Renaer shook his head. “No, but thanks. I’ll carry her, in case we have to run. I can keep up with you even while carrying her. I’d rather you were ready for anyth—”
“Drop all weapons and surrender!” The shout came from the alley’s mouth to the west of them.
“Like that?” Laraelra asked.
CHAPTER 7
A man’s home, like a man’s wife, holds many secrets from those who don’t respect her or know how to hold her in the proper regard.
Rhale the Wise, Maxims,
the Year of the Halls Unhaunted (1407 DR)
10 NIGHTAL, YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Meloon, help me!” Renaer ran forward, and slammed his shoulder into the tall pile of crates near the alley entrance. Renaer and Meloon shoved the crates over just in time, seeing the surprised looks on the Watchmen’s faces as the boxes of seaweed and shellfish toppled upon them.
“Surrender!” Charrar shouted. “Renaer Neverember and company, you’re in the custody of the Watch!”
Vharem whipped around, reaching for his short sword, only to find its point at his throat. Charrar stood, despite the apparent wounds on her feet, and she had stolen his weapon. “Charrar, what—”
“Don’t embarrass yourself further, Vharem. I’m neither your woman nor your grateful rescued victim. Seems a shame, though, what the Blackstaff’ll do to you—such a waste of a good body.” As Renaer and Meloon approached, she moved the sword point closer to Vharem’s throat. Meloon groaned as he noted she stood on the head of his axe, pinning it to the ground. Charrar called to her compatriots, who struggled from beneath all the crates. “Hurry! We need to get them off the streets!”
Two flashes of quicksilver slammed into Charrar’s eyes and sword hand. She crumpled to the cobblestones.
Laraelra stood in the shadows, the same silver color fading from her eyes. “I thought something wasn’t right about her.”
“Run!” Renaer pointed up and to the right. “Go north on Morningstar Way!” His hands, however, waved to the south. Renaer scooped up Vajra and Meloon picked up his axe, while Laraelra grabbed the stunned Vharem by the shirt and dragged him into motion. He stumbled forward, holding his throat, and finally snapped out of it and broke into a run with her. The four of them slipped around the northern side of the Demondraught and ran south along Morningstar Way.
Renaer stopped where Aureenar Street crossed Morningstar near the gray-stoned Stormstar Ride, and he noted that most every building was dark, the street-level shops closed and the homes above asleep beneath their brown-tiled roofs. He whispered, “Vharem, Ravencourt!”
Vharem slowed and hooked arms with Laraelra to help her keep pace with him. Meloon turned, brandishing his axe, but Renaer shook his head. He inhaled a deep breath and let out a piercing whistle. Shouts behind them and sudden movement in the shadows from the debris- and cat-filled Shank Alley told Renaer they’d taken his bait. He launched himself and Vajra forward again, with Meloon running alongside again.
“Why’d you do that?” Meloon asked. “We could have gotten away!”
“I’ve no doubt we will get away, Meloon.” Renaer said. “We lead them on a path of my choosing. I truly doubt they are the Watch—just sellswords wearing the colors. If they’re working with that fake Blackstaff, they’re up to no good.”
“And what does this Ravencourt have to do with anything?” Meloon asked as he followed Renaer’s direction further up Aureenar’s Arc directly toward one of the Field Ward’s watch towers.
“Revenge,” Renaer said. He took a look behind to see three figures in pursuit with a fourth trailing behind. He heard the farthest one yell, “They hurt Charrar! Get them!”
Renaer cut a sharp right turn around a whitewashed stone-walled baker’s shop, hooking his way into an inner courtyard. While the surrounding buildings were all one- and two-story taverns and shops, the four larger buildings within the courtyard each stood three stories high. Atop the gables on each of them loomed stone ravens. They didn’t have time to admire the architecture as they caught up with Vharem and Laraelra, who had stopped, undecided which direction to go. Renaer barreled past them with a sharp “Follow me!” as he ran for the lone shadowtop tree at the far end.
“There’s no way out there, Renaer!” Vharem said, though he followed once he heard their approaching pursuers.
Laraelra shouted out a spell, and a cone of bright colors filled the air just as the quartet of pursuers came around the corner. All of them yelled and stopped in their tracks, one of them falling senseless to the street. Laraelra broke into a run after her friends and called, “Who’s after us—the Open Lord or the Blackstaff?”
“You’ll find out, lass,” the lead man growled as he shook his vision clear and raced after her.
Renaer ran to the far side of the tree, where he stopped. Meloon, Vharem, and Laraelra caught up quickly, surprised to see that Renaer had stopped again. “Are we letting them catch up again?” Meloon asked.
“No. You and Vharem should try and clear the alley between the third and fourth buildings there.” Renaer pointed at the western buildings a moment. “Elra, a little light here will help.”
Vharem and Meloon attacked the debris-laden midden, trying to create an exit. Laraelra sidled next to Renaer as the three remaining pursuers arrived. The three men drew swords out of their scabbards.
“See, friends?” Renaer called. “The Watch never draws steel on unarmed foes, only rods or staves. They’re our foes’ hirelings, be sure.”
Laraelra’s spell took effect, filling the air with blue light.
The lead pursuer responded, “Only thing folks’ll believe is what we tell—Huh?”
The thug fell silent as the outline of the black-barked tree appeared atop the trio. A low moan seemed to issue out of the tree trunk along with a rustle and crackling of nigh-dead leaves and branches. The first man ran forward, intent on Renaer, when black shadows lashed out of the tree to wrap around his sword arm and body. He yelled, and his friends stepped back—too slowly. Leaf-enshrouded black vines lashed out at them too. All three screamed and howled when the vines crushed where they gripped, but their voices grew still as three final vines descended from the tree and looped around their necks as nooses. Branches cracked and groaned as they stretched under the feet of the three, raising them high above the street. With a loud crack, the branches all broke away, leaving the three men to freefall until the nooses ended their falls with the snapping of three necks.
Laraelra watched, morbidly fascinated, as the tree’s shadow seemed to shift and not resemble the tree’s silhouette but a judge’s gavel. She looked at Renaer, who had a grim look on his face. “Did you know that was going to happen?” she asked.
“Yes, I expected something like that, but not nearly as dramatic,” Renaer replied. “Guess old Magister Nharrelk gets angry if he doesn’t claim any guilty souls in a century.”
“You led us under that thing, knowing it could attack us?”
Renaer turned with Vajra in his arms, locking eyes with Laraelra as he turned. “We were always safe from the Hanging Tree of Ravencourt.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“You haven’t avoided punishment for any capital crimes in the city, have you?” Renaer said. “Those are the only ones who get judged by the Magistree.”
Vharem had watched what had happened even while working to free a passage, and his eyes were goblet-wide and staring at Renaer. “How many times have we led a rat-scamper through here and that never happened? And why now?”
“Seven times, friend, all of them successful escapes,” Renaer said. “As for them, they were guilty of hanging offenses. Consider it some justice against those who killed Faxhal.”
Renaer saw the slight path and kicked-over fence that allowed them to pass up and over a refuse heap. He nodded his approval and began climbing out of Ravencourt while still talking to the group.
“We must go back to Neverember Hall before too many folks question why I’m
carrying someone. There’s not many people about yet, but that’ll change swiftly. Meloon, sling Elra and Vharem over your shoulders. That way, we’re simply carrying our drunk friends home from their cups.”
Laraelra rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t think so. I can stumble home, thanks.”
Meloon lashed his axe to his belt and then reached for her. “C’mon, Elra, it’ll keep anyone from being suspicious.”
She smirked. “Vharem’s looking awful, there, Meloon. Why don’t you take one arm and I’ll take the other? We can walk him home, since we’re both taller than he is.”
Vharem laughed as he threw his arms over the shoulders of Meloon and Laraelra. “It’s not as if this isn’t closer to a typical end to a night with me and Ren!” As they walked away, Vharem muttered, “Gods speed you to rest, Faxhal, and may the guilty swim in razor-strewn dung for their afterlives.”
The late morning sun shone brightly through the windows at the far side of the room, though the windows facing Mendever Street remained cloaked behind heavy curtains. In the shadows on the bed, a man loomed over Vajra’s prone body, his hands glowing green and white. His voice was low and his prayers were barely audible over Renaer’s own as he knelt to pray in the sunlight.
“Valkur, speed his path, fill his sails, and calm his seas. Amaunator, light his way and warm his face. Tymora, grant him the luck to be at his reward before his misdeeds are counted in full. Kelemvor, judge him worthy to pass the veils. Gods above, grant my friend the happiness he found so rarely on Toril out among the stars.”
Renaer’s eyes welled up, but no tears escaped until he turned his head toward the light touch on his shoulder.
Renaer looked up into the peaceful eyes of Wavetamer Garyn Raventree, whose own prayers had ended moments before. “A good prayer, if a bit random.”
“How is she?” Renaer asked.
Garyn shrugged and said, “I’ve healed her, so she’s physically as strong as she can be. But mentally … I don’t know. She’s under the influence of some magic I’ve never seen. Given that she’s linked to the Blackstaff, that’s not surprising.”
“So why won’t she wake up?”
“I asked for clarity on her condition, and all I know is her soul now carries twenty or more lifetimes.”
“What does that mean?”
“On that, Valkur puts me on still seas, friend.”
“Well, thank you for everything, Garyn. I’ll be by within a tenday and we’ll talk about my debts to you.”
“Consider this but payment for our own debts, for the young Lord Neverember has been a staunch friend of Valkur and his faithful.”
Renaer stood up, walked over to his desk, and withdrew a small purse, which he handed to Garyn. “In that case, let me pay for some prayers to be sung in Faxhal’s name.”
“Of course. His ship will sail the stars on the waves of our prayers, friend. While he wasn’t the best sailor, he was a good comrade to many of our faithful.”
The priest bowed and exited the room just as Madrak came in bearing a pair of copper kettles, their contents piping hot. He poured both kettles into a basin by the window, the steam rising in the sunbeams.
“It would seem that only the lady Safahr has slept well since your adventures began yestermorn, milord. Can we not urge you and your friends to sleep? To eat? At least I can insist you not waste the hot water for your morning ablutions.”
Madrak had been starting his normal day just as Renaer and his friends returned to Neverember House. Since then, he’d sent runners to Valkur’s temple on Sul Street and another down to the palace to hear of any news or gossip and to notify the Watch or the Lords that the Blackstaff was not who he seemed.
“Later, Madrak,” Renaer said. “I want to know what the reaction is to our news before I collapse either into bed or a trencher. Who did you send down to the palace to tell about the Blackstaff—about the duplicity?”
“Varkel. I gave him the Saddelyn pony to make sure he got there as quickly as possible.”
“Good. He’ll remember every single word spoken to him and around him. Are the others well?”
“Master Vharem is sullenly distraught, but has remarkably stayed away from the liquor cabinet. Mistress Laraelra has been quietly meditating in one corner, while only Master Meloon shows any sense in eating and catching some sleep. Of course, he has placed his filthy boots up on the tables and ruined the tablecloth, but …”
Renaer had wandered away from Madrak to approach the bed. Vajra looked vastly better, now that she had a clean robe and had all the grime and blood washed out of her hair and face. Renaer just wished she would wake up and give them some answers to help get them out of this mess.
“The fact that you have the Blackstaff’s Heir in your care—however her condition—speaks well for your story, Renaer,” Madrak said. “No matter how thickly the lies fly, truth is like a sunlit breeze that scatters them.”
“Where did you say the others were?” Renaer asked.
“The dining room, master,” he replied. “I’ll check with the staff to see what other word is on the streets and meet you there. After you’ve refreshed yourself and dressed.”
The two of them pulled the curtains around the bed closed, allowing Vajra even more warmth and silence to help her sleep. Madrak approached a tall cabinet and pulled on a decorative design between the two drawers, producing a small set of steps on which he stood to open the tall wardrobe doors. The butler began pulling out new clothes, while Renaer stripped off his old clothes and threw them to one side. Renaer splashed the hot water on himself, scrubbing himself clean and thoroughly dousing his head and face multiple times before he put the basin on the floor and soaked and cleaned his feet in it. By the time he was done, Madrak had assembled a new set of black leather pants, green muslin shirt, a black ermine-lined vest, and a new wolf-furred cloak. Madrak withdrew to let his master finish dressing.
As the latch clicked shut on the door, Renaer finished rubbing himself dry with the towel, only to realize he was being watched. Vajra’s face stuck out from between the curtains, a mischievous smile on her lips. While Renaer was hardly embarrassed, he was surprised, especially as he watched the woman’s eyes shift between normal looking eyes to dark orbs to a pair of mismatched eyes, all as she rambled incoherently. Her facial expressions also constantly shifted, as if she were at war within herself.
“Tasty, just like a good strong lad he carried us all the way wish I could things he needs know protect me is he the Heir can he help something’s wrong with the we need help fight Ten-Rings problem is son recover the Dusk owe him pain oh let me play …”
With that final reach and one of the most lascivious looks Renaer had ever received, Vajra fell unconscious again, her head and left arm resting on and over the end of the bed. Renaer pulled on his pants quickly and then got Vajra resettled in bed. Even when he lay beside her to pull up the furs and coverlet, she did not respond at all to his presence.
After he finished dressing, Renaer came down to the dining room. As he entered, Vharem turned toward the sound of the door. Laraelra’s eyes also opened and locked on his. Meloon’s light snore continued as the tall man’s chin rested on his chest, his feet on the table, and his chair precariously tipped beneath him.
Madrak entered the dining room, cleared his throat, and said, “Varkel has returned, master. He—”
A blur pushed the door further open and rushed past Madrak. He ran right up to Renaer, his face red with exertion and wind-burn, his hair slightly frosted from the cold. “Master Renaer!” he shouted, and the noise woke up Meloon, whose sudden start tipped over his chair, and the young blond man fell flat on his back on the floor.
Varkel hardly noticed the crash or Vharem’s snickering about it. He started talking very fast. “Master Renaer, they’re saying such awful things. I could hardly stand there and listen to them spew such lies about you—what with how well you’ve been to us all these years. Now mind you, were I not to know that these kind folk were associa
ted with your lordship, I might be inclined to believe—”
“Varkel, slow down,” Renaer said. “Take a breath and simply tell me what’s news on the streets. What happened when you told them about the Blackstaff?”
“I weren’t never getting the chance to, master,” Varkel said. “The crowds were so thick, and when they gave the pronouncements, I figured I should highstep it back here right soon!”
“What did they say?” Meloon asked.
The sandy-haired halfling took a deep breath and began speaking very quickly. “Rashemel Steeldrover, the Watchlord of the North Towers, she gave the pronouncements from the steps of the palace, which seemed odd, considering—”
“Varkel! Focus!” Madrak and Renaer said simultaneously.
“There are warrants out for the arrests or information leading to the arrest of Renaer Neverember and any present associates, including Ararna, Pellarm, Vharem Kuthcutter, and Faxhal Xoram, for having allegedly conspired against the Lords’ Rule, having knowingly undermined and interfered with the guild business of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, having trespassed upon private property and caused extensive damage thereupon, having caused grave harm to be visited upon the Watch and other persons, and other sundry charges to be visited upon those so warranted at the time of their arrest and summoning for trial.”
Laraelra surprised herself when her response was a light chuckle of disbelief. “But … that’s …”
“Fully fabricated and false, I know, but actionable as far as the city’s citizens are concerned,” Renaer said. “Still, it’s another sign that we’re in slightly over our heads until we get some help equal to the quality of that stacked against us.”
“We better get going, then,” Vharem said. “I’ve a few ideas, Ren—know a few places we can go.”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve got the perfect place in mind. I meant to take you, Faxhal, and Torlyn earlier, but things got busy.”
Blackstaff Tower Page 10
