“Malek? What are—?”
Malek smiled at her, and opened his mouth but his response was lost in the griffon’s roar. They looked up to see the crystal griffon rearing up and over them to attack the smouldering and badly burned form of Lord Essmyth, armed with a short sword shining with azure energy.
Malek turned around toward their attacker, putting himself between the threat and Laeral. The last thing he saw was the blue short sword’s point and the raw grimace of the traitor lord.
As he fell backward, Malek Aldhanek heard Laeral scream, “No!”
He didn’t feel his head hit the floor.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
(1374 DR)
Tsarra woke sharply, her eyes snapping open and seeing directly into Khelben’s staring back at her. For a moment, Malek Aldhanek’s clean-shaven and olive-eyed visage hung in the air as a translucent mask over Khelben’s.
“You’re peeling back far more memories and secrets of mine than I ever expected, Tsarra. I’m just glad neither one of us truly had to remember what it feels like to be stabbed in the eye.” Khelben said, as he helped her sit up. Sometime during the vision, he’d moved Tsarra to one of the easy chairs in the library.
Tsarra found the questions flooding even faster than usual, and she struggled to keep still, as her head throbbed with pain, especially around her left eye. “You’re even older than anyone believes, Master, aren’t you? Even Khelben the Elder wasn’t around for Stornanter. And Lady Arunsun is the same Laeral, the first Witch-Queen of the North?”
“I was only Malek Aldhanek for ten years from the Year of the Warrior’s Rest to that of the Laughing Swan. In that time, I helped build Stornanter, restore Illusk, and write a few books people still try to comprehend fifty-six decades later. The identity was in fact significant only because it allowed me to meet my soul mate and establish many of the conundrums surrounding us now. You’ve now seen one of the most important moments of my long life, apprentice. Now tell milady she’s as beautiful now as she was five centuries agone.” Khelben waved his hand, and Tsarra noticed Laeral approaching with a steaming mug that smelled of cinnamon and cloves. Aside from a change from shorter to longer hair, Laeral looked the same as in the vision.
“How did you survive? And why didn’t you heal yourself, Lady Laeral?” Tsarra demanded, her response as tied to the vision’s emotions as to her own curiosity.
Laeral slid onto the arm of the chair next to Tsarra’s, leaving the seat for Khelben who sat down with her. “At the time, I was not yet aware of who I truly was. My time to be Chosen was a few decades later, though that was my last day ever in that audience chamber. I’ve not set foot near Port Llast in five centuries because of all that.” She shifted her attention to Khelben for a moment. “Did I ever tell you how long it took us to drop that smoldering traitor after he killed you? Honestly, the man was more stubborn as a corpse than he was in life!” Laeral chuckled, but her white-knuckled grip on Khelben’s hand told Tsarra other things. She saw the tension and pain it brought up again.
Khelben looked at Laeral then shifted his eyes to Tsarra, then back to Laeral. “My only concern at the time was that you wouldn’t bury me too deep. I’d used a lot of silver fire to keep you alive, so all I could do was keep myself from abandoning my body. The tougher part was feeling my body healing but having to lie there without breathing for four days while my body lay in state. It was a nice funeral, love, did I ever tell you that?” Khelben winked at Laeral, then turned to Tsarra. “My lady here was the most inconsolable woman I’d ever seen at a funeral until I met the widow at Lord Raventree’s funeral about forty years back. Laeral did have a nice crypt built for me—unfortunately very solid, and tough to break from from the inside, I must say. Especially when one is buried without his spellbook.”
“I was curious!” Laeral shrugged, then giggled. “I was going to put it with you … eventually.”
Despite her shock at it all and the headache, Tsarra joined the two of them in laughing. “Dug yourself from many graves, Master?”
“Once before and since,” Khelben replied. “After that third trial, I disposed of my identities away from sight and spread rumors of their passings. It’s also easier to build an empty crypt and hide things therein for later. Tsarra, this vision only knocked you out for a few hours, but it’s a lot to digest. And it has been some time since you’ve had a chance to sleep. We’ll continue later this morning, as it’s nearly dawn. For now, let us return to the main tower, shall we, ladies?” Khelben held out a hand to each woman and led them up toward the stairwell.
“But what about Aldhanek’s theories? That the sharn were Netherese transformed to fight the phaerimm?” Tsarra asked. She held her elbow out for the tressym, who flew down from the rafters.
Khelben smiled. “One of my better attempts at misdirection, my dear. I made it up and wrote seven other books under three other names that expanded those theories until the idea itself was accepted as fact. Safer that way than to allow people to stumble upon the whole truth of things before the world is ready for them.”
“So you deliberately mislead people into accepting falsehoods? You write up lies to cover the truth?” Tsarra found herself getting angry all over again. “How can you live with the deceit?”
Laeral put a hand on Tsarra’s shoulder and smiled. “Child, those who truly seek the truth are rarely misled by these … hurdles, shall we say? Only those who greedily seek power—like our current foe, apparently—accept these short answers and are hoodwinked. Besides, we follow both the dictates of our intellects and the directions of the Lady of Mysteries. The machinations demanded of us sometimes rival those of Shar’s servants, but we do this willingly, knowing that we eventually expand people’s understanding of magic.”
“But—” Tsarra protested, but Khelben held up his hand to silence her.
“All right, Tsarra. Enough protesting. Time to directly learn one of my greatest secrets—one that may become a task of yours as well in the future. What do most common folk whisper when they guess what I am up to in my Tower? Other than the usual ‘taking over the world’ paranoia or ‘conspiring with the Zhentarim’ that has become popular the past few years?”
“Most still wonder if you’ve truly abandoned both the lords and the Harpers. Oh, and the Watchful Order assumes you’re producing major magical items for Piergeiron and the Guard without their due taxtation or supervision.”
Laeral said, “It’s astounding how fussy the guild of mages can be when they’ve nothing better to worry about.”
“Of course. Neither Laeral nor I need sleep unless we choose to—or are injured or ill. What occupies many a night—Stop smiling, Laeral, I’m not sharing those revelations—is writing. I enscribe as our Lady bids me or as my own heart deems. Even if what is written doesn’t follow history, who is to say it doesn’t hold a kernel of truth? Sometimes I work on my memoirs, and sometimes I write things to delude those seeking the easier paths to power. One of the reasons why the Darkholden stand with us is Sememmon proved more cunning about some things than did his former master. He saw through a thick web of intrigues and as a result, we struck a bargain, Sememmon and I.”
“Ah, I was wondering if they’d shown themselves or not,” Laeral said. “You won’t believe how angry Malchor is about having to work with them. Still, these are all worries and thoughts to be wrestled with a freshly rested brain. Let us get you to bed, dear.” Laeral slipped one arm through Tsarra’s and led her toward the stairs.
“Well, I can’t possibly sleep now! I’m fine,” Tsarra protested. “All of this changes so much.”
Khelben took up her other arm, nudging Nameless to the floor, and said, “You’ve had a hard enough day, my dear. I have endured your temper more than enough as well. That anger comes from exhaustion more than true outrage.” He waved one arm, and the lights in the library dimmed. “Best sleep on this, and we’ll discuss any further objections you have in the morning. I sh
all spend the night aiding Gamalon. Given our need for proximity, you’ll have to sleep in one of the guest chambers. Besides, you need to be refreshed to properly wish Lord Wands the happiest of birthdays when we visit him tomorrow.”
“As long as he won’t be offended by my wearing full armor and weaponry,” Tsarra said. “If our foe is undead, as the evidence suggests, I don’t intend to be caught without protection and a means of fighting back.”
“I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise, my dear,” Khelben replied.
As the three of them moved toward the stairs, Tsarra’s eyes found a cabinet she’d not noticed earlier. Through its glass doors shone a flickering white light, only noticeable in the diminished light around them. The staff appeared to be blackened wood sealed along major cracks with silver metal. At the top, an axe blade, carved like a howling wolf’s mouth in profile, seemed fused to the staff. Silver metal also filled in a multitude of runes carved into the staff along its length.
“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.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
(1374 DR)
Tsarra, 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.
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