Blackstaff Tower

by Steven E. Schend

  “So where are we?” Meloon asked. He stood at the nearest window, scraping away some ice and rubbing a window clear. “I only see a lot of trees around us. We’re not in Waterdeep?”

  “We’re about a hundred miles due west of Beliard, the town near the Stone Bridge,” Renaer said. While he spoke, he led his friends down the hallway, and more torches lit up as they approached, those in the distant entry chamber snuffing themselves accordingly. Renaer led them past three doors before he stopped, opened a broad pair of double doors, and said, “Dornethar.”

  Inside that chamber, fires flared to life on three hearths and on six torches set high on the walls. The group entered a carpeted study with shelved books lining the walls. Unlike the other chambers festooned with cobwebs, this room was pristine and cold, though warming quickly. A massive desk of dark wood loomed to the right of the main fireplace, its surface disturbed only by a gleaming ball of dark red crystal and a massive tome lying open.

  The five of them rushed toward the hearths opposite or flanking the doors to warm themselves. Vajra, who had followed the group with Laraelra guiding her like a child, rushed over to the right, approached the shelves behind the desk, and pushed in a single tome. Without a sound, the shelves swung inward, revealing a secret passage, and Vajra disappeared into the darkness, chuckling.

  “Where does that go, Renaer?” Laraelra asked.

  They all moved toward the secret door. Laraelra slammed the set of books she carried on the desk as she passed it, heading into the dark room. She muttered a short series of magical syllables, and her fingernails took on a blue glow as she walked.

  “I don’t know!” Renaer said. “I didn’t even know that was there. It’s not mentioned in any of the notes or plans.” He repeated the words “palnethar” and “dornethar,” but no torches sputtered to life inside the passage.

  Laraelra finished casting a spell, and a blue glow filled the room. The small windowless chamber lay revealed as a wine cellar, racks of bottles lining the back and side walls and the left-hand long wall left empty to allow passage without disturbing the bottles. Many racks were empty along the right, but the back wall still held nearly its full complement of bottles.

  Vajra stood at the center of the wine cellar holding a bottle of wine and blowing off its mantle of dusty webs. She laughed and said, “Varad kept his best never been here how’d she do never mind we must oh bother let’s just drink it no share it not for dining keep clear head.” She kept muttering and arguing with herself so that she didn’t resist when Vharem eased the bottle out of her grasp.

  When he looked at the bottle Vharem’s eyebrows rose and he whistled a low unbelieving tone. “Renaer, this single bottle’s probably worth a tenday’s worth of tavern jaunts! The Surrilan vineyards died out in the drought seventeen summers back—and this bottle’s more than eighty years old!”

  “So that’s good wine, then?” Meloon asked, reaching for another bottle.

  “Some of the best,” Renaer replied. “Vajra, how did you know this was here?”

  The dusky woman smiled, her eyes flitting from purple to gray to blue to sea green. “Varad Brandarth was … a good student … faithful friend. Stingy with his wine …” She reached up for another bottle and wiped the dust and webs off on Laraelra’s robes before the sorceress could stop her. She smiled and said, “Pikar Salibuck introduced us. Many secrets shared … best was this.” She waved an arm around to indicate the room. “Gods, we tried …”

  As Vajra whirled with her arms outstretched, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she collapsed. Laraelra grabbed enough of her sleeve to slow her before her head slammed into the stone floor, and Vharem made a mad dive to catch the falling bottle of wine. Laraelra shot him a look as she tried to settle the unconscious wizard onto the ground.

  Vharem shrugged and said, “What? You had her, and we can’t have her rolling around on shards of glass or soaking in priceless wine.”

  Meloon lifted Vajra and headed with the others back to the study. Renaer kept looking around at the contours of the room, nodding to himself, and examining the bookshelf-door and its triggering book.

  “Care to explain all that?” Meloon asked as he placed Vajra on a long divan in front of the small hearth on the eastern wall.

  “Varad Brandarth and Pikar Salibuck were both wizards of some note decades past,” Renaer said. “They had a friend and mentor in common across the years—the Blackstaff, or at least one of them anyway. I think Vajra is possessed or has some memories of the previous Blackstaffs.”

  “Just realized that?” Laraelra said.

  Renaer opened his mouth to respond, and then exhaled loudly and forced his hands to relax at his sides. “We’re all on edge with everything that’s happened, and we’ve had no sleep or food. Fellows, let’s leave the ladies here while we find some food to go with this wine.” Renaer set a bottle down on a side table, and wrestled the other two from Vharem’s grip.

  Laraelra sighed and said, “You’re right. We all need some rest. Then with a brighter day, we can approach this with clear heads. Maybe remember things we’re forgetting now. Renaer, I—”

  “Offer apologies by watching her?” Renaer said, nodding at Vajra. “Thank you. Stay warm while we go forage some more food.”

  Meloon grabbed a few furs off the pile he’d dumped in a corner, and gave two to Laraelra and draped another over Vajra.

  “Pikar was Madrak’s father, by the way.” Renaer said, over his shoulder. “When I was a child, I heard loads of stories that are in few histories about the hin sorcerer of Blackstaff Tower. I’ll have Madrak share some of them later.”

  Renaer led Meloon and Vharem out of the room and closed the double-doors. The three men all shivered as they left the warm chamber for the chilly corridor. Renaer led them to the end of the hallway, down a flight of stairs, and into a large kitchen area. Renaer stayed silent, so the hearth fires did not flare up, icy downdrafts alone disturbing the cobwebs at the chimney. Meloon looked out the kitchen windows, only to see the swirl of heavily falling snow. They walked through a large pantry and down another short flight of stairs into a root cellar filled with dried herbs and bushels of potatoes and such.

  “Awfully big place, Renaer.” Meloon whistled. “Who did you say lived here?”

  “Varad Brandarth, my grandfather’s uncle. He was a wizard and one of Khelben the Blackstaff’s last students. This place he kept secret from most of his family. My mother discovered the hidden portals leading to it almost thirty years ago. Varadras was empty for more than forty years after Varad died until Mother found it.”

  “And old Dagult doesn’t know about this?” Vharem said. “Seems a piece of property he’d love to get his hands on.”

  “Mother always thought of this as her secret place,” Renaer said, “and she shared it with me alone. Apparently, she found Varad’s hidden journals by accident her nineteenth winter, and she hid here whenever she needed. Even though she held few secrets from Dagult, she never told him everything about her family or its holdings. He has never heard of this place. Nor will he.”

  The young lord led them through the root cellar, tossing an empty bushel at Vharem and then launching a dozen potatoes and half as many onions at him to collect in it.

  “So your mother was a wizard?” Meloon asked.

  “No,” Renaer said as he examined a ring of dried apples before setting it back on its hook. “Neither one of us could read his spell-books, but his journals are mundane and readable. They recorded most of the words that activate magic around the manor. Even you could activate them if you knew the words.”

  The trio now entered one room with three archways off of it, all stone walls and ground whereas the root cellar had a bare dirt floor. Their breath clouded the air around them, as it was only slightly warmer in here than outside in the blizzard. Renaer opened one jar the size of his head and sniffed. “Hmph. If we take this up with us, the honey should thaw out by the fire. Good stuff too. Varad kept bees here, and his
honey was among the few trade goods that supplemented his stipend from the family coffers.”

  “If all this was here, why did I need to bring food along?” Vharem complained as he examined a few large crocks of pickles.

  “The only stuff Madrak and I keep here are things that won’t spoil easily,” Renaer said. “Unless you wanted to eat only dried meat, honey, and pickled vegetables, what we brought with us should help keep us fed for a day or so until we return to the city.”

  “Why wait a day?” Meloon asked. “I think Vajra needs some help.”

  “I think it’s something to do with the Blackstaff’s power, not her health. We’ll have to ask her when she revives.”

  “Let me guess,” Vharem said. “The portal that got us here only works once a day?”

  “Close enough,” Renaer said. “Besides, Meloon and Vajra are the only ones who’ve actually gotten any sleep. We need to eat, rest, and then we’ll plan our return.”

  Meloon smiled and said, “Hey, that’s a good idea.” He reached up and grabbed a large cured ham covered in dusty white mold. “Let’s eat this too, then.”

  Renaer paused as he entered the farthest larder and said, “Wait a moment. Something’s been here since I was here a few months back.”

  “Probably just a rat or three.” Vharem snorted. “Not even wizardry can keep those things out if there’s food to be had.”

  “Bigger than a rat, and I don’t know of vermin that stack things to reach high cupboards,” Renaer said, nodding toward a haphazard column of boxes atop a chair in one corner.

  Meloon looked close at the disturbed dust on the floor and said, “Big feet, too.”

  “Thanks.” A dry laugh answered them from the shadows.

  The trio launched into action. Meloon whirled, his axe in his hands. Vharem whipped out his newest short sword on loan from Neverember Hall. Renaer flicked a dagger into each hand and yelled the word “Ronethar!” In response, the very air in the room took on an amber glow, illuminating every corner and leaving no shadows in which to hide.

  Lying atop one of the high cupboards and peering down at them was a young halfling, now grinning. The hin’s bushy sideburns were a chestnut brown, like the curly hair on his head, and he dressed in black, which had helped him hide from them in the dark. Silver rings glinted in his left nostril and earlobe. He rolled onto his back and giggled, swinging his feet down off the high cupboard on which he lay.

  “Well, if the gods aren’t chuckling!” the halfling said between bites of a raw potato. “Hiya, Renaer, Vharem! Whatchaguys doing here? Who’s the big blond axeman? Anybody got any tinder to start a fire? I’m freezing.”

  The double-doors to the study opened, and a halfling stumbled through them, followed by Renaer, who shoved him forward. Vharem and Meloon, each laden with food, followed.

  “Everyone, meet Ellial’s son and Madrak’s grandson, Osco Salibuck.”

  Osco recovered from his stumble, cartwheeled across the remainder of the room, and landed easily on a footrest by the fire at the center of the southern wall. The hin gleefully rubbed his hands and buttocks, standing to absorb more warmth from the fire and sighing with pleasure. “Haven’t been warm for three days, thank Brandobaris for this,” he muttered, and then turned back to the group. “You used to be nicer to me, Ren, when we were the same height,” He raised his eyebrows when he noticed Laraelra and Vajra stirring on the divans across the room. He slicked his hair back and jerked his thumb toward Renaer. “We grew up together, you know, and I could tell you stories about him. Why, when he was five—”

  “We’d rather hear the story about how you got here,” Renaer said, narrowing his eyes.

  “Oh, enough about me,” Osco said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh-uh,” Vharem said. “This little one’s got a talent for avoiding questions—usually because he’s filched something or stuck you with his tavern debt.”

  Osco clutched his hands over his heart and fell on his knees.

  “Oh, such barbs from one I called fellow and comrade!” Vharem rolled his eyes.

  “Answer me, Osco, or Madrak’ll hear where you’ve been trespassing without invite.”

  Osco rolled his eyes and sat down hard. “You’re no fun anymore, Ren. Just because I found out how you get here doesn’t mean I’m going to take anything. There’s no trust anymore.”

  Vharem cleared his throat, produced three silver forks, and waved them at Osco, who patted a belt pouch and then scowled at the slender human. He crossed his arms and sulked, muttering, “Just needed a place to lie low for a few days. Figured you’d not be here until spring. Sorry for intruding where I’m not wanted.”

  “Who’re you hiding from, Osco?” Renaer said. “And how did you find out about this place and how to get here?”

  “You and Gradam are always plotting,” Osco said, “and I just made it a point to follow you around, quietlike. I watched you disappear from the garden and you returned the next day, so I figured, wherever it was, it was a safe place. I got Sharal to pour the water for me and ended up here three days ago. Three miserably uncomfortable days, mind you, as there’s no fireboxes of wood around here. How’d you guys get this fire going?”

  “Magic,” Laraelra said. “I know you, little halfling, or at least I’ve heard of you. Someone matching your description posed as a cellarer and stole a lot of gems a few tendays ago from a client in Trades Ward. My father’s still fighting with the Gralleths over that, and the only thing keeping it out of Lords’ Court is the indisputable fact that there are no halflings in the Cellarers and Plumbers’ Guild.”

  “You wound me, Lady Harsard,” Osco chided, clasping his hands over his heart. “Besides, it could have been anyone shorter than him, as Malaerigo and Lord Chalras can’t tell a halfling from a gnome or a dwarf, let alone identify any hin among hin.”

  “While that might be true,” Laraelra said. “I never said which Gralleth was robbed.”

  Osco grimaced and then shot a wink and grin up at Meloon. “Women with brains. They’ll be our downfall in every way, eh?”

  Meloon looked down at the halfling and said, “And so the wagons roll, little friend.”

  “Enough!” Renaer yelled, and everyone started and looked at him. Vajra stirred a moment on her couch before settling back into unconsciousness. “Osco, you’re coming back with us tomorrow when we leave. Stay with us, and maybe we can help you with whatever problem had you hiding out here. If you don’t want to come back, good luck, but you’re not staying here without someone to watch you.”

  “But it just got more comfortable,” Osco whined. He shot a sly glance at the two women and said, “And it just got far better looking than it’s been.”

  Vharem said, “I vote we just chuck him out in the snow. He’ll only draw down more trouble on us.”

  “Oho! Renaer and Vharem are fleeing from trouble?” Osco’s face lit up. “Did you get hired to help them out, big axeman, or are you all conspirators, kidnapping the Tethyrian over there?”

  “No!” Meloon said.

  Laraelra snickered at his shocked look. She snapped her fingers to get Osco’s attention and said, “You’re very good at deflecting attention off yourself, aren’t you, little hin?”

  “Yes, he is,” Renaer said, “but I know him well enough to know when he’s lying. Osco, help us out when we return to the city, or we’ll just let Laraelra turn you over to her father and let the taols fall where they may.”

  “You’d betray a childhood friend, just like that?” Osco said. “Is that why that overgrown hin Faxhal isn’t with you now? You left him to his creditors or something?”

  Laraelra and Vharem gasped at the halfling, and Renaer felt like he’d been slammed in the stomach again. While others turned away, he met the halfling’s gaze, his eyes watering, and Osco realized something truly bad had happened.

  “Faxhal’s dead, Osco,” Renaer whispered.

  Osco cleared his throat and said, “Sorry, Ren. Really.”

  For a
few long moments, the only sounds were the crackle of flames in the fire grates. Then Renaer stood, opened a bottle of wine, and took a long drink. He passed it on, and Vharem, Meloon, Elra, and Osco each drank, then held the bottle toward the fire, silently saluting Faxhal. Osco returned the bottle to Renaer, who drained it. “Sleep, friends, and we’ll leave come dawn.”

  Osco, his voice softer, asked, “Ren, why leave at all? This place is stocked well enough to keep us a while. Some of us can hunt for food too. Can’t we hide out here until spring?”

  “We must help Vajra. She’s been tortured for the past month or more.”

  Osco’s curly eyebrows shot up, he shot a glance toward Vajra, and then shrugged. “She looks fine to me. Must not have been too bad. They torture her with feathers?”

  “I’ve had healers cure her body, but they can’t repair her mind. She’s the Blackstaff’s heir, and there’s someone back in Waterdeep posing as Samark the Blackstaff. He and Khondar ‘Ten-Rings’ Naomal, the Watchful Order’s most arrogant guild-senior, are up to something, and they need her secrets.”

  “Why?” Osco asked. “What could she tell them? And why should we get involved in the Blackstaff’s mess? It’ll just lead to us being tortured—the kind without feathers!”

  Vajra sat bolt upright on the divan, leveled steel blue eyes at the halfling and said, “You know many secrets that lie beneath black stones, Osco Salibuck. Do these deeds for me, and know the Blackstaff rewards his friends well.” Her tone was grave and stern, but then she looked quizzically at Osco and asked, “When did your eye get restored?”

  When Osco just looked at her strangely, the blue-eyed wizard stopped speaking, and then she collapsed back onto the couch, unconscious.

  Osco looked at her, then Renaer, and the others, and said, “Bet she’s fun at parties. I’ve never met her before in my life, so I don’t know how she knew my name. And I’ve no idea what else she was blathering on about.”

  When Vharem shot him a disbelieving look, he pleaded, “Honestly!”

  “She does that,” Renaer said, “but she rarely speaks as clearly. Normally it’s like there’s a bunch of folk fighting to talk through her. I think if we take her to Blackstaff Tower, it might help her. At least it’d be a safer place for her to hide.”