Key of Stars

by Bruce R Cordell

  “What did you learn?” Taal asked. “What is the disposition of the … risen city?”

  The woman nearly danced with glee. “Xxiphu is a new moon over Toril, an omen of what will come,” she said. “Even now, it begins to harvest Faerûn’s dreams.”

  “The Eldest is waking?” Taal said, alarm nearly making his voice quaver.

  “No. It is caught in the transition; I told you that,” Malyanna replied. “The Eldest’s mind is trapped on the edge of consciousness.”

  “Then why are you so ebullient?”

  “Because I know where to find the Key of Stars!”

  Taal rubbed his chin. “Without the Eldest, what good will that do?” he said. “Your prophecy indicates—”

  Malyanna waved away his protest. “If Neifion kills the warlock, the Eldest might throw off slumber,” she replied. “Japheth thieved some essential essence from the Dreamheart before he left it behind. If that essence is released, it could well enliven Xxiphu’s lord. So, if I can find the Key of Stars in the meantime, I’ll have saved the Eldest time dredging up the Key itself.”

  “What if the warlock’s death doesn’t wake the Eldest?” asked Taal. “You said a surviving Keeper of the Cerulean Sign managed to perform a ritual in Xxiphu’s crown chamber.”

  The eladrin noble’s lips thinned. “Yes, Raidon Kane,” she said. “I don’t know from whence he came, or how he came by his Keeper lore. Somehow, he proved capable of scribing a Rune of Binding, using a sentient sword only Keepers could have forged as his quill, no less. He reminded me of someone. I can’t quite put my finger on whom …”

  “This Rune of Binding; won’t that prevent all the Eldest’s eyes from opening?” asked Taal.

  “I’ll not wait for failure, Taal!” Malyanna said. “I’d rather plan for success. However, if the worst befalls us, and the Eldest remains unresponsive, I’ll still have the Key of Stars in hand. I’ll use it in the Eldest’s place to unlock the Far Manifold.”

  Taal’s eyes widened. “You would promote yourself above the Eldest?”

  “I must be prepared for all contingencies,” Malyanna replied. “So gather your things. I’ll need your help in retrieving the Key. You’re coming with me.”

  An odd feeling bloomed in the pit of his stomach. Surprise? Hope? It had been so long since he’d felt the latter, he couldn’t identify the sensation.

  Malyanna said, “We must find the one who was lord in Winter’s Peace before I. My poor, long departed mentor, whose schemes were discovered by ancient Keepers.”

  “You mean the Traitor,” Taal said. It wasn’t a question.

  Taal had heard, several times, about the eladrin who had commanded the spire before Malyanna. It had been centuries earlier in the world—but not nearly so long out at Forever’s Edge, where time ran differently—when Malyanna, fresh to the tower herself, once served as castellan to an eladrin noble named Carnis.

  Carnis had been as committed to the Watch as any. But the eladrin had been incautious. He had stared too long into the void. The things that stirred in utter emptiness had lost their horror for the Lord of Winter’s Peace. They had become objects of curiosity.

  Or maybe his call to service had been a charade all along. He might have joined the Watch already compromised.

  Regardless, he eventually showed Malyanna “the truth and the glory” that lay beyond the void, in the fearfully whispered Citadel of the Outer Void.

  Instead of striking Carnis down or reporting his treachery to the other watchtowers, Malyanna had joined his cause.

  The two plotted long together, and dreamt of a future twisted and wrecked, wherein they were elevated by their association with the creatures who would become the new lords of reality. Taal had never been sure how that was supposed to have worked. Then Carnis departed Winter’s Peace, intent on achieving the first awful piece of their plan.

  But the Lord of Winter’s Peace was found out. He was caught and imprisoned in a splinter realm of Faerie called Stardeep. His name and station were stripped from him. Ever after, he was known simply as the Traitor.

  And in Stardeep he had rotted until the changing of the world.

  Malyanna did not betray herself to the other wardens of the Twelve Towers. She remained in Winter’s Peace, and showed all the proper surprise, distress, and outrage a pupil would be expected to display if her lord was unveiled as a monster. She helped the other wardens root out all the strange books, secret chambers, and miscellaneous ilk Carnis had stockpiled in the watchtower under the noses of his fellow watchers. It was after that event the Compact had been modified to allow wardens to request to see the content of neighboring towers.

  Malyanna had been a consummate actor. She destroyed lore with full knowledge that doing so would delay her own plans for a century or more. In the end, the other wardens of the Watch on Forever’s Edge were convinced of Malyanna’s purity.

  In only a few short years, she had been promoted. She became the Lady of Winter’s Peace, and was given full dispensation over its functions, armory, and the watchtower’s armed eladrin forces.

  “Yes, I am talking about the Traitor,” Malyanna finally answered, breaking Taal from his reverie. “How astute of you to remember.”

  “The Traitor and his prison are gone,” said Taal. “You said so yourself.”

  Malyanna nodded. “I assumed so,” she replied. “But I never bothered to discover exactly where it was located; at first, it would have seemed suspicious to the other wardens had I shown too much interest in what our sibling Keepers did with the Traitor. Afterward, I was angry with Carnis for being such a fool and rushing in too soon. Eventually, I determined I would be the better instrument for the Sovereignty. I figured, let him rot.”

  “So Stardeep was not destroyed?”

  “I don’t know,” Malyanna replied. “That’s what we’re going to discover, my pet. I suspect it might be ashes, but even if all I can find are a few of the Traitor’s bones, I can interrogate the memory of his spirit. Before he was caught, he learned where the Key of Stars was located.”

  Taal remained quiet, studying his mistress. He wondered if she were finally giving in to wishful thinking. By her description, despite Xxiphu’s rise, the lone abolethic city seemed crippled. With its nigh omnipotent lord asleep, it hardly seemed a Sovereignty.

  Was Malyanna grasping at straws out of desperation?

  A flutter of hope was born in Taal’s heart. Perhaps her entire purpose was in danger of collapsing.

  “If Carnis knew where the Key of Stars was all along, why didn’t he find and use it?” Taal asked.

  Some of Malyanna’s exhilaration faded from her face. “Though he was a failure in many ways, Carnis said it was the Eldest’s place to take up the Key,” she said. “Even if he had it, he would not have tried it himself.”

  “But you will.”

  “If circumstances leave me no choice,” she replied.

  “Even if using it burns you to a cinder?” Taal said. “Maybe the Eldest is supposed to turn the Key because only a near-deity like it could handle the relic capable of opening the Far Manifold.”

  Malyanna frowned. “I appreciate your concern, Taal, false as it is,” she said. “Perhaps I will give the matter a little more thought—It’s not my intention to miss out on the era of the Sovereignty’s reign when I’ve sacrificed so much to ensure its birth.”

  Taal nodded. “Don’t think overlong on it,” he said. “We have only the grace of a tenday, at most, before the other watchtowers become suspicious of Eloar and Dramvar’s absence.”

  Malyanna sniffed, as if in disdain. Torchlight played on her skin as she gestured to her hound. “Tamur, to my study,” she said.

  The shadows swallowed eladrin and mastiff, leaving Taal alone again with the void.

  The castellan descended from Winter Peace’s zenith, taking each step one at a time, until he reached his own chambers.

  They were empty of everything save what was needful for him to survive and perform his duties. Des
pite Malyanna’s urging that he allow himself the luxuries his station could command, Taal preferred blank walls. He was determined that, despite his oddly privileged servitude, he would not give in to enticements that might make his position seem comfortable, or even enviable. Malyanna had become a willing acolyte of Carnis; Taal preferred the daily reminder that he served the Lady of Winter’s Peace under protest.

  He went to his writing desk, where he drafted his daily directives to the staff and stewards, captains and commanders of the tower. On it lay a silver pin, in the shape of a snowflake. It was the badge Malyanna had given him after she’d recruited him to the Watch.

  Following her promotion, she required a castellan of her own.

  With a deviousness born of long centuries, she had spun a rumor built to snare would-be heroes, and whispered it into the world. The rumor painted the tale of a monstrous evil that required constant watching in a lonely waste, lest some sliver of it escape and infect Faerûn.

  The best lies wrap themselves in truth like a second skin. Taal had numbered among those who heard the lies, and believed them. He and the others who heard and believed gathered together and followed the threads, and indeed, discovered actual aberrant cults, ghastly items that fostered nightmares, and eventually a mind flayer cyst, which proved great evil was afoot. From there, Taal and his company of heroes found paths into the Feywild and beyond.

  They found Malyanna waiting. In aspect she seemed a queen, wise and dangerous, yet beautiful too. She described the Watch on Forever’s Edge, the void that lay beyond, and the sacrifice all who joined the Watch must endure. She said she was in need of an ally, to help her in her duties.

  Malyanna asked which one among Taal’s company would join her, and serve as castellan of the Spire of Winter’s Peace.

  Of all his company who quested through the meandering, dangerous route to appear on the doorstep of Winter’s Peace, Taal had proved the most capable.

  He was the one given the reward. His prize was to become a watcher himself, to learn the lore of the void and how to fight what seeped from it, and the opportunity to pledge himself to reality’s defense.

  His friends, perhaps jealous, or maybe relieved to be able to remain carefree adventurers and righters of lesser wrongs, had wished him well. They returned to the world, leaving Taal to take up his new duties and instruction.

  How foolish, how intemperate he’d been to voice the pledge. He’d wondered, even as he spoke the words of binding, why the language seemed so light on defense of the helpless and heavy on the unquestioning service he would provide to the eladrin noble.

  But Taal was a man of his word, and with just a few short breaths, he had foresworn himself, believing he was on his way to a glorious career as a warden-in-training.

  In that assessment, he’d been appallingly, catastrophically wrong.

  Taal blinked away the recollection. He picked up the silver pin and rubbed it between his fingers. His totem cat growled. It recognized the threat to Taal’s equanimity that the symbol of office represented.

  Taal replaced the pin on the desk, sat, and drafted instructions that would see to the disposition of Winter’s Peace in his absence. The spire could run itself for long periods, assuming nothing happened to break normal routine. But his thoughts skipped away from the boring details of duty rotation and resupply as he scribbled on the parchment.

  Despite himself, Taal found he was looking forward to the trip.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)

  New Sarshell, Impiltur

  Japheth paced the guest room. The bottle green rug ate the sound of his footfalls. The wide mirror reflected the back and forth sway of his midnight cloak. He had only to pull the cord by the entrance, and someone from the Marhana mansion staff would soon be knocking respectfully at the door, wondering what he required.

  But a meal, no matter how well prepared, or a bath, regardless how hot the water—or any number of other distractions he might ask for—were hollow substitutes for what he really wanted.

  He’d worked a true wonder, creating a vessel to house the mind of Anusha’s friend Yeva. Then Neifion had ruined his surprise.

  “By the Nine, I wish I had killed that bastard when I had the chance,” muttered Japheth.

  He doubted Anusha or Yeva were any less grateful for what he’d accomplished. But he’d imagined the moment he would reintroduce the two friends. The scene hadn’t included a vengeful archfey. He’d hoped his gift would, in its reception, break through the unwelcome formality that had sprung up between him and Anusha after they’d returned to the mansion.

  It was unnerving how much Anusha had changed since he’d met her. Or, at least, changed in his perception. She’d been a cipher, the younger half sister of his employer, and of little importance. He could still remember being vaguely aware of her watching him as he’d made his way to talk to Berhoun about some bit of business.

  Later, she’d followed him out onto the Sea of Fallen Stars, a stowaway fleeing her brother and the responsibility of her name.

  But now, she was the one trying to create a plan. It was Anusha who wouldn’t let him or the rest forget the threat they’d helped create. Anusha, in the absence of leadership from Raidon, Seren, or himself, was taking charge.

  She was wonderful.

  Should he seek her out? It was getting late …

  It wasn’t like him to be so indecisive. Maybe it was because his normal routine was a shambles. He’d managed, despite the thought of it constantly hovering just below his awareness, to avoid taking a single grain of traveler’s dust for several days. Without it as a crutch, maybe an irresolute nature he hadn’t realized he possessed was coming to the fore.

  The thought galled him.

  “Don’t be such a child,” he said, and left his room.

  He walked the hall to its end, where the door to Anusha’s chamber stood closed. A yellow glow spilled from beneath it.

  He knocked.

  “Yes?” came Anusha’s voice, faint through the wood.

  “It’s Japheth.”

  A moment of silence, and the door opened.

  Lantern light shimmered on Anusha’s skin, and seemed to spark in her eyes. Her hair was mussed, having come partly free of the leather strap holding it in place, as if she’d been lying down. The wild strands enhanced and accented her beauty; he wanted to reach out and carefully unlace the leather strap restraining the rest of her hair.

  Her nightdress was green, and her feet were bare. Japheth caught her familiar scent—a delicate musk he’d always presumed must be some sort of perfume, though he didn’t know for sure. He associated the odor only with her.

  Suddenly his surety of purpose wavered.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her smile encouraging him.

  “I thought we could, I don’t know, talk,” he said. “Take a walk. Read a book together.”

  “Seriously?”

  He grinned. “Sure.”

  One of her eyebrows went up in question.

  “You know how to read, don’t you?”

  “I’m a fabulous reader,” she said, and looked directly into his eyes.

  Japheth’s heart suddenly kicked into a louder tempo. “And I love a good book,” he said.

  Anusha stepped back from the door, motioning him to enter.

  Her room was warm. Or maybe it was him. He removed his cloak and hung it on the stand.

  When he turned, she stepped into his embrace.

  The smell of her redoubled, making his head whirl. He felt her arms go around his waist.

  “You feel good,” she said.

  “I’ve missed you,” Japheth replied.

  She looked up at him with her head cocked to one side. “How are you doing?” she asked. “I mean, after Neifion showing up here today?”

  The Lord of Bats was the last thing on his mind. But he said, “That old poser? He caught us by surprise is all. Anyway, I’m great, now that I’m here with you.” He win
ked.

  Anusha chuckled. “Good,” she said. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping Yeva. It’s amazing. You saved her, you know. Not many could have pulled that off.”

  He shrugged, affecting nonchalance. “I’m just glad it worked,” he said.

  She pulled back, but kept a light hold on his wrists. He allowed her to lead him to the edge of her bed. Then she sat, crossing her legs beneath her. Her nightdress rode up to just above her knees, showing shapely calves over slim ankles.

  Anusha patted the coverlet next to her in invitation. Her nails were painted the color of the sea.

  Japheth sat.

  “Anusha,” he began, just as she said his name.

  They laughed.

  “You first,” he said.

  She nodded. Then, “Japheth, we need to talk. About many things. Important things. About us, and about what we face.”

  “All right. Of course,” Jepheth replied. “So …”

  “The thing is, now that you’ve entered my lair … I don’t know. The world is a burden that will always be there. Our troubles too. Maybe both can wait, just a bit. What do you think?”

  Her lair?

  “I think I like the sound of that.”

  His arm went around her shoulders, but before he could pull her closer, she crushed herself to him. The pressure of her body through their clothing warmed him like a fireplace hearth.

  He cupped Anusha’s face in his palms and found her lips with his. Her skin was smooth and soft, and the first feathery touch of her lips jolted through him like a rogue spell. The touch became a kiss. She leaned against him with a delicious softness. The kiss slowed, becoming more intense, more sensual. Time seemed to stop.

  Breathless, he was only able to whisper her name.

  When she pulled her nightdress over her head, Japheth’s heart thundered so violently he felt dizzy.

  Her feminine curves and lines were burnished with lantern light, as a painter might lovingly depict on canvas. Her silhouette branded his mind, setting his entire body on fire. Her touches were like the rolling sea surf, pushing him back and pulling him forward.