Blackstaff Tower w-1

by Steven E. Schend

  "No!" Ten-Rings said. "Our city fares better beneath the rule of wizards like Ahghairon or Khelben, and I willingly shoulder that burden. I only seek to restore the city to its rightful stature again-with the rule of magic as well as law."

  "Khelben never ruled outright," the gnome corrected. "And you hardly compare to Ahghairon either, wizard or no."

  "I am mighty in magic and wise in the politics of the city," Ten-Rings said, "and I know I can serve the city better than that coin-pincher Dagult."

  "That might be, child," Ompahr said, "but that neither makes you Open Lord nor Ahghairon, and I should know. He and I were students in Silverymoon together. I helped him make the first Lords' Helms."

  "Challenge me to a duel of wits or spells. I shall prove my worth!"

  "I'm too old and tired for such games," Ompahr said, "and a gnome has to be plenty aged to be saying that, to be sure. I have naught to prove, and you need nothing other than that scroll and your bearing it to me."

  "Then why bother with this pretext? Why follow an oath to those over a century dead?"

  "Across five centuries, I have been many things, but never oath-breaker," Ompahr said. He gestured, and the entire dais on which his pillows and cushions rested rose. In a recess beneath the platform lay a small chest. Ompahr sighed. "Take what I have held for long years, and remember that you took this burden on yourself."

  Ten-Rings held his ground, casting a spell or two, and then said,

  "No protections on it, no illusions, no traps. I thought gnomes kept things hidden better than this." He leaned forward and grabbed the chest, pulling it close to his torso.

  "Hidden better?" Ompahr said, "You're the first to come looking for it since I took the oath with Khelben twenty-three decades ago, so I consider that well-concealed and protected. May you deserve all that that coffer brings you."

  Ten-Rings clutched the strongbox tight to his torso, nodded to Ompahr, and said, "We shall talk again, old one, when I am the city's archmage and you can tell me more of our Firstlord and the city as it once was."

  "No," Ompahr said. "I doubt I shall survive to see the year out, with my oaths now fulfilled. Should you need my wisdom, commission a copy of my journals from my temple-if you have both the coin and the shelf space for seventeen volumes of lore."

  The old gnome's final smirk and dismissive wave sent Ten-Rings out of the temple of Baravar Cloakshadow in the Warrens.

  Roywyn returned and said, "Grandsire Ompahr, do you feel ill?"

  The old gnome cackled until he was overcome by another fit of coughing. When he regained his breath, he smiled and said, "Child, I feel better than I have since Caladorn's investing as the Open Lord. Ready my litter and the acolytes. There'll be fireworks on the mountain tonight we have to see!"

  "How do you know?"

  "Khelben the Blackstaff was the only human I ever knew with a sense of humor to best a gnome's. I swore to hide two coffers and give one to him who asked for it and bore his hidden mark on his palm. Since Ten-Rings did not, I gave him the second coffer, but I never knew what either held. By the gods, I'd even forgotten about them entirely until I saw that scroll! Good thing I used the green seal on the scroll; that reminded me to give him the proper reward."

  "But why risk going uptop? The way you talked, I'm worried you don't expect to live long!"

  "Pish-posh, Roywyn," Ompahr said with a broad grin. "You think I'd tell him the truth? I've got a few more years left in me than teeth, by the gods' blessings. Besides, I may not know all that the Blackstaff had planned, but his pranks were only ever exceeded by Baravar himself!"

  In his entire life, Centiv doubted if he'd ever seen Khondar as angry as he was upon his return. Khondar slammed the door and roared, "If I ever set foot in the Warrens again in my lifetime, it shall be to raze them!"

  Centiv hovered over the burden his father set down, only half-listening to the rant. The strongbox's outside was nondescript, a brass chest with iron banding on its edges. He could not detect any magic on the small chest itself, having examined it from every angle and picking it up easily with one hand. Some weight shifted inside but made no noise against the metal. Khondar's tirade proceeded unabated.

  "The mongrel races that pollute our city weaken and reduce Waterdeep to a stew of problems. Were we to winnow out all but the most useful of them, we would have no problem restoring prominence and greatness to this city!"

  "Father, you're overstating," Centiv said, "and you're losing your focus. Just because some old gnome rattled you doesn't mean-"

  "Do not accuse me of losing focus!" Khondar raged, grabbing a handful of Centiv's robes. "That gnome laughed at me-despite all I plan to do for-"

  "Yes, Father," Centiv said in an oft-repeated litany. "He didn't recognize all you do for us, for the city."

  Centiv knew Khondar's temper flared whenever he felt old or belittled. Centiv wondered if Khondar sought the Blackstaffs mantle for the secret of long years, or if it was simply his hatred of Samark. Still, he needed to calm Khondar down and get back to the task at hand. He kept his voice neutral and only fed his father what he wanted to hear.

  "Father, you can address those insults later. For now, let's see what that gnome gave you. The work is old and well-done, but I'm no smith. All I can tell you is that there are no spells on the chest itself or its locks. It should open easily and safely. Let's do this, please?"

  Khondar's face drained of its red rage, and he exhaled loudly, his shoulders dropping. "Very well. Time enough later to deal with disrespectful dirt-grubbers. Let's see what they kept for our city's archmage."

  There was an emblem at the front of the chest and Khondar rotated that sunward until it clicked and the chest's lid popped up. He opened the lid, and inside lay a bundle of red kid leather. Khondar unwrapped it to expose a small garnet-pommeled dagger in a silver sheath set with three more garnets and two large heavy iron keys covered in runes with wolf s heads for their handles.

  "Yes," he whispered. "The book you found talked about keys to Blackstaff Tower, worn as amulets rather than wielded, for there are no locks on the tower-just locks in the mind." -

  Centiv bristled, as Khondar had kept him busy with other errands, collecting spell components and preparations for tonight's work. The elder Naomal had locked up the book, keeping what it said secret from him. He trusted his father not to steer them wrong, but he ached to have that knowledge for himself. Then he could prove his worth to his father and to everyone. "Father," he asked, "of what else did the book talk about? Do we need more magic prepared than those scrolls provide?"

  "Of course we will, fool!" Khondar snapped without taking his eyes off the key he rotated in his hands, looking at it from all angles in the late afternoon sun. "We must go back to the Towers of the Order and meditate, then memorize our strongest spells. The scrolls and keys will gain us entry to the tower, but we shall have to win the Blackstaff ourselves."

  "But I thought the keys-"

  "Khelben Arunsun and his successor Tsarra Chaadren were the last to allow a door on Blackstaff Tower. Since their deaths, none but the Blackstaff, his or her heir, or their chosen guests have entered the tower. Part of that is due to its lacking a door. The keys allow us safe passage through the outermost defenses and make us seem to be heirs to the tower. When used in concert with the scrolls, the keys allow us to unlock other secrets that might normally trap intruders."

  "Couldn't we use the Duskstaff we already have? We know we can move that with Ncral's Ring. Having a weapon crafted by the Blackstaff might come in handy."

  "Very good, Centiv, and well planned. As it will support your disguise as Samark, I was going to suggest that very thing. After all, we can't teleport inside the curtain wall around the tower, and the book suggested we would need a staff to open the gate. I assume that, should we take it into the tower, we can use it to sense for sympathetic enchantments and track those to the Blackstaffs seat of power."

  "So all we need do now is wait for the fall of night and then we breach
Blackstaff Tower, to claim its power for ourselves?"

  "Yes, my son," Khondar said, looking away from the keys for the first time to focus on Centiv. "And with the power of the Blackstaff and this guild behind us, we should be able to force the Lords into working with us to help restore a more proper order in Waterdeep."

  CHAPTER 11

  That old wizard could escape a noose simply by making the hangman disbelieve his head were attached to his neck proper-like! Varad Brandarth weren't called the Shifter for naught, though he never snaked out of his debts neither-unlike some magic-workers I might mention… Jorkens of Waterdeep, Journal VII, Year of Silent Shadows (1436 DR)

  10 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

  I don't want to-get too close. Marael said she'd heard that Black-staff Tower drives folk mad who're not supposed to be there." "I heard it eats the souls of folk who touch it without protection." "My mother always said Blackstaff Tower stayed strong because of all the ghosts in it."

  "Well, you know that if Blackstaff Tower ever falls, so goes the City, right?"

  The whispers and rumors flew fast among the Watchmen posted that morning and afternoon around Blackstaff Tower's walls. For the first time in recent memory, the Watch stood guard over one of Waterdeep's oldest landmarks.

  "We've been standing out here all day. Why're we here again?"

  "You didn't hear? The old man's foreign consort turned up dead!"

  "Are we supposed to watch for anyone skulking around the place? Or just guard it?"

  "I dunno. I'm not the civilar! I could go for an eel pie right now."

  "Stop talking about food. You're making me hungry!"

  "So if the BlackstafPs so powerful and this place is powerful, what're we doing here?"

  "Jarlon promised the Watchful Order the favor of guarding this place, and he's ordered us here. That's all I know."

  "Since when does the Watch work for the wizards of the Watchful Order?"

  "Since Ten-Rings and Jarlon learned to scratch each other's back, that's when."

  "Stifle it! Here's comes Jarlon. And look who's with him."

  "Rorden or no, he looks like a kid begging for a toy from those old men."

  "Better not let him hear you say that."

  Jarlon, the Watch rorden, walked up the street, and the young Watch officer motioned the guards to let them through the gates. The cordon parted without a word, allowing him, Samark the Blackstaff, and Khondar "Ten-Rings" Naomal to approach. Samark tipped the Duskstaff forward and touched the gates. A ringing sound resonated through the gates, and the ironwork writhed and twisted, the iron rosebushes and staves shifting out of the way to unlock and open the gates. The ringing stopped, and only the slightest of protesting groans accompanied the sound of the gate's hinges.

  Once they passed through the open gates and were inside the curtain wall, both men turned to face the Watch. Samark addressed the guard captain. "Thank you, Rorden Jarlon. We appreciate your men's vigilance. Thank you all for keeping watch over my tower from those who attacked my heir during my absence. Now, you may disperse, as your services are surely needed elsewhere."

  The watch commander nodded, then shouted, "Stand down, men! Convene back at the Tharelon Street post!"

  The two dozen men and women of the Watch did not linger, though a few muttered as they fell out of formation. Not a one cast another look back at the forbidding stone wall or tower that they would all swear made them feel colder than the chill winds did.

  The two wizards stood stock still until the street around the tower's wall was empty. The gates closed and locked, the ironwork reweaving its tangled rose briars across the bars and lock. Only then did the two men turn and walk to the tower.

  Khondar forced himself to breathe deeply, keeping his excitement to himself. He'd dreamed of making Blackstaff Tower his for decades, and his dream was at hand-as was the constant reminder of the one who'd stolen his dream. "It still makes me shudder how well you ape that bastard Samark in tone and voice," Ten-Rings said softly.

  "Well it's easier than trying to duplicating some of his spells," Centiv whispered. "Now are you sure we have the proper precautions?" -

  "I have Krehlan's rings, you have the. Duskstaff, and we each have a key," Ten-Rings said, reaching into his cloak and removing a large parcel. "We should be safe from immediate defenses. Once we've breached the tower, we simply have to find the true Blackstaff and claim its power for our own. Do we have appropriate cover?"

  "For all anyone knows or perceives," Centiv bragged, "you and the Blackstaff have taken to walking a circuit or two around the tower, talking low between ourselves, since I addressed Rorden Jarlon. Should anyone bother to try and listen in, we are currently discussing rumors and gossip among the Watchful Order. That illusion should give us about half a bell's worth of cover and also cloak our physical presence and voices. It ends with the two of us entering the tower anyway, so we won't be seen in two places at once."

  "Good planning, Son," Khondar said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Here are two spells you must cast on the walls, while

  I work on our protections." He handed him a scroll tube with two scrolls, both slightly heavy from the gem-encrusted sigils and heavy metallic inks. In turn, he opened a tube of his own, withdrawing the first of numerous scrolls. The two wizards intoned the phrases from the scrolls, and wisps of smoke rose from the vellum as the sigils disappeared. While cloaked from outside view, the two wizards' forms and the tower wall before them glistened with magic sparks of a variety of colors. Eventually, the sparkles stopped whirling around them and shimmered into translucent fields of blue-green energy. When that happened, Khondar cast his fourth spell, the scroll consumed itself in white smoke, and the stones and mortar glowed with the same energy-as did the two keys that hung on cords around their necks. He nodded, and the two men stepped forward into the walls of Blackstaff Tower.

  Khondar stood just inside the wall he'd just passed through and smiled. He'd expected much of the interior of Blackstaff Tower, and this did not disappoint. Instead of a common stone tower with defensive spells flaring to life, this was special. The walls became lost amid a sea of floating stones and random architecture, from flagstones to arches and statues to doors floating free in a dark night lit from behind, as if they now floated among the Tears of Selune trailing behind the moon. The only stable feature here was a set of stone steps spiraling up into the night, though no mortar or stones lay between each successive step.

  Khondar and the illusory Blackstaff each stood upon a patch of solid flagstone floor, but while they entered within a hand-span of each other, they now stood more than a man's height apart, and Khondar actually had to look up and behind himself to spot Centiv. When he did so, he also saw something coming out of what appeared to be a bright red nebula.

  "Son, watch out!"

  A blast of red energy slammed into Centiv's back, but his aura held firm and the energy ricocheted off to blast some of the stairwell free. A giant hand made of lightning reached around from behind him and wrapped its crackling fingers around him. While a portion of his protections burned up and the pressure was enough to keep Ten-Rings from using his spells, the aura held. Centiv spat out a spell at the hand, making it fizzle out.

  "Thank you," Ten-Rings said, and he returned his attention to his bracers, clasping each with the opposite hand. The gems glowed as he thought about his rings that gave him the ability to move objects from afar and the ability to control the elements. He smiled as the rings blinked into view on his hands, replacing Krehlan's shield rings. Khondar hadn't been sure the transfer would happen inside Black-staff Tower, but the proper rings gleamed on his index fingers. He used their magic to move his stone platform well away from Centiv and toward one of the few patches of wall still floating near them. Once in motion, he withdrew one more scroll from his sleeve and read it.

  Centiv tried to disperse any and all illusions around himself, but he still floated aimlessly in a night sky. All his actions managed to do were
to set his platform to spinning him upside-down. Centiv noticed Khondar moved farther from him, and asked, "Father, where are you going?"

  Centiv's control over the Duskstaff faltered, and the Duskstaff rocketed off the platform away from him. Centiv tried to grab at the staff, but he did not leap off of his only solid perch. The Duskstaff, free of any control, flew straight through a black tear in space and disappeared. His voice quailed as he shouted, "Father, I've lost the Duskstaff!"

  Khondar ignored Centiv and continued reading from the scroll and waving one hand in an involved casting.

  Centiv tried to dispell the illusions again. "Father! I can't dispel any of this-they're not illusions!"

  As both mages wove spells of dispelling frantically into the void, rips appeared in the air around them. Out of the rifts flew a wild snarl of translucent blue imps and a shriek of glowing red gargoyles. The creatures descended upon the two wizards' platforms and attacked their protective magic auras-the gargoyles vomiting fire, the imps spitting ice. Just as the attackers reached Khondar, two silver pulses expanded in the air around him and dissipated like smoke rings. Khondar heard the creatures jabbering but could not understand them.

  "The shields are holding!" Centiv yelled. He drew a wand from his belt, blasted a gargoyle with orange missiles. "I thought you said the spells would make the tower accept us! These things are speaking Elvish, saying, 'Neither bears the mark. Neither is an heir true!' What went wrong?"

  "Don't you have any stronger spells, boy?" Khondar asked, his aura filled with the white smoke of the consumed scroll he had cast. He waved his hands, and white light shimmered around every imp and gargoyle around him. Many froze in place, and with their wings no longer beating, they fell into the void around him or clattered, paralyzed, on the stone platform where he stood. Khondar smiled-until he saw more opponents flowing out of the void.