Poor Aloevan. Would that I could help her, Khelben sent, snapping Tsarra’s concentration. Her vision of the Weave as a woodland nearly ended. This spell is utterly fascinating, my dear. You described it to me before, but being able to see it through your eyes is an experience I’m glad I got to share.
Tsarra shook off Khelben’s words. She stared into the Weavewood, gauging the distances between each track marked on the Weave.
Khelben interrupted her again. Of course. Seeing how far between each step he leaves on the Weave gives you an idea of how far he’s teleported. The direction shows you toward where he teleported. Brilliant. Have you uncovered where the fool has gone to ground?
Tsarra yelled, “Ow!” and Nameless growled low at Raegar, who glared back and said, “Hey—it wasn’t me!”
“Not all of us can analyze and talk while casting spells, Blackstaff!” Tsarra snapped out loud. “It feels like Lurue’s horn stabbed through my brain!”
Khelben’s only response was to glare at her, and she glanced down at his wounds, then softened her tone. “Raegar,” she said, turning to the man who held her, “thank you. You can put me down, now. You need to go to—”
“Wait,” Khelben said, staring not at them but at the pulsing and shimmering wall of sharnstuff that enclosed all but where they stood.
“Why?” Tsarra asked, though she realized Raegar had not put her down. His eyes remained locked on hers, and she could see his concern. She felt her stomach flip a little but she turned back to Khelben to steady herself. “We need to tell our allies more. They’re just as likely to mess up the situation as I might have until you confided in me at the tower.”
“I agree. Now, boy, are you—ah. Reinforcements have arrived,” Khelben said as twin rainbows of colors flashed across the night sky, tearing into the sharn floating above the tower. Behind their attacks flew Carolyas and Gamalon Idogyr. The bald mage wore a Tethyrian battle-robe, a forest green cape, and white tabard that left his arms exposed and free for movement. Elaborate sigil tattoos covered his arms from hands to shoulders and crept onto his back and chest, all of them glimmering with jade magic.
The sharn surrounded them with a forest of claws and teeth through their unique teleportals. Apparently, Gamalon came prepared, as every sharn attack proved useless against the shields he wove around himself and his niece. He cast another spell, while Carol drew a rod from her belt.
Over the storm, the thunder, the screaming of the sharn, and the noises of the crowds below came a bellow. “Stop blasting!” Khelben roared, startling both Idogyrs into submission.
His roar drew everyone’s attention to him, and even the sharn recoiled from their slow advance toward him. Khelben had emerged from the Anyllan’s bottle unhealed. He leaned heavily on his blackstaff for support. His robes were rent and burned, and his left leg was a stump. It no longer bled or burned with silver fire, but it was an angry wound surrounded by blackened flesh. What worried Tsarra the most was his sickly pallor, but she took her cue from Khelben’s emotions and kept a guarded face.
“Sacred Alram’s Tears, Blackstaff!” Gamalon gasped.
Khelben said, “Gamalon, I’ve endured far worse in our Lady’s service. Your faith tells you she demands as much as she grants. Now, tell me of those assembled at Blackstaff Tower.”
Gamalon flew closer and hovered next to Khelben, while Carolyas zipped over to Maliantor, drawing a vial from her belt as she flew. Tsarra watched Carolyas ease a healing draught down Maliantor’s throat, though she couldn’t tell if rain or tears fell from her face onto her friend’s. All the while, she listened to Gamalon.
“Nain still wavers on his role, but Laeral and Kyriani see to him. The three of them await the few stragglers, while nine others have gone on to prepare the Highstar Plains.” Gamalon wavered a moment then continued, “Are you entirely sure we’ll be able to trust some of these allies of ours?”
“They may not know all our plans,” Khelben replied, “but what they understand keeps them on the same path as us at least through the Feast of the Moon. Laeral still holds the gnarled staff?”
As Gamalon nodded, Carolyas chimed in, “The fact that you’ve been seen with more than three different blackstaves in as many days has people buzzing, allies and others alike. Even if they know nothing, the streets chatter that their archmage is up to something big.”
“Indeed,” Khelben said with a weak smile. “Stick to our plans, Gamalon. All will turn out for the best, e’e’a’sum. I swear it. Take the boy and the tressym with you and meet us when you can at Malavar’s Grasp. Take Syndra, as we’ll need her to wield Isyllmyth’s Bracer for the second circle after we recover it. Trust me, your excellency. You shall see your wife’s vengeance fall from the sky.” Khelben’s eyes glanced at Gamalon’s staff—an elaborate quarterstaff of polished white beech carved with a gap for his hand to fit inside the staff as a grip. At its top, the staff had a small lanternlike cage, inside of which whirled a large, free-floating green gem sparkling with magic. “That staff shall strike best, methinks,” Khelben said then shifted his attention to Carolyas and Maliantor. “Carol, fly Mali to Rivuryn’s Mark by the Seaseyes Tower and say ‘Maldiglas.’ We shall lose no lives today without need.”
“What are you talking about?” Carolyas snapped back, her eyes angry with tears. “Who was Rivuryn?”
Raegar stepped near and said, “Open Lord Baeron’s dog. There’s a marker just south of the trees and set at the base of the western wall.”
Khelben nodded and said, “Take Maliantor, child, and she will be healed at the Refuge. Now go, before another death is on my head from this storm alone.”
Gamalon moved to her side and helped her cradle Maliantor into her arms. He kissed Carolyas on the forehead, and said, “Our Lady’s blessings will see you safe, niece. I’m sorry we can’t tell you more right now, but understand we all do her work tonight. See yourselves safe and back to Blackstaff Tower. Methinks you’ll need to help the apprentices keep order from the notables pounding on the door for answers.”
Carolyas smiled. “Doubtful. Jardwim and others already occupy the courtyard. Harshnag’s on the gate, and I’ve yet to see anyone stare him down. Best of luck, uncle, and stay alive.”
“From your lips to Mystra’s ears, child,” Gamalon sighed. “It must be so, as I look forward to the winter for us to catch up on our stories.”
Gamalon waved her off as she took to the air once again, shuddering as the sharn parted to let her by. Once she flew past, the sharn closed ranks and began once again to drip or simply fall into the massed sharn on the tower. With the sharn slowly expanding to fill the chamber, Raegar scrambled atop the masonry wall, still holding Tsarra in his arms.
Khelben stood his ground, not seeming to notice that the sharnstuff touched his right shoulder. He snapped at Raegar, “Leave her, you lovesick fool. She and I move with the sharn. You and Nameless need to stay with the count.”
Khelben didn’t move, but the sharn continued expanding, and half his right cheek melted into the undulating black sharnstuff. The Blackstaff’s voice seemed more hushed and far away
“It’s all right, Raegar. Put me down. I’ll be fine,” Tsarra said, as she started to flex and finally moved her legs and arms easily. “You and his excellency have to get to Malavar’s Grasp on the High Moor.” When Nameless hissed at her, she said, “Sorry. Both their excellencies.” Nameless, satisfied, now flew over to bat at the top of Gamalon’s staff, trying to get at the spinning gem therein.
“What are you two talking about?” Raegar yelled. “We’re about to be eaten by monsters, and you two act like it’s not even a danger! Not to mention you’ve got us going a long way on a hunch. How do you know that’s where that undead bastard went?”
Tsarra muttered, “Strong and dumb. Just how I like ’em.” She smiled at Raegar then kissed him impulsively. “You really do need to put me down, please.”
Khelben sighed, “Strike up a romance later, girl. Raegar, follow the count’s orders and we may y
et see each other in this lifetime. We are in no danger from the sharn, nor have we been since our encounter at the Font of Knowledge. Tsarra and I will work with them to regain the remainder of the Legacy items. We shall meet again by highsun on the Moor. Apologize to Syndra for me for once again not saying my farewells.”
With that, Khelben’s face and most of his body melted into the sharn, and the rest of him slid in as if he sank into a pool.
A black-sheened hand reached out a moment later, and Tsarra took it, smiling at Gamalon and Raegar. “Never a dull moment around the Blackstaff, is there?”
With a final purr and smile at Nameless, Tsarra stepped forward into the sharn without a ripple. In less than a breath, the sharn above and around the tower glowed dark blue, sent forth a shower of purple sparks, and vanished with a whisper.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Feast of the Moon, the Year of
Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Raegar, Gamalon, and the tressym stood silent. The only noises around them were the wind, pattering rain, and the occasional crack of lightning and thunder. Nameless crept between Raegar’s feet in an effort to put something between the rain and him, and Raegar looked down at him.
“Five tendays of watching the tower and little beyond the norm happens,” Raegar sighed. “The past two days, on the other hand, have had more activity than I’ve seen in a year. Is this normal?” Raegar directed his question at the creature at his feet, whose response was simply a bored yawn and what might have been a chuckle, if Raegar knew more about tressym.
“Did that blasted mage leave again without tellin’ me?”
All three males whirled around at the woman’s yell, but they didn’t see Syndra. A duskwood rod set with a row of diamonds and sheathed at head and foot in brightsteel floated in the air at the top of the stairs. It swung itself forcefully, dislodging a few loose bricks from where the pyramid had been torn off the tower. Nearby also hovered an intricately carved silver bracer covered in metallic holly with rubies for berries.
“Hrast! We need to—”
“—keep our heads, yes, I agree,” Gamalon finished her sentence. “On that note, could you become visible?”
A copper-colored mist congealed around the rod and solidified into Syndra Wands, the silver bracer on her right forearm. Her face was still stolid but she was a striking half-elf woman with floor-length russet hair, a form-fitting ochre gown flattering her every ample curve. Raegar found himself wondering how Tsarra would look in a gown like that, as Syndra and she were very much alike aside from the arrow-straight hair on the woman before him.
“Your stare flatters, lad, but it’s not me ye’re seein’, is it? It’s that livin’ girl with the Blackstaff you’re lustin’ after.” Syndra laughed, floating around the red-shirted man. “Oh, for a solid body for just an evenin’ with ye …”
She leaned in and kissed him, running her hands along his body. Every point of contact felt as if Raegar were rubbing against ice-cold silk. Stranger still, a trail of mist led from her to the rod. Nameless sniffed it and ruffled his feathers in response.
“Oh, I know ye don’t like its smell, cat. I’ve just never cleaned it off. Vowed when I first joined with it that I’d only wipe that blood off on the Frostrunt’s corpse.” Syndra smacked one fist into her palm, and the rod mimicked a swing in response.
“So you’re in this for revenge alone? What manner of undead are you?” Gamalon asked.
She raised an eyebrow, placed her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders in front of him.
“His Excellency the Count of Spellshire and he’s not rememberin’ an ally? For shame. That injury must’ve scrambled your wits. We’ve met, ye and I.” Syndra winked at the one-eyed wizard whose look of astonishment forced Raegar to bite back a snicker. She paced around him, nodding, and said, “A right smart robe, though not for Waterdeep in winter—ah. Loved those rings of warmth when I had need of them. Ye’re in better shape than when last we worked together. Khelben loaned me to that centaur friend of yours when we spent a few tendays occupyin’ that wee hamlet of Trailstone against the Amnian troops.”
“Forgive me, milady. Well met again.” Gamalon bowed his head and shoulders to her, spreading his arms wide.
“Apology accepted.”
“Forgive me, Syndra, but where did that bracer come from? I thought you mentioned the Frostrune claimed Isyllmyth’s Bracer.”
“And after he’d killed me once to get at it, ye think we’d be daft enow to let him find it so easily again? The Frostrunt’s got a forgery, which is good, seein’ as he’s done the same with a few other artifacts we thought safe. Nay, he’ll be able to do some of what he plans, but he’ll hardly be able to do what he hopes. Even without it, the pyramid gives him enough power to be a right menace.”
Gamalon said, “All right, then. We need to be off at best speed to the High Moor—an area I know not well enough to teleport into. You?”
The apparition shook her head and said, “Not my style. All right—chat later. If Khelben was right about you and yer staff there, one-eye, you can handle the transportation, then?”
Gamalon nodded and added, “Provided you’ll not mind the wear and tear on your home.”
Syndra shrugged and said, “Served me well a long time, but we both saw this coming. If this does what I think, it’ll be worth it to relocate.” She turned and gestured to Raegar. “Come on, tight-pants. Ye’ve got to help me prep the tower while the count gets us movin’.”
Raegar stared at her a moment then turned back to see Gamalon cast a shimmering dome over the exposed top of the tower, waves of magic pulsing from the end of his staff. The older man gripped the staff with both hands and slammed the foot of the staff hard onto the stone floor. Magic leached into the stones and began to spread.
“Hey!”
Raegar was shoved from behind, and he turned to see the floating rod gesture menacingly. Syndra’s voice came from both the rod and behind him as it said, “Let’s get movin’, friend!” Raegar put his hands up and began walking toward the phantom Syndra and the stairs. The tressym shook his coat and wings and meowed happily to Gamalon for keeping the rain off of them.
“What is he doing, exactly?” Raegar asked, as Syndra led him down two levels and into a library. It was a small room, fitting the tower’s compact nature, but it was neatly packed with books on every available space. The lore-seeker in Raegar started scanning the books, but Syndra said, “Carefully move each shelf out from the wall and toward the center of the room. Don’t knock any books off.”
As Raegar fell to it, Syndra’s spirit floated over the large square rug at the center of the room. Arcane symbols on the rug glowed when she moved over them. After she finished one circuit around the pattern, the whole rug glowed, and with a slight smell of burning sage, burned itself and its symbols into the floor. She gestured him forward, and Raegar shoved the first shelf onto the pattern. She gestured for Raegar to step back and said, “Sheivah-nom!” The shelf sank into the floor quickly and easily, and she cocked her head at the other bookshelves while smiling at Raegar.
“Again, please.”
Raegar put his shoulder into the next, larger shelf. “So are you ever going to answer my question?” he asked, then grunted as he finally shoved the shelf onto the pattern.
Syndra repeated her command word to send the shelf wherever she was sending it. “Not until we’re properly introduced, lad. I am the all-too-incorporeal Lady Syndra Wands, servant of Mystra and most hated foe of Priamon Rakesk. What are ye called?”
Raegar moved another shelf onto the pattern before wiping his brow on his sleeve and bowing. “Raegar Stoneblade, at your service, apparently. I’m in this for revenge, too. That tluiner killed my best friend.”
“Pleased to meet ye, and know that he’ll do more than that if ye let him, lad. Vengeful prat, that one,” Syndra said, curtseying before him. “Of course, ye’re not in it for revenge. I’ve seen the looks ye shot at the other redheaded half-elf. Pretty, b
ut those curls must drive her insane.”
Raegar stopped dead in his tracks and it dawned on him. “No. Just me. More the fool that I let her go.”
“Oh, let her, my spells! That one does what she needs do, not what some swaggering male ‘lets’ her do,” Syndra scolded Raegar. “Still, now that ye’ve untangled some of why ye’re on this adventure again, mayhap ye’ll make some better choices.”
Raegar kept quiet and moved what Syndra pointed at. After a while, as he pulled two large trunks onto the pattern, he asked, “Why are we doing this right now? Where is this stuff going?”
“Portable transdimensional room. Didn’t want to lose all of my books or things if it gets ugly. Now be careful with that looking glass—it’s been in my family for four hundred years without a scratch …” Syndra started gesturing smaller, lighter objects onto the pattern to send them on their way.
Raegar shook his head. The more questions he asked of wizards and sorcerers, the more riddles he got. A few more minutes and they had cleared that room. Syndra said, “Prieem,” and the pattern became a carpet again, which rolled itself up. She looked at Raegar, the carpet, then Raegar again.
“I’d be glad to, milady,” Raegar sighed, and he hefted the carpet onto his shoulder. “Where do we want it?”
As Raegar shifted his balance for the load, the tower itself rumbled, groaned, and sounded like stone grated on stone. Raegar dropped the carpet and fell over as the tower lurched hard—upward.
“Seems like One-Eye’s gotten us moving. Bring that up top, in case we have to jump with it,” Syndra said, and she floated into the ceiling while the rod moved as if it walked up the stairs.
Raegar grabbed the carpet again and carried it up the stairs. Rhythmic booming shook the tower and the steps, so he took his time. He tossed the carpet to one side of the stairs, and dust exploded from the carpet into his eyes.
Across the room, Syndra said, “Good thing I made this tower immune to lightning over the years.”
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