Blackstaff

by Steven E. Schend

  That’s the one thing I don’t understand. I saw myself at the center of a great working, but I didn’t see you. Why didn’t I see you there?

  Khelben’s eyes grew sad, and his visage turned away for a moment. All in good time, my dear. Now, simply push yourself at—no, not that one, the other barrier. Push yourself against it and will your kiira to rest on the sigil.

  Tsarra concentrated on moving forward and focused her attention on her forehead. She saw her own magical mark in her mind, aglow from the kiira’s energies, and when she touched the flaming sigil, the barrier bent and flexed around her, snapping behind her like the string of a bow. She fell hard onto a stone floor and coughed as a thick layer of dust erupted into a cloud around her. Lights whirled around her, and Tsarra coughed more when she realized the lights were shaped to be muscular men no more than a few fingers’ length tall with birds’ wings.

  “There you are.” Tsarra’s head snapped up and she had her scimitar half-drawn before she saw the woman who spoke. Tsarra had never met her, but she’d seen enough paintings and likenesses for sale in the Market to know the woman anywhere.

  Tsarra sheathed her weapon and remained on her knees as she greeted, “Lady Alustriel, forgive our intrusion.”

  The silver-haired woman sat atop the flat bier at the center of a dust-choked and webbed crypt, her purple linen gown immaculate despite the mess around her. Her feet were clad in fine wine-colored slippers. Her eyes danced and her smile was infectious. Over her heart was a pearl brooch of a unicorn’s head, its horn and mane shining in polished silver. She appeared every inch the queen she was, though Tsarra was distracted at how similar she and her sister Laeral were in appearance. Even so, each one’s bearing and carriage made a totally unique impression on those they met.

  The crypt, aside from being small and dust-choked, was nondescript. One spiral stair of stones led down into it in the far corner, and there was only the one large sarcophagus in the center of the room. There was room for two men to walk around it, but nothing else seemed to be in the tomb. Tsarra read the inscriptions on the bier and realized it was a husband and wife buried together:

  Halver Gehrin

  844 – 956 DR

  Honored Father, Mage, Mentor

  Lyia Moonwhisper

  844 – 879 DR

  Treasured Mother, Mage, Mate

  “Don’t be silly, my dear. Stand up. ’Tis no intrusion, as this isn’t a place of mine. I’d make a comment on how awful a housekeeper my brother-in-law is, but I suppose one need not keep a tomb tidy.”

  “I’ve never found it necessary to do so, dear sister.” Khelben’s voice sounded before he appeared, stepping from a wall. “After all, why clean if you only intend to visit once every two centuries? Now, I realize we are in your city, but how did you know we would be here?”

  “Mystra,” she said. “We should know by now that the only times I fall asleep without meaning to are when she needs to send a message via our dreams. You’re to give me something, and I’ll assume it has to do with our Moor working? I’ve a council quite irate with me for postponing two meetings and a city disappointed I shan’t be on hand for any of the fetes tonight.”

  “Not so loud, milady.” Khelben barked. “There might be prying ears and eyes around.”

  “Unlikely. I cleared the Chapel of the First Magister earlier this morning and my Spellguard keeps watch outside. Besides, we’re two cellars beneath it as well. Who’s likely to overhear?” Alustriel floated over then giggled, and hugged Khelben and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Wh-what are you about, woman?” Khelben sputtered.

  “It’s been years since I’ve been either mother or aunt, so let me be a little excited in private, you grump,” the Lady Hope chided. “Even if Laeral had kept it secret, our Mother did not. Your mate bears the children of two Chosen. Blessings, indeed, and happiness deserved.”

  Khelben’s face betrayed nothing, but Tsarra felt him pass through a maelstrom of emotions—pride, love, happiness, gratitude, wistfulness, sadness, grief, and resignation—in the space of a breath. All Alustriel knew was that her brother-in-law gruffly shrugged her off and hobbled around the bier. His, “Thank you, sister,” was barely audible at all.

  “Khelben! You’re wounded!” Alustriel gasped.

  While their clothes had been restored when they exited the sharn, Khelben’s wounds had only been cloaked by his robes.

  “Let me help you.”

  Alustriel’s arms lit with silver fire, and she knelt by Khelben’s missing left leg. Her hands dripped with silver fire, and Tsarra felt a rush of life, power, and warmth, but it did not linger. From Khelben, she felt only felt his sadness, as his wounds did not heal. Alustriel looked up at him, puzzled, and he rested a hand on her shoulder.

  Khelben said, “My thanks, but things are as they must be. Save your strength for the working.”

  Khelben hobbled around the bier, and his hand trailed briefly over Halver’s and Lyia’s names both. He cleared his throat and said, “Saproath Khar,” as he touched an empty torch sconce on the far wall. The sconce flipped forward off the wall, exposing a small recess behind it. Khelben reached in and pulled out a dusty, web-choked box. He blew off the worst of the dust and handed the box to Alustriel.

  The ruler of Silverymoon opened the thin box after motioning for Tsarra to join her. Inside, atop a bed of velvet, lay a white ash wand with a scarlet gem set into its top. The glow alone attracted the attentions of Alustriel’s male-lights, who flocked atop the box’s open side. The gem was flat on one side and perfectly rounded on the other, as if it were cut for another purpose.

  Alustriel looked up at Khelben. “Hosskar’s Blinding Baton?” she asked.

  “Yes, but what it’s been constructed from is more important—that gem is a selu’kiira of a grand mage of Miyeritaar. You, the Aumar, and Alvaerele shall bear them in the first circle, even though our foe unwittingly holds the third of the three. Given Laeral’s condition, I dare not allow her a kiira’s touch.”

  Alustriel nodded and closed the box, much to the mute complaints of her lights. “Very well. You need to visit this chapel more often or at least make a donation. It’s only Master Paral, his relatives, and a few loyalists. Most prefer the larger temples to Azuth and Mystra at the university grounds.”

  Khelben moved to another part of the wall and tapped another hidden panel open with the head of his staff. A shelf slid from the recess, holding four dusty black leather-bound books. He handed them one at a time to Tsarra and Alustriel.

  “So far as I am aware, this is the only complete four-volume set of these prayerbooks, penned when Azuth’s faith was less than two centuries old,” said the Blackstaff. “They can go to Master Paral after your scribes make four copies over this winter—one for the Vault of the Sages, one for my Silverstars, another for Gamalon to take to Tethyr, and one copy for Candlekeep. After that, the originals remain here among Mystra’s and Azuth’s faithful. The Codici Magistiri should draw in a few zealots and many mages, once word gets around. Fair enough?”

  “And they say the Blackstaff knows naught about quiet statecraft,” Alustriel teased, winking at Khelben. “Shall we be off then? Are we to worldwalk to the moor?”

  “No. We take the—what did Dove call this? Ah—‘Dead Man’s Walk.’ ”

  “Dove always did have a sick sense of humor,” Alustriel observed, “but never as sick as your wife’s.”

  Khelben nodded, and both of them chuckled.

  Khelben, what’s this Dead Man’s Walk you’re talking about? Tsarra sent silently, rather than disturb the two Chosen’s banter.

  Simple. We just travel across the Realms using portals at my graves.

  “What?” Tsarra yelled. “Tell me you’re joking!”

  “Oh, he doesn’t joke, girl,” Alustriel teased. “You know that.”

  Khelben’s sigh was felt as well as heard by Tsarra. None of them are truly my grave, as would be obvious. They are simply where I chose to mark the passing of
previous identities. I also set portals at the graves of my aliases to allow me secure hiding places for things. Only a senior Harper, Moonstar, or a Chosen of Mystra who knows the names of my aliases can use these portals. This makes them easily but little used. We use this as we have yet one more item and two agents to retrieve.

  Khelben moved quickly to her side, grabbing her arm and pinning a badge on her tunic beneath her cloak. Alustriel took his other arm, and the three of them walked them toward the stone wall. Khelben said, “Acris,” and instantly they were awash in sunshine.

  Tsarra blinked and held her hand up to shield it from the sun, and Khelben swore under his breath.

  Tsarra asked, “Khelben, where—” She looked out over a small, overgrown graveyard on a hillside overlooking the sea. Waves crashed far below at the bottom of a cliff.

  “Wrightsvale. A village a slow day’s walk northwest of Starmantle. No time to visit, as we’re already running out of time, if I read that sun right.” Khelben tightened his grip on Tsarra’s and Alustriel’s arms, backed them both up a few steps before walking toward a split and ruined gravestone, and said, “Seamar.”

  The trio arrived in an outdoor mausoleum. Unlike the previous tomb, it held recessed biers in all four walls and a large sarcophagus in the center. Tsarra scanned the names of those buried there—Seamar Ruthyl, Adaram Ruthyl, Caras Ruthyl, and Wyrick and Nura Ruthyl—and recognized not a one, nor did any dates adorn the biers.

  Alustriel noticed Tsarra’s investigations and explained. “Impilturans rarely date their graves, Tsarra. They count on historians to track all that, either royal or family scribes. It has something to do with keeping demons from taking on old shapes and forms, but I’ve never made a study of it.”

  The sun beamed through the tiny windows at the top of the walls, their directions suggesting it was near highsun where they were. Swearing as he floated upward, Khelben traced a complex sigil over two walls and the ceiling in the upper corner. The sigil flashed a green color, and Khelben tapped it twice with his blackstaff. Beside her, Tsarra felt the central sarcophagus of Wyrick and Nura slide backward without a sound. Looking down, she found a stairwell leading down into a chamber that was growing with light.

  Alustriel asked, “So who are we supposed to meet here? You never mentioned there was a chamber beneath this before, but I’ve only ever used Adaram’s coffin to dispose of more problematic things.”

  Tsarra asked, “Why there?”

  Alustriel smiled and replied, “Khelben built this mausoleum for himself as a hiding place and a way to dispose of evil artifacts he dredged from Serôs—the Inner Sea. Adaram’s bier was specifically built around a stable dead magic zone, making it perfect for that purpose. He’s buried standing up on one end of that, which is why his bier is longer than the others.” Alustriel strode forward toward the stairs, but Khelben’s blackstaff whipped around to block her.

  “It’s not safe yet. I’ll call you down,” he snapped. Khelben walked down the stairs, using the wall and his staff for support. He stopped in front of a torch burning with silver flames, looked back up at Tsarra, and said, “I’m sorry, lass.” He shoved his left hand into the torch’s flame to set his own hand alight with silver fire.

  Tsarra fell to her knees, clutching her left hand and gasping from the sudden pain. She could feel the magical fires burning both of them, until he gripped the unlit torch at the bottom of the stairs and lit it, placing the silver flames on the torch. Once that torch flickered to life, Tsarra’s pain ended, and she and Alustriel watched five different fields of magic dissipate. Khelben motioned them down, and he moved into the chamber.

  Tsarra and Alustriel descended the stairs to face two stone biers, atop which were two forms. On the left hand side was an ancient sun elf, bald, with delicate Elvish sigils tattooed around his temples and down his neck. An orange gem glinted on his forehead. Khelben finished a complex casting and waved his hand over the man’s face.

  “Rejhar amreh tolaer,” Khelben chanted, and the gold elf’s eyes flickered and opened. He stared up into the Blackstaff’s eyes without saying a word, but his gem flared with amber fires. His eyes spat the same color flames directly up into Khelben’s eyes, and within a moment, the Blackstaff’s back stiffened, his gaze darting to Tsarra then to the shelves at the back of the room.

  After a moment, Khelben helped the old elf sit up as he introduced him. “Alustriel, Tsarra, meet Ualair the Silent, keeper of Uvaeren’s Secrets and master of the N’Vaelahr of Myth Drannor. Beside us is his protégé and an unsung hero of Myth Drannor, Rhymallos the Hidden Eye.”

  Khelben pulled the covering off the adjacent bier to reveal the insectoid form of a demonic mezzoloth. Khelben and Ualair held up their hands for peace as Alustriel and Tsarra stepped back.

  The orange gem flared on Ualair’s brow, and Tsarra heard a soft voice in her head. The ancient elf’s expressions matched the sendings his selu’kiira projected. Peace and light laughter to you beautiful girls. Rhymallos took this form to infiltrate the Army of Darkness, and he has slept here alongside me for many centuries as we awaited the last stage of the Pentad’s plans. He deserves to be restored and remembered. I merely do my part to help undo my failures of the past.

  Tsarra knew of the legends surrounding the great mute Grand Mage of Myth Drannor, and she fell to one knee. “You do me too much honor, teless. I am unworthy to hear you speak.”

  Tsarra realized the power and dangers involved in Khelben’s work, if such were the people he was gathering for a ritual.

  Ualair’s kind voice came in a sending and a touch to her shoulder. Rise, child, and fret not. My silence is merely physical and one of necessity. His wrinkled hand raised her chin to look at him, and she saw the jagged white scar across his throat that robbed him of his voice. He had one last comment for her, and he sent, Do not believe yourself unworthy, girl. Your role in this is vastly more important than mine, and mayhap people shall speak as highly of you in days to come as they seem to speak of my meager contributions to the Art. Ualair’s smile brought tears to Tsarra’s eyes, as he reminded her of her long-gone grandfather.

  “What about your friend, Rhymallos? Why doesn’t he move?”

  He is under different enchantments that allow him peaceful and painless slumber yet. He shall be awakened only when we truly need him to be. That time is not yet. Look now to him who was Nameless. He needs you now.

  Ualair looked toward Khelben, then back at Tsarra, and finally over to Alustriel. While his gem kept flashing, Ualair’s attention was on Alustriel alone.

  Khelben hovered over a table in the back of the room, casting spells onto something. He sent to her, I have a gift here for you, Tsarra. It has been a long time in coming.

  Tsarra approached, and Khelben brought out a jet-black recurved short bow and placed it in her hands.

  Tsarra sent, Thank you, Master. Does it have a name? She could feel tremendous power in the duskwood bow and in what appeared to be a silver bowstring.

  Not as such. I made it about two hundred years ago, but it’s never been drawn. It’s a simple thing—it allows any arrow fired from it to penetrate magical shields as if the arrows were blackstaves.

  That will prove useful against our foe to come, for certain. Still, why give this to me now? I know that ritual is later today, but what’s your sudden hurry?

  I’ve added a few spells to the bow that should help in the coming day. Ualair is connected to this plan on many levels, as he’s one of its architects, along with a number of my tutors—the ones they now call the Seven Wizards of Myth Drannor.

  Yes, and?

  Five others sleep as he did, though more openly and in disguise. The Five who Sleep are integral to the Pentad’s plan to restore the high mages’ city of Faertelmiir.

  Tsarra finally understood Khelben’s haste and anger as she said aloud, “The Five who Sleep are Malavar’s Grasp?”

  “Yes, and in his ignorance, Priamon Rakesk may well kill them … and doom everyone on the Sword Coast!”


  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Feast of the Moon, the Year of

  Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

  Tsarra threw off her cloak and adjusted how her quiver lay across her back. She took up the new bow and slung it around her shoulder. She opened her hand to take the three blue and one green crystalline arrows Khelben handed to her.

  She asked, “These are arrows like those you gave me at the tower?”

  “No,” Khelben said, as he threw open cabinets and growled in frustration. “Those were new spells I was testing. These are designed to damage undead more than the living. Your bow should help you penetrate Priamon’s defenses. And remember—that green-glass arrow you save until I expressly tell you to use it.”

  Tsarra added the arrows to her quiver alongside her regular arrows. Khelben spent a few moments grunting as he opened and closed boxes, searching for something. Finally, he pulled open a drawer and sighed with relief as he pulled out a small black bottle. He uncorked it and a slight flash of silver magic shimmered on the stopper as he put that down and motioned her closer.

  He began to tip the bottle and said, “All right, Tsarra—we’re going to jump through this portal.” He poured the black liquid in a circle on the floor. “We’ll travel through the sharn to the focal point of our problem. You’ll have to distract and fight Priamon for a short time while I get the Five awake and to relative safety. I’ll fire two spells to help you, but you’ll be on your own after that. Ready?”

  “Ready.” Tsarra turned back to bid Alustriel and Ualair good-bye, but they were deep in conversation over the still-prone body of Rhymallos. Tsarra looked back at Khelben, who had continued pouring black liquid into the circle while chanting. The entire circle was jet black, and as the final drop fell from the bottle and Khelben’s chant ended, familiar purple sparks erupted in its depths. Khelben joined hands with Tsarra, and the two of them leaped into the circle and jumped out into a dark, rainy environment filled with ear-shattering thunder.