
Surrounding white, no sense of self, only the voice, soft yet awesome, a whisper to drown out the thunder of a beating heart.
Your blood’s sacrifices are powerful and they go not unnoted. Know that you are Chosen.
Floating, suspended, no pain, no sense of touch, but feeling stronger with each loud heartbeat.
Your tasks are many, so shall be your gifts.
Blue and silver whirls around, surrounding, filling every sense beyond their limits, feeling a tingling that cannot be ignored, shut out, or denied, a tingling that grows to burning.
Our fires do not consume but convert. Accept them. Let the silver become you and you become silver.
The man remembers the silver-white hair of his u’osu, the disapproving stare of an otherwise-noble elf’s disdain.
Dwell not on your past, child. Gain the knowledge to serve us over centuries. Unto you we impart three truths, seven secrets, nine soulnames, and thirteen omens.
The pain subsided as the fires brought with them flashes of insight, and an old memory. “Stare into the firelight, Nameless One, and you shall see truths you hide from your own mind.”
Mentor spoke our will that day. You shall aid the Weave Ourself. You are crucial to us, e’er moreso than these twelve-score you see.
The man saw faces of strangers … a white-bearded wizard with a red streak of hair at his lower lip … a dark-skinned man with a dead right eye and a gold brand on his right temple … a toothless old woman awash in the filth of the gutters despite her rich robes … a black-haired man straining against chains, his elf lover tortured before him by a shorter man in a mask … a bald man with a green gem glinting where his left eye should be … and so many more. He struggled, wondering where all this came from.
Hear me, dutiful one. We are the Weave. We are the Mysteries. We are Mystra. Know that you are Chosen.
The man smiled and let the fires kindle and grow from cinders of hints to flames of awareness.
CHAPTER ONE
28 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
(1374 DR)
“Hush, now … not a sound,” she whispered.
The woman brushed a ginger-colored curl from her eyes, tucking it behind her slightly pointed ear. The only noises were the rustle of deadfall where a doe walked cautiously through the clearing and the tiny protesting groans of the bowstring as the woman readied an arrow.
Crashing noises startled both the doe and the hunter and both froze in horror.
“Tsarra, come see!” The boy’s yell preceded him as he trammeled through the underbrush toward them. At the same time, the woman’s bow sang and a whistle in the air was all that remained of her arrow. The doe leaped away from the clamor—too late. She fell dead, a white-fletched shaft piercing her heart.
“Tarik!” Another boy kneeled at the woman’s side, but his face matched his flaming red hair. He jumped up and grabbed the far-shorter boy by the heavy cloak. “You nearly lost us our deer, fool!”
“Let him go, Lhoris. Close your eyes and breathe your bad humor out.” The woman stood and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm his temper.” Try to remember what an excitable boy you were at ten, before Danthra and I remind you of your first days in Blackstaff Tower,” she added with a wink. Lhoris exhaled loudly, but held onto the smaller boy. She looked at him and asked, “Now, what is all the noise for, Tarik? At the very least, I need to teach you how to move more quietly in a forest, little Myratman.”
The Tethyrian boy shrugged himself from Lhoris’s grip, sticking his tongue out at the older boy. He looked up at Tsarra and beamed. “Chaid found it! Or it found him. Come see!” He pulled on her cloak, attempting to drag her in the direction from which he’d come.
Tsarra smiled, trying to remember how long it had been since she’d been so impulsive. She looked over at the fifteen-year-old Lhoris, who stomped and kicked at the fallen orange leaves. She worried about the young man from Fireshear and what lay at the root of his bitterness and anger. Until he was ready to talk, she could do little beyond hold her curiosity in check. Tsarra guided his talents in both sorcery and wizardry away from spells his moods could fuel too explosively.
“Lhoris, why don’t you take that rope, set up a noose over that big branch, and get the deer ready for dressing, please? We’ll be back in shortly. I think Tarik deserves the fun of doing that.” Tsarra was glad to hear Lhoris snort in response. As she let Tarik drag her away, she added, “And no magic to haul that deer up, boy. You need to build a little muscle, before you become a living skeleton.”
Tsarra allowed Tarik to pull her along to the next clearing a little to the south. The boy was happily intent on showing her the source of his excitement. He chattered as he forced his way through the underbrush, not making any attempts to slow down and look where he stepped.
“Chaid just sat there all night and this morning, just like you taught him, but I got bored and Danthra was showing me herbs and how you chew on one leaf to stop a headache—boy she ate a lot of those!—and use another one to stop blood from flowing quick and there was this really fascinating seedcone, but that turned out to be a beetle of some kind I couldn’t catch and Chaid started laughing and—”
Tsarra asked, “Warm enough, Tarik?” By the gods, the boy never paused for breath!
The Tethyrian nodded, and forged on with his report on what he had found in the forest. The child came from much warmer climes, and was spendng his first winter north of Zazesspur. Accordingly, he wore heavy wool robes and a cloak, even though Tsarra made do with her hunting leathers and a light travel cape. Tarik and his brother Chaid al Farid al Fuqani were both dusky-skinned Tethyrians with jet-black hair, and both were years yet from their first beards. While Tarik wore his straight hair in a small ponytail, Chaid’s curls rivaled Tsarra’s, though shorter. The only other difference between the twins were their eyes—Tarik’s were a deep cobalt blue, while Chaid’s eyes were a startling bronze color with flecks of the same cobalt blue.
Tsarra and Tarik finally broke through a bramble and into an open clearing. Tarik ran straightaway to his brother, who sat cross-legged at the center of the clearing, his back to them. Tsarra noticed Danthra the Dreamer picking burrs off of her woolen dress.
“I told you to wear something more appropriate for camping and hunting, Dreamer,” she teased. Tsarra loved hunting in the Pellamcopse, the small woods east-northeast of the Northgate, but it had more than its share of briars.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Tsarra asked in a low voice as she kneeled by her friend, so as not to be overheard by the students. “No more visions I hope? Can you tell me what you saw that shook us both from sound sleep?”
“The images are mostly the same—three lightning bolts of blue, purple, and black; Khelben’s sigil; a green glowing gem; and a Blackstaff shattering amid the full moon and a field of purple stars.” Danthra whispered. “You were there too, screaming.”
“As were you, last night,” Tsarra said. “Weird stuff too. You said, ‘An old secret and the Blackstaff shatters and seeds duties of old anew are sown by lightning and sorrow,’ then passed out again.”
“I’m just glad you heard it. I never remember that stuff.”
Tsarra arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “Well, it makes no sense to me, but we’ll tell Khelben when we get back.”
Danthra said, “But Tsarra, aren’t you—”
Tsarra put a finger to the young woman’s lips and shook her head. “Your visions come true, and I’ve learned it’s best not to worry about what you can’t control. So let it go. You’ve nothing to apologize for. In fact, I should thank you for coming. What was I thinking, bringing six apprentices out on an overnight hunt?” She got up, crossing her eyes, which made her friend laugh.
“You were thinking you can train some of them to be rangers, like your father taught you? Give up, Tsarra. The only two of us with any skills outside of our books are Trehgan and the new girl,” Danthra said, and she jumped as a brace of scarlet-feathered tarrants fell at her feet. Both women looked up to hear a low, mellow voice reply, “One four times your elder should not be called ‘girl,’ human.”
Perched easily across a pair of stout tree limbs, Tsarra’s newest student looked down at them. The copper skinned elf girl was not quite an adolescent, but she was already older than all of Tsarra’s other students combined. Walaxyrvaan of the Wealdath’s Elmanesse tribe apparently came north with a referral from Arilyn Moonblade and the master’s nephew, Lord Danilo Thann. She had helped guard the caravan along the way north and had also tried—to no avail—to quell the exuberance of the al Fuqani brothers who traveled with her. Walaxyrvaan’s name translated into “Lynx of Approaching Dusk,” and she preferred to be called Lynx.
“Don’t take offense, Lynx,” Tsarra said. “And what a marvelous catch. Did you and Trehgan find any more?”
“The barbarian’s got a brace of grouse as well. Not as good as your deer, but it’s a light morning. He’s not a bad hunter for a human, I’ll give him that. Surprisingly quiet too, given how massive his feet are,” she said in Elvish. “Traya, meanwhile, would be useless on a hunt, even if she could do more than moon after Lhoris.”
“In Common, Lynx. Don’t be rude. Where are they, anyway?”
“After his loud swearing loused our chances of catching some partridge, we found the angry one where you left him. Lhoris lacks the strength to haul up the doe. Trehgan’s helping him, and Ginara has at least made herself useful picking late berries. Did the ivaebhin find what he was looking for?” Lynx did an effortless handstand as she talked, walking out onto one tree limb and launching herself to land in a silent crouch at Tsarra’s and Danthra’s feet. Tsarra was amused that the elf girl referred to the quieter Fuqani brother as “boy filled with brightness.”
“I’m about to find out.” The three women walked toward the two boys as the sun came out from beneath the clouds, lighting up the forest glade in gold and scarlet splendor among the leaves. “Tarik, I’ll need you to go with Danthra and Lynx. She and Trehgan will teach you how to dress the deer.”
The ten-year-old stood up and perched his fists on his hips in defiance. “No. I won’t do it. Our father didn’t send us here to hunt deer in strange woods—that’s servant’s work.”
“Be that as it may, my haughty little Tethyrian,” Tsarra said, quickly winning the staring contest the boy had tried to start, “you are a servant of the Blackstaff and of me until you learn magic that proves otherwise. It is our will that you learn how to gut a deer this morning. Besides, if we don’t fill the larder of Blackstaff Tower before winter comes, we’ll be out here in chest-deep snows hunting rabbits. You’ll be out here regardless, as you need to learn how to walk more quietly.”
The boy stomped off in a huff, swiftly pursued by Lynx who playfully tossed a handful of leaves into the boy’s face, encouraging him to chase her.
Danthra rolled her eyes and said, “Well, hurry along and don’t leave all the worst work to us. We still need to break camp and return to the city before it gets much later.”
“Aye. See you soon, Dreamer.” Tsarra said, and she moved over toward the giggling boy who rolled in the fallen leaves, a fast-moving, sleek creature scampering around and atop him. As Tsarra neared them, the creature squeaked and fled inside Chaid’s wide sleeve. That provoked a “Whoop!” from the boy, and Tsarra smiled as a bulge moved around beneath the wool, seeking a safe place to hide on his new friend.
“Chaid, it’s wonderful to see you’ve found your familiar.”
The boy looked up at her and beamed. Just as heavily garbed as his brother, Chaid was the opposite of his twin in most ways. Quiet and contemplative, he only spoke when necessary, perhaps because he rarely got a word in edgewise around Tarik. Chaid’s remarkable bronze eyes stared at her—and a weasel’s head popped from Chaid’s shirt directly beneath his chin. Tsarra gasped—the weasel’s fur matched Chaid’s eyes perfectly.
“He’s so happy to meet me, and you too. I think he likes your smell. Can I call him Brakar? That’s the queen’s coin of Darromar!” Chaid asked, coaxing the weasel out to snuggle in his arms.
“I don’t know, Chaid. He’s not a pet. You should only use a name he prefers to be called, in case he already has a name. If he doesn’t provide one or ask for one, don’t call him anything. After all, my tressym has yet to tell me his name after ten years of bonding, but he and I get along fine. Lady Laeral has taken to calling him Nameless for the sake of convenience, so if you need to talk to him, he doesn’t seem to mind being called that.”
Chaid brought the weasel up to his eyes and spoke to him. “Do you already have a name?” Even Tsarra needed no explanation when the weasel shook its head. “Would you like a name, so we can be friends?” Chaid asked, and the weasel chattered and bobbed his entire body. “Then I shall call you Brakar. I’m so glad to meet you, friend.”
Chaid’s eyes were rimmed with tears as Brakar jumped up onto Tsarra and began sniffing her.
Chaid said, “He likes the name, I think. It’s like he’s never had a name so it’s a present to him. I’m feeling excited, but there’s something more.”
Tsarra said, “You’re feeling his emotions too, through the link you now share. As time goes on and you learn more magic, that bond witll grow stronger. He’s another living being, like you, that responded to a call by the Weave and nature to bond. That bond teaches each of you more with an expanded perspective on magic and life both.”
“Well, I learned one thing already, teacher,” Chaid said, smirking.
“What’s that?”
“Tarik is jealous that I have something he doesn’t and he wants a familiar too, now.”
“Well, we can try another day.”
“Tarik can’t sit still for even one bell, let alone one day, listening to the call of the ritual.”
“Well, on that note, let’s go see how the others are faring at prepping our catches for transport back to the city. The sun’s now fully above the horizon. We’ve got to hurry back.”
CHAPTER TWO
28 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
(1374 DR)
“Oh my …”
They had just turned onto Seaseye March, and Tsarra looked to see at what Danthra had gasped. She saw a man ducking his head and much of his shirtless torso into a rain barrel. He quickly whipped his body from the water, small ice shards obvious on the disturbed surface, and he growled as he shook his long hair and shoulders, spraying the area with water.
He was trim and muscular with a small tattoo Tsarra couldn’t identify on his left shoulder. He ran his fingers through his hair, squeezing more water from it, and smiled a dazzling smile as he noticed Tsarra, Danthra, and Traya watching him. He winked, and Tsarra blushed. He was directly along their path, so they could hardly avoid him. As explanation, he shrugged and explained, “Cheaper than a festhall or bath house.”
“Isn’t that cold?” Traya whispered. Danthra’s and Tsarra’s eyes both widened—Traya was often too shy to speak at all, let alone to strangers.
“No worse than on Auril’s Blesstide.” He winked at the girl.
Tsarra smiled, imagining the fit young man running naked through Waterdeep’s streets the morning of the first frost to plunge into the ocean. He’s alluring, I’ll grant him that, Tsarra thought. The man pulled his hair back into a tight ponytail and stared at Tsarra. To her surprise, she didn’t mind.
Tsarra only shook her head from her daydream when her familiar—one of the very few winged cats in Waterdeep—zoomed past her, yowling, “Mistressfriend wantneed horseheadmale matebehappyfriend?”
Even though she knew no one else understood him, she snarled back at him before addressing her students, “All right, all of you. Boys, help Trehgan with the deer.”
In response, Tarik cupped his hands and cackled as a scarlet disk hovered in the air before him. “I can carry it myself with this!”
Trehgan, the wild-haired and strongly built man who had been carrying the carcass across his shoulders, shrugged it up and over, dropping it onto Tarik’s floating disk.
Blackstaff Page 2
