"What was that?" she whispered.
"Wildhound Court," Vharem said as he steered them to the right and onto a wider street that curled back north almost immediately, but ran lower on the slopes. "Whenever dogs get loose up on the mountain, as they do when drunken nobles stagger home in early morn, the dogs get drawn to that court and form a wild pack, no matter how good-tempered they might be normally. Oftimes, folk who wander into it at night are found dead by full morning. It has something to do with some old curse left over from the warlords' time or something. Here!"
Vharem pointed, and he and Laraelra swung left into another court that had an exit opposite them. He rushed them both toward a baker's window just opening for morning business. He flipped a few coppers toward the young apprentice and said, "Fresh bread, and hurry."
The entire time they stood there, Vharem never stopped tapping his foot.
"Do we have time for this?" she asked in a fierce whisper.
"We've got to let those Watchmen go by."
"But why are you nervous now?" Laraelra asked. "You weren't even this twitchy against that fake Blackstaff two nights ago."
"I was sure he didn't know me or carry a grudge," Vharem said. "There's a few Watchmen up here who really don't like me, and I need to get both of us out of here. We need to find the others. Why didn't we arrive together?"
"I don't know," Laraelra said, "but don't worry. We'll find them."
"I'll worry. I've played some pranks on the Watch up here."
The apprentice baker reappeared with two piping hot loaves, which he handed over nervously, apologizing for the slow service. Vharem handed one to Laraelra and moved to keep on walking, when the court exit was blocked by a Watch patrol. One of them pointed, and the rest chuckled. Vharem and Laraelra turned on their heels to leave the way they had come, only to find the Watch armar blocking their way.
The tall man, whose remaining long black hair was tied behind his shaved scalp, rubbed his head and smiled at Vharem without saying a woid. He simply pulled his signal horn up to his lips and blew. The high, cleat sound echoed in the court.
"Oh parhard," Vharem and Laraelra swore.
¦ Meloon's eyes remained clouded, the haze of silver replaced by a full blue glow. He saw Lauroun's face again, her cerulean eyes, hawklike pose, and strong brow beneath a chain mail headpiece. She smiled at him, and mouthed the words he heard in his head. Home again. Good. Meloon tightened his grip on Azuredge, the axe whose voice spoke to him.
A small hand at his belt steadied him before he fell forward, and he shook his head to clear his eyes. Meloon found Vajra smiling up at him. Her brown eyes became purple and she licked her lips while looking at him. The eyes shifted again to sea green, and she said, "Listen to Lauroun. She'll never steer you wrong." Her gaze darted to the magical axe, and she said, "Nameless's portal only works when the first rays of dawn strike the place where he was born. Alas, we alone arrived on target. The others are near, scattered by some whim of magic attached to this mountain. Perhaps the Godstair interferes…" Her voice trailed off and Meloon followed her gaze to the peak of Mount Waterdeep. When she turned back to look at him, her eyes were brown again. "We have little time and must get to the tower. They can meet us there." "No," Meloon said.
"Don't argue with me, warrior. Why not?"
"Because you faint. A lot. And I can't fight and carry you. So we find the others first." He looked around and found that the cobblestones on which they stood were scorched in the shape of a cat's head. "Did we do this?"
"The Spellplague did a century ago," Vajra said, her hazel eyes shining with tears. "It robbed jne of both husband and familiar in one magical blow. The magic marked the city forevermore, even though they have changed the stones seven times in and since my lifetime."
"Vajra?"
"Tsar-Unh," Vajra said. "Fehlar's Bones, this hurts! They keep pushing out of my head!"
"Yet another reason why we need the others," Meloon said, looking out from the intersection in which they stood. The crossroads led straight along the ridge of the mountain to the south, but zigzagged away from their meeting point down the slopes to the west, east, and north. As he looked down to the city, a brief flash of colors flared up in a court south and east of them, and he pointed. "There!"
Meloon turned to help Vajra along, but she sped off ahead of him, running faster than he thought possible-he had to run full out to catch up. He wished he knew the names of the streets, but they headed down toward the flash, and Meloon's speed showed him why all the roads were switch-backed and zigzagged. If they ran roads straighter in Mountainside, carts or horses would easily get out of control or run too fast down the mountain and shatter legs or goods along the way. During the run, Meloon heard a horn and noticed a number of shuttets disturbed by it, as well as some folk either heading toward the sound or away from it.
By the time Meloon caught up to Vajra, she stood outside a court and was casting a spell at the backs of a Watch patrol. The two men and one woman all fell asleep before their bodies slumped to the cold ground. She looked back at him as he arrived and slid to a halt on a patch of ice. She wore a serious mien, and her gray eyes held no humor. "Come. Our comrades await.".
Meloon and Vajra entered the court, and Meloon's stomach growled as he caught the scent of fresh bread. He ignored it and beamed as he spotted Elra and Vharem-and the watch armar past them. Just as Meloon focused on the oddly mussed and frizzy hairstyle of the atmat, the man's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell forward, unconscious. Behind him, a grinning Osco Salibuck stepped out of the shadows, his sling dangling from his right hand. Moments later, Renaer appeared in the alleyway behind the halfling.
Everyone entered the courtyard, saying nothing but surveying the four downed Watchmen, then the large covered well at the yard's center. The folk who lived and worked in this stories-tall court had opened their windows or doors when the horn sounded, and they yelled out their upper windows and into the streets. "Young Neverember and his friends assault the Watch at Trellamp Court! Murderer on the loose 'tween Sulvan's Way and Three Lords' Crossing!"
"We're innocent!" Renaer shouted. "We've killed no one!"
"Aside from that one-eyed Watchman and his flunky," Vharem whispered to Osco.
An elderly matron of doughy countenance leaned out her window and cackled at Renaer. "If ye're innocent, stay and explain why the Watch lies at yer feet, laddie!"
With more than a few folk yelling into the streets, a warning bell sounded in a nearby temple tor, and the sounds of boots approached.
"Parharding bells." Renaer groaned, and then said, "This way, everyone!"
The six of them sped out of Trellamp Court, racing down Sulvan's Way as if gods themselves dogged their steps.
CHAPTER 14
Pave your path through life with kindness to others and every step forward will reward you with soft landings and little resistance. Pave it with anger or force to others, and your every advance will be hard fought.
Bowgentle, Meanderings, Year of the Bright Star (1231 DR)
11 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
That way!" Renaer said, kicking a block out from behind a wagon wheel, and Vharem did the same on the other side. "Down Shyrrhr's Steps and northeast on the Garmarl's Dash over to Windless Way!"
The, two of them pushed the wagon and sent it careening back down the street to slow any pursuers and distract any observers. They caught up to Laraelra and the others dashing down a short stairwell linking them to an alleyway behind a slate of rowhouses. They looped around a pair of adjoined buildings and a covered well, startling three scullery maids filling buckets there. With Osco in the lead, the group slipped over to the brick-paved Windless Way.
Laraelra stopped dead and rasped, "Osco, stop!" She looked for Meloon, Vajra, Vharem, and Renaer, and spotted another Watch patrol in pursuit behind them. Luckily, the morning sun rose into the Watchmen's eyes, which helped conceal the fugitives. Laraelra could see both Vharem and Renaer kee
ping their hands in front of their torsos, hiding their ditections from the Watch, and pointing her to theit right, to the south.
Laraelra held back, letting Osco, Meloon, carrying the swooning Vajra, and finally Vharem and Renaer past her, as she hid behind the side of an apothecary shop. Once everyone was past her, she let the Watch close a little more before she cast her spell, unleashing an explosion of magical colors over them. Of the quartet, three fell unconscious and the armar went blind. She smiled at the effectiveness of her magic and ran to catch the others.
Renaer had led the rest of them down the dark-bricked Windless Way. As Laraelra reached them, they darted onto a black cobblestone alley and into a tiny bricked courtyard. Three doors faced out onto the court, and the southwest-facing upper windows of the three two-story homes were still shaded from the morning sun. Renaer pointed at the door on the far left and said softly, "A friend lives there. He should be able to hide us from the Watch for a nonce."
When Meloon approached the door and raised a fist, Renaer whispered, "Stop!"
The burly man raised an eyebrow in question, and Renaer reached up and. used the door knocker-a crude iron sculpture of a bird's head set atop a large plate of iron. The knocker oddly made no sound, but within a moment, a window overlooking the door on the upper floor opened.
"Who's there?" The voice preceded the night-capped head of an older man with a close-cropped gray beard, who fumbled to put spectacles on his long nose.
"Parlek, it's me!" Renaer said. "Let us in, please!"
The older man leaned out, squinted down at Renaer, and gaped at them and at the prone Vajra in Meloon's arms.
"You're wanted for murder, boy," Parlek replied. "Give me one reason to trust you and your friends there."
"I'll give you three-The Annals ofKyhral. You'll finally complete the set! The volumes are yours in exchange for safe haven."
The old man's face brightened. "Finally! I knew I'd gain those volumes from you one day, boy!" The old man practically cackled with glee, then caught himself and said, "Er, well, that proves you are who you say, as you're the only one in the city with those volumes. And for you to part with them means you're either desperate or innocent-or both. Come in, all of you."
The man waved, a light bout of sparkles drifting off his hand, and the door below unlocked. As Renaer opened the door, the older man above closed the window.
"We'll be safe here, temporarily," Renaer said, escorting them all into the row house.
They entered a snug antechamber, then walked through a slim passageway to the front of the house and an equally slim stairwell leading upstairs. Down those stairs came a bowlegged old man wrapping his robes more tightly about himself.
Renaer gestured up and said, "Everyone, Parlek Lateriff-sage, sorcerer, and smith of the highest order."
"Stop basting my ego, boy." The old man stopped in midstep, grabbing the railing in surprise. "I wasn't sure… but it is! You've got her! That is Vajra Safahr, isn't it?"
Renaer nodded. "What exactly are we accused of doing now?"
"The usual, when they want someone caught without having to explain much-murder, dissent against the Lords, and more. Surprisingly, there are specific charges that tell more, if you know how to listen." He motioned them all up the stairs and continued. "The fact that you're protecting someone you're accused of murdering should help your case-or harm it, if they claim you used your connections with many temples to resurrect her so you could kill her again."
Renaer sputtered, "But… why-who?"
Vharem smacked him between the shoulders and said, "He's stuck. Lemme help."
"Who's accusing us of all this?" Laraelra said.
"And who might you be, lass?" Parlek asked.
"Laraelra Harsard, daughter of-"
Parlek's eyes widened and he interrupted her, "Malaerigo
Harsard, who claims his daughter has been bewitched into helping a murderer and offers a reward for her rescue. Interesting. Interesting."
Laraelra groaned. "On a brighter day, Father'd not be such a fool."
"Yes, but your own reputation for cool-headedness serves you well. More folk than your loud-mouthed sire believe your involvement is both voluntary and honorable."
Laraelra got a small smile out of that.
"What did you mean when you said the charges tell more?" Vharem asked.
"You disappeared yesterday morning from Neverember Manor. Too many people saw you go in, and none saw you come out. Without someone telling your side of the stoty, your accusers filled the streets with gossip to support their claims. What'd you do to get on the wrong side of Khondar Naomal, Renaer?"
"How did you know he was behind it?"
"Those slinging the most accusatory statements all had ties to the Watchful Order, and to him specifically. I have some guilded friends who want to know what's going on, since most of them aren't buying the story. The Watch-or at least those few you've shamed in your nightly pranks-believes the rumors and search hard, as do some Order apprentices. Otherwise, most of us use our heads as other than hatracks and wait for the truth to come out at Lords' Court."
"Thank the gods for that," Renaer said.
Parlek led them through a small room toward a doorway in the far wall. "Don't touch anything-especially you, Osco Salibuck!"
There were two work tables, on which were fine smiths' tools, vises, and some works in progress-a bracer, a headdress, and an amulet. Above the tables and set on slim support rods were two long planks, on which were gems small and large of various colors. Across from the tables were shelves overflowing with books and scrolls.
Everyone passed through the room quickly. Renaer held onto Osco's cloak, and Vharem held onto the hin's tunic. However, while Renaer and Vharem were broad-shouldered, they were not as large as Meloon. In order to avoid dislodging things from the shelves on his right, Meloon bumped into the table on the left as he passed it, and he knocked its shelf over, spilling its contents on the table and floor.
"Parharding stlaern it!" Parlek swore. "It's going to take forever to sort all that out again! You've ruined my work for the next tenday!"
Meloon blushed and muttered, "Sorry," but whispered back at Renaer, "What's he got all that for?"
"Parlek makes a living by creating replicas of jewelry pieces for nobles," Renaer said. "It allows him to afford better books and time to study on all things ecclesiastical."
While Parlek groaned and shot glares at Meloon, the others gathered up everything that fell off the shelf onto the table.
"You big ox!" Parlek snapped. "I'll never finish that tiara in time!" He pointed at a half-finished headdress of filigreed silver webworks, half its fake gems in place. The parchment on the table illustrated the finished piece, but that was half-covered in loose gems.
Osco hopped up on the stool, produced a lens out of his back belt pouch, squinted to hold it close to his right eye, and began picking small gems up to examine them. "It'll be less than forever and certainly not a tenday, but it'll still take some time. Settle back, gentles, and let me show you glass from class. Ooo, nice work there! Almost didn't see the seam."
Laraelra swept all the loose gems together, gestured at the jumbled pile of fake and real gems, and uttered a few syllables.
"Hey!" Osco yelled, as all but the single gem in his hand spun away from him, glowing. The gems glistened and spiraled into eight separate piles-two blue, two red, two clear, and two green gems, one each of fake and real gems. The fake gems easily outnumbered the real gems by ten to one, as there were only two or three real gems of any color.
Parlek gasped, looked at Laraelra, and back at the piles, and both of them smiled.
"It's a minor magic of mine," Laraelra said. "Separates out components and puts like with like."
"I might pay you to teach it to me, lass, but another time," Parlek said. He motioned them forward toward the door behind him. "Let's get out of my workroom and into my parlor. Phase" The last word he pleaded, looking directly at Meloon, who gingerly
side-stepped his way through with Vajra.
They entered a moderate-sized room flooded with morning light. Two couches and four chairs hugged the walls of the room. Parlek motioned them all to sit, himself taking a seat by the window and the light. They all sat and Renaer said, "Sorry for the disruption of sleep and home, but we need to know everything you've heard."'
"Too much," Parlek said. "Tell me what you know and I'll try and fill in the rest."
Meloon chimed in with, "All we know is Khondar and somebody posing as the Blackstaff want us dead because we kept them from killing her. They stuck a knife in her gut!"
"Those two hated each other for decades," Renaer said. "I suspect Khondar killed Samark or had him killed, and then had a trusted lieutenant wear an illusory shape to divert attention or sow confusion."
"We don't know who the illusion-weaver is," Laraelra added, "but they must have enough information to steal the Blackstaffs power. When Vajra's cogent, she talks about getting to Blackstaff Tower before someone takes its power."
Parlek listened to all of them, nodded, and said, "You're right in that you need to get her to the tower-her place of power. I suspect that'll help her just by being there. As for the illusion-wearer, that's probably Khondar's son, Centiv. He's good with illusions, and one of the few that ring-wearer would trust-at least as much as he trusts anyone." He whistled. "You sure pick enemies, Renaer, that's for certain." His gaze happened upon Osco, whose hands shot up into the air to show he didn't have anything in hand despite having passed by a silver serving set on the sideboard.
"The gods' honest laughs," Osco said. "They found all this trouble by themselves!"
"What can you tell us about Ten-Rings?" Renaer asked.
"Once I realized he was the one slandering your name," Parlek said, "I asked friends who know the city's wizards. Naomal only picked up that name about eighteen years ago when Sarathus died and Khondar failed to become Ashemmon's apprentice and heir for the third time. Before that, he'd been a middling wizard with a brief stint in the Watch-wizard corps. In less than a year, he was a power in the guild with his new affectation of a ring on every finger. I heard he searched spellplagued areas in Neverwinter Woods and found some artifacts-including the Jhaarnnan Hands." Parlek smiled, happy to impart his knowledge. "The four sources that discuss them say the items are from Memnon in Calimshan, though all disagree as to their origin. One says they were made by the great djinni lords, one says efreeti, and the third by their wizard servitor-proxies. The fourth insists demons worked to undermine the djinn-rule of the time and made them to do so."
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