“Sir?” Tsarra asked.
Lord Wands motioned both of them toward a wide table, its surface a smooth dark mirror. He rested his hand on the glass, and the ring he wore—a gold signet stamped with his House seal in silver—twinkled with magic. Instantly, the tabletop became an overhead view of the manor’s grounds. Glowing wizard marks moved about on its surface in various colors, and Maskar whispered another command word. The illusion expanded upward, becoming a translucent model of the building and the ground beneath it. Tsarra saw Khelben’s wizard mark glow gold in a deep sub-basement, alongside the mark she guessed was Lord Wands’s sigil—and her own.
Maskar waved his hand to get Tsarra’s attention and pointed upward. In the attic of one of the outbuildings on the grounds, Tsarra’s wizard mark glowed a bluish-silver atop another steel-colored wizard mark.
“The silver sigils are familiars or anyone enspelled by a particular wizard. Gold ones are the wizards themselves. It serves to know exactly where any trained in the Art are at any time on my property.” Lord Maskar stood back from the holographic illusion, his arms crossed. “Your familiar arrived about an hour ago, and Olanhar and Snowhunter recognized him immediately. While Olanhar isn’t pleased by the inconvenience of his “gifts”, the last litter of tressym kittens greatly excited my grandchildren. I will be as well, provided they don’t shred more Phalorman tapestries.” Maskar winked at her again, and Tsarra felt a blush creep up her neck as she realized Nameless’s trespass.
“Speaking of gifts, Lord Wands,” Khelben interrupted the old man’s teasing, “this blackstaff you admired is my birthday gift to you. I regret we won’t have time for you to deduce all its powers for our amusement at present.”
“A blackstaff to call my own—a princely gift, Khelben, thank you.” Maskar nodded to Khelben then turned to Tsarra. “You do know this is how your master hoodwinks people into doing him favors, don’t you? This is only the seventh time in ninety-eight years of knowing him that Khelben has gifted me on my birthday. So what favor does he need of me now?”
“Three things, milord. First, I need to see the Weeping Blade of Rholaris Wands, and mayhaps borrow it,” Khelben said.
“Easily enough done.”
Maskar walked to the far side of the room. Tsarra realized she’d not even taken a look around. She fully believed people’s tales of the magnetic personality of Lord Maskar Wands. Two massive bookshelves stood behind that staircase, and seven more sets of shelves continued along the left-hand wall, interrupted twice by large work tables, one covered in books and scrolls, the other with bubbling beakers, potion flasks, and component jars. The center of the room held the large table, its illusionary tracking of the wizards on Wands property still glowing. The far end of the room held a circle of over-stuffed chairs and small tables, and a few of them were turned to face the right-hand wall, which was covered with paintings and maps of Waterdeep, the Sword Coast, the Savage North, and much of the rest of Faerûn. Lord Wands motioned them toward the farther wall, on which were three doors. He approached the second one, pulled a key from his pocket, and opened it. He went through, and Khelben made sure to hold Tsarra by the arm as they stepped through the door simultaneously.
Tsarra felt a slight tingle as she was shifted spatially to Maskar’s study on the third floor of the manor house. The room was more richly appointed than the lord’s workshop. Rich walnut panels lined the ceiling and walls of the study. A massive duskwood table with eight formal chairs dominated one side of the room. There were two bookshelves there, both with glass-paneled doors protecting their contents. They seemed to hold only bric-a-brac and trinkets undisturbed for many years. The carpets under foot came from far-off Zakhara, and Tsarra had little doubt that at least one of them might fly if so commanded by the lord of the manor.
The trio approached the western wall, and Tsarra shielded her eyes slightly as they crossed a strong sunbeam coming through the tall windows. The wall held a display of weapons: an arc of seven swords atop a quartet of shields and a row of nine daggers.
Khelben said, “My Lord Wands, I believe we can test my student’s knowledge to find the item that we seek.”
Tsarra took her time, looking the weapons over from top to bottom then she said, “It’s the third sword among the seven—the silver pommel with the sapphire tang button, two more sapphires on its steel-banded scabbard.”
Maskar’s eyebrows rose, and he chuckled. “Very good, girl. How did you know that?”
The old man muttered a command word before he magically floated the sword off the wall and into Khelben’s waiting hands.
Tsarra whirled when Khelben smacked his palm on the nearby table and cursed, “Hrast!”
Tsarra silently asked, What is it? What’s the matter? Didn’t you need this sword?
No—the scabbard was actually more important in this case, Khelben replied then spoke aloud. “Lord Maskar, when was the last time someone removed this sword from its perch?”
“My sons and nephews made use of all of those weapons to fend off Myrkul’s Horde sixteen years ago. Other than that, it has stayed there. Only three of us can remove the weapons from their places.”
“Well, Lord Wands, someone tampered with this regardless. I don’t have time to check the sword’s authenticity, but the scabbard is a forgery. Were it true, we would have seen blue sparks the moment we entered this room.” Khelben fumed, smacking his fist into his other palm as he paced.
“What?” Tsarra yelled. “You risked the lightning again without warning me?”
Khelben stared out the window. “No. The lightning only occurs when three of them are within a certain proximity. Two together only spit out sparks to cue the seeker as to their connections.”
Tsarra lashed out at Khelben. “I can’t believe you! With all that’s gone wrong, you don’t even warn me?”
Khelben said, “You are more than capable, Tsarra. I also knew there was no danger of the lightning today.”
“Like you knew at the tower?” Tsarra snapped. “Danthra’s dead, Khelben. Dead! Do you need the tower to collapse before you part with another secret? Are the secrets more important than people?”
Khelben’s shoulders sagged then he stiffened his back and replied, “No, that was never my choice. That happened because Mystra willed Danthra’s fate. Even if I had tried to prevent it, the results would have been the same for all of us, perhaps with greater costs. You must believe that, Tsarra, if nothing else.”
“Why should I trust you?” Tsarra screamed, pent-up frustration fueling her rage. “How many more of us will die for your precious secrets?”
“Tsarra, that’s enough. We need to move on to our next errand.” Khelben said, his voice gaining an edge of exasperation.
“Tish-tosh, child,” Maskar said, putting a kindly hand on her shoulder. “Khelben loves his secrets, but you must know he loves good people more, even if he hides it.” His merry eyes helped Tsarra calm down, and he nodded as he moved closer to Khelben by the window. “I heard something had blown a hole through the tower. That’s not happened since my father’s day and the Harpstar Wars.”
Taking the sword from Khelben’s hands, the old man set it on the table and pressed his palm on the surface beside it. Hands morphed from the table’s surface to hold the sword and scabbard fast.
Khelben said, “It’s obvious someone stole the scabbard long ago—it may have happened during Epira’s collusion with the Guildmasters a century back. We cannot spare the time to look for it, but we’ll hope to find the remainder of the items before our foe claims the true legacy.”
Tsarra sat down on a chair, clenching her fists. She tried to listen in to the archmages across the room, but the ringing in her ears made that difficult.
“Good. A second favor, milord, is to see Belkram’s Fall. Using the Yawning Portal right now would draw untoward attention.”
“Young lady, we’ll need you over here, please,” Maskar called, and Tsarra rose from her chair. She felt slightly dizzy and no less a
ngry, but she approached and the wizards each took one of her hands. Maskar spoke an incantation, and instantly they went from the sun-flooded study to a dark stone room with no light. Torches flared to life around them, blue flames dismissing the darkness and revealing a small chamber with a massive sealed doorway.
Khelben and Maskar had their backs to the door but dropped their hands and turned to it. They intoned together, “Ahrakelsharith Hilathrellas Orekarla Belkrammath.”
The stone door split down its middle and opened like wardrobe doors. The scraping of stone was loud in the small chamber.
Bile rose in Tsarra’s throat, as she smelled decay and death on the chilling draft of air that rushed out the doors. Khelben stepped to the edge, and Tsarra followed, more curious than invited. She looked past the doorway to see only darkness, and looking down, she perceived a massive shaft disappearing beyond the edge of the light. She heard distant sounds and saw some flickers of light far below, but she couldn’t identify what they were.
Tsarra gulped, her dizziness and nausea not abating at all. “How far down does this go?”
“We’ve never measured it properly, dear,” Maskar chuckled. “We only know we’ve never heard anyone hit bottom.”
“Belkram’s Fall is perhaps thrice the length of the City of Splendors, give or take a ward.” Khelben remarked flatly. “It was once a major mining shaft for the Melairkyn dwarves when they worked the Underhalls. We’re not descending, though. Merely sending a message.”
“Into Undermountain?” Tsarra gasped. “Why would you want to get the attention of the Mad Mage?”
Khelben produced a small carved stone swallow from his pocket. He cast a number of spells on the bird too quickly for Tsarra to follow then tapped the bird’s head three times. It woke in his palm, twittered a gleeful greeting, and took flight down the tunnel. In its wake glittered five different colors of magical sparkles, but within moments even those sparkles had vanished.
Khelben said, “Those defenses should allow it to pass through the antimagical fields that span the shaft and get my message through. As to your question, sorcerers and wizards both must attend to some courtesies, regardless of power—or perhaps because of it.”
As Tsarra looked down, her dizziness increased, as did the smell of decay. The ringing in her ears became the patter of rain on stone, as the vision overwhelmed her. Tsarra collapsed, and as she pitched forward a small part of her brain wondered what would happen next.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
12 Kythorn, the Year of Unleashed Fears
(451 DR)
The young man looked down upon his captors. “You have left me but one avenue, my lords. Sure, are you, that you want to force this path upon me? You know not what you do.”
“You have nerve, boy, I’ll give you that. I expect bluster from a sword-bearer, not a boy wizard in humble woolen robes.” The wizard hovered near to him and bared his fangs. “Youngling, you are the ignorant one. You wandered off the path and stepped into Silorrattor. You found us, to your despair. Reap what you sow.”
“Nay, wait, Kaeth,” the second said, his voice a grating of iron on stone. “This one carries the secrets of elves, does he not?” The black-skinned wizard let his gray hood fall back, pointed ears and white ponytail revealing his drow nature.
“My agents tracked him from Myth Drannor itself and led him to us, Ahaud. More importantly, he carries secrets from the Seven as well.”
Yessss … the third projected, a stray tentacle waving outside the edges of its cloak’s hood. Let usss ssssuck the sssecretssss from hisss mind.…
“You forget, Saquarl, of our pact,” the fourth figure said from the throne at the center of the tower’s floor, her voice softer. She stepped off the shadowy throne’s dais and into the light. “All prefects share equally of magic gained, or else we see it destroyed before others benefit from it.” The woman shrugged off her umber cloak, revealing a voluptuous figure in a shimmering red gown that flattered her like a sycophant. “I have other ways of making the boy talk. Palron? Ready him for my interrogation.”
“Of course, milady Xaerna. At once.” The floating wizard gestured, and when his arms slashed through the air before him, the young man’s robes ripped away. The young wizard was naked and still suspended from his invisible magical bonds. His rent robes and cloak fell to the floor near Saquarl, disturbing the dust.
Xaerna finished her own incantations, and black bats’ wings sprouted from her shoulders. She took to the air, looping around her young prey. As she passed, her hands caressed the young mage’s muscular form.
“Hm. A human in every way. Pity. I prefer my men less hairy, but your secrets won’t last us long.” The woman’s satin gown trailed against the young mage’s trunk and legs, and he shivered.
“Ha ha! Mayhaps he’s aching for something other than freedom, Xaerna?” Ahaud the drow laughed. “We can extract information from this hostage of ours in so many ways, some for which you are eminently suited. Exactly how long do we have before we need to sacrifice his body?” The black-skinned elf unfurled an oily whip from his belt and lashed it out, its tip snapping dangerously close to the captive’s bare feet.
Are we cccertain thissss one walked with the Sssseven? Saquarl the illithid sent to all minds. Nothing on him indicated sssuch an allianccce.
“Do you doubt me or my agents, mind flayer?” Palron Kaeth snapped back as he settled to the ground.
“No,” a fifth figure intoned. “He merely wants confirmation from someone with a pulse.”
The vampire laughed and said, “Our friendship may have spanned my death, but don’t vex me, Luuthis.” Far above, no one noticed the young man smile grimly.
Luuthis said, “Saquarl, My Lady sees through all lies. He is who Kaeth claims he is. Do you need me to prove Leira’s powers through me are greater than your Underdark-born faculties?”
Palron moved over to the fat Northman and threw an arm over his broad shoulders.
“None of us doubts Luuthis Fharren’s convictions or the powers of your goddess, Lord High Obfuscator. We need only know how long before the boy’s sacrifice is of most use to the Three in Darkness we all serve.”
The young man smiled broadly, and Xaerna giggled. “Fellows, our captive enjoys my attentions.”
“Hardly,” he replied. “You’ve told me what I needed to know. I’m ready to go, now that my mission is completed.”
The only sound in the tall chamber was the sound of the vampiress’s magical wings beating the air. Then evil laughter filled the chamber from its obsidian floor below to its ceiling just as far above.
Saquarl, in moving away from Luuthis, brushed against the pile of rent clothes. The fabric and leather fragments slithered and swarmed around him, wrapping tightly around his head and body so quickly that none of his comrades noticed until Xaerna screamed and clutched her head. The illithid brought her down, her defenses useless against his psionic attack.
Palron leaped to defend his vampiric mistress, while Ahaud clambered up the wall like a spider, drawing two very ornate black short swords as he ran. Only the Leiran priest watched their smiling captive as he flexed his arms and legs then clenched his grip, magical energies surging from his hands. The priest brought up his triangular holy symbol to start a spell when the mage drew his knee across his body as he pulled his left leg up. Luuthis crumpled, never seeing the flagstone smash into his head.
“Interesting maneuver, child.” Ahaud remarked. “We’ll have that secret as well before you free yourself.” The drow touched the tips of his short swords together, and a purplish-black bolt of magic exploded toward the defenseless mage.
“Indeed?” The mage’s steel-blue eyes sparkled with contempt for the drow as the blast hit him full force. The color of the magic shifted immediately to light blue, and the magic leeched into the magical webbing that spread-eagled the man in the center of the tower. Suffused in blue energy, the mage kicked his right leg out and yanked his right arm down and across his body. Two stone blocks a
ttached to the webs hurtled toward Ahaud.
The drow disappeared with a pop, reappearing a few yards up the wall, still clinging to it like a spider. “You missed, boy!” he crowed. “Enjoy your freedom a few heartbeats more.…”
“It will last longer than your life, Ahaud of House Tanor’thal.” The young mage spun in mid-air, and the three stones still attached to the spell webs that once held him scraped and rebounded against the walls below him.
“Don’t count on that, wizard!” Xaerna cried, her face twisted in anger as she flew toward him. “Your death will be as miserable as that whisper of a beard on your chin.”
Down below, the wizard could see Palron Kaeth hunched over the body of Saquarl, the illithid’s neck obviously broken. The scraps that once possessed the illithid swarmed around the male vampire.
The young wizard pulled with his anchored left arm, which drew him into the tower’s upper reaches and dislodged the stone. He floated of his own volition, but his final anchor stone crashed into Xaerna’s left wing and slowed her pursuit. Ahaud continued the chase, easily running up the smooth black stone walls.
Ignoring his pursuers, the wizard began a new spell. He spun rapidly, the arcane webbing and stones it trailed all glowing. Ahaud and Xaerna avoided the stones, and they too cast spells. The fireball left her fingers a few seconds after the drow unleashed his lightning, and while the wizard reflected the bolt right back at Ahaud, the fireball exploded just above him, slamming him against a wall and burning away his hair.
“Pity the much-vaunted Seven Wizards of Myth Drannor failed to teach you better.” Xaerna flew to where the naked man smoldered in one of the upper windowsills, and she began casting a paralyzing spell.
Blackstaff Page 16
