“Victim?” Centiv asked, panting hard in panic and in pain as the stones continued to press on his ankles and feet. His leather boots began to rip at the stones’ edges and blood appeared there. Centiv swallowed. “My father betrayed me and fled!”
“Some of us are familiar with that,” the first voice muttered.
The mists wrapped more thickly around the half-prone man. The tattooed half-elf knelt by his face but did not face Centiv. It spoke toward the voice and said, “Krehlan, you let that anger go a half-century ago. You and Khelben made your peace.” He then turned back to Centiv and said, “The incantations your sire used allow you to penetrate the walls of the tower. What they also do is set into motion contingencies laid long ago by Arun’s Son and Tsarra Autumnfire.”
The bow-wielding shade on the stairs said, “You and your father fell into a trap for those who would abuse the Blackstaff’s power. The lens only works truly for the one marked by Sarael’s tomb. It was neither you, weaver of lies, nor your sire.”
“No, Tsarra,” Samark’s ghost said. “Whose trust did Khondar betray, Centiv? Who found the lens and the scrolls?”
“Weskur? Marked how?” Centiv’s attention ricocheted about the room as all the shades began talking rapidly. “Why him? Why not me?”
A disembodied voice glowered all around him. “What I hid in Sarael’s tomb could only be retrieved by one who respected others above the self. And he would be marked invisibly with this.” Bright green phosphors laced in the air before Centiv’s eyes to create the webwork of lines in Khelben’s wizard mark.
“So another is marked as heir,” Krehlan said. “Why is he not here with you?”
“It’s obvious,” Ashemmon said. “They betrayed the heir in their greed. They found what they wanted and ignored the signs. They walked the wrong path. As Ten-Rings cast certain spells on himself alone, those spells now compel him to complete his unwitting new course.”
“Whatever his previous motivations, he must seek out keys that will pierce the veils around Ahghairon’s Tower.” The deepest voice manifested a face larger than all the other phantoms. Centiv recognized it from several statues and paintings. He faced the shade of Khelben Arunsun, the first Blackstaff, and he was angry.
“The secrets there are far more dangerous than those here,” Kyriani’s shade said. “I’m glad we’re left a plaything, myself.” The dark-haired half-elf materialized atop the prone Centiv, and the stones beneath him pulled at his robes, ripping them and exposing his chest.
“Do you think there’s a chance he might actually succeed and harness some of Ahghairon’s magics?” Tsarra’s shade said.
Samark’s shade shook his head. “They have the books I’d planned to show Vajra to teach her more about those very fields—Melkar’s journal and Alsidda’s Tome give him more than enough information on how to penetrate the magic around it, if not Ahghairon’s Tower itself.”
“Tymora always leaves a chance. He may pierce the initial veils, given the power we sensed in him, though how far only chance knows for certain.”
“But entering those fields is a capital offense!” Centiv shouted. “He’ll be killed!”
“If the Watch is up to its mettle as in times past,” Ashemmon’s voice mused, “aye.”
“Indeed,” whispered the shade of Khelben Arunsun.
With that, all the shades dissipated into mist again, though Khelben’s dark eyes remained locked and glaring on Centiv for long moments after the rest of his spectral form was gone. His voice made Centiv shudder to the core of his being.
“There still remains the matter of what to do with you, little illusion-caster. No doubt it shall be uncomfortable at best.”
CHAPTER 12
The Spellplague-warped Pellamcopse remains tainted after decades. Its mutated guardian and the denizens of the wood protect their home fiercely, but the Blackstaff tells us the Pellamcopse Haunt, in his own way, protects Waterdeep as well.
Arn Gyrfalcon II, To Walk Lands Afflicted,
Year of the Wrathful Vizier (1411 DR)
10 NIGHTAL, YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m bored,” Osco said after having paced around the warm study a number of times.
“If you’d spent last night fighting an archmage and corrupt Watchmen, then fleeing through the sewers before coming here, you’d be tired too, little man,” Meloon mumbled as he lay before the fire.
Osco wandered past the large fighter and bent down to whisper in Vharem’s ear. “Hey, V, want to explore this place with me? There’s some interesting stuff here—and I’m not talking about the wine cellars, though those were a good find.”
“I don’t steal from friends,” Vharem said, opening only one eye. “They know where to find you.”
“You used to be more fun, V,” Osco said. “There were a few locks I wanted you to help me with.”
Renaer sleepily rolled over on his couch and faced Osco. “If it’s any of the doors in the tower, I’ve their only keys—and they’re all magically locked besides. There’s things up there you shouldn’t disturb, Osco. Things I know to leave well enough alone.”
Osco sulked as he walked to the table and buried his frustrations beneath a flurry of eating, consuming what remained of the large ham and the bread. In between bites, he mumbled, “Just because I wasn’t up all night doesn’t make lying around all day dull as dwarves.”
Vajra, who had remained unconscious most of the day, rose slowly from the divan and said, “The hin speaks true. We must get to Blackstaff Tower. It has chosen a potential heir. I need to become Blackstaff before that path—and my mind—dissolves. I have need of Varad’s books and counsel.” With that, Vajra vanished.
The only sounds in the room were the crackles of fire and the snorting chuckles of a halfling with his mouth full. The others staggered up from dozing as Osco said, “Guess someone’s disturbing things anyway, chief——and I doubt she’s gone to the kitchens.” With that, he dashed out of the room and cut left down the corridor.
Vharem asked, “Where’d she go?”
Renaer threw off his furs with a growl. “Varad’s books are either here or in the tower!”
By the time the whole quartet roused themselves from beneath their furs, Osco’s movement had lit up all the torches back down to the entry chamber. Renaer snapped “Stlaern!” as he pushed past a tapestry and through an open doorway mostly blocked by the wall-hanging. Vharem, Meloon, and Laraelra followed him into the stairwell that led up into a high tower. A blizzard howled outside the slim arrow-slit windows. Ice and snow pelted the tower.
They ignored the smaller landings and doors as they raced past two upper levels and found Osco at the third landing, waiting for them in front of a door.
“Well,” Osco said. “Saer, ‘I’ve got the only key to the tower rooms,’ I can hear her rummaging around in there.”
Renaer scowled at him and reached into his belt pouch to withdraw a silver key. Osco’s eyes widened, as the key was a true work of art. Pure silver with some light runes around the bow end of it, the key’s tines were table- and trap-cut emeralds of various sizes.
“Weird key,” Osco muttered. “No wonder I couldn’t pick the lock.”
Renaer unlocked the door and opened it. The five of them entered a chamber that seemed larger than the tower in which it was housed. Renaer noted it was devoid of cobwebs and cold, unlike the lower rooms, and very orderly. Not a single book lay out on any of the three tables, nor were any stuffed haphazardly atop a shelf. The only things on the tables were rows of wooden rods, ivory wands, and other components laid out as if someone were planning to craft something.
In the center of the circular room lay a rune-inscribed circle painted in a variety of colors, twelve different runes in each of three successive circles. At the center of the circles, the floor was painted black. Stars glinted inside that void, and Vajra levitated cross-legged above it with a massive spellbook in her lap. She nodded at the group’s entrance.
“How did you get up here, Vajra?” Renaer said. “Varad’s tomes said none could enter this chamber without his key.”
“I’ve been here before, youngling,” she said, her voice and demeanor far older than she seemed. “The Shifter held few secrets the Blackstaff did not share. Now hush.” Silence muffled the room. The only sounds heard now were Vajra’s mutterings and the sound of her turning the vellum pages of the spellbook. After a short time, all but Laraelra withdrew from the room to sit on the steps outside the room.
“—really hate wizards, aye.” Osco’s voice returned as he stepped out of the room. “Was she this much fun to be around earlier too?”
“I liked her more when she needed to be carried,” Vharem muttered.
“Could be worse,” Meloon said. “If she’s getting her head together, that means we might have a fighting chance against Ten-Rings and his fake Blackstaff. I say we keep helping her, and she’ll be able to help us.”
“I certainly hope so,” Renaer said. “If she knows so much about Varadras, she probably knows how to use the portals. I just hope she doesn’t use them alone and leave us stranded here another day.”
“So where would we end up if we used them?” Osco asked.
Renaer sighed, thinking a moment. “The portal from my garden only leads here—to the receiving hall. There’s three command words that take anyone standing on the mosaic back to Neverember Manor, Ordalth House, or a stone circle in the middle of the Pellamcopse north of the city. If the mosaic is used, it can’t be used again for at least half a day until its magic restores itself.”
“The Pellamcorpse?” Osco blurted. “Why would anyone visit that monster-infested place?”
“It wasn’t always as it is now. In Varad’s day and before, it was a pleasant little woods good for hunting game within a short walk from the Northgate. The Spellplague corrupted it. I’ve only read about that link, never used it. Varad’s book talks about the arrival point being a place of worship older than the earliest settlements of Waterdeep. I think he tapped into older magic there to make this portal network of his stable.”
“Um, are we supposed to know what and where Ordalth House is?” Meloon asked.
“It’s a marble four-story grandhouse in Castle Ward, close to Diloontier’s & Sons Apothecary.”
“You forget,” Vharem said, “not all of us study history, the names of buildings, or wander every street and alley in the city.”
Renaer smiled and nodded. “Fair enough. We’ll go to Ordalth House and Osco can get us into the Warrens from there. Then we’ll get as close as we can to Blacks taff Tower without being detected and hope the gods are with us as we dash to the tower. I hope Vajra’s presence will get us through its gates.”
“Lots of hopes in that plan,” Osco said. “Trust in us, not the gods, Ren. We can be counted on more often.”
“Tymora’ll help us,” Meloon said.
“You rely on luck a lot, big guy?” Osco asked.
“I’m still striding,” Meloon replied with a wink.
“Well,” Vharem interrupted, “I hope that luck’s with us, as milady wizard and our friendly sewer-sorceress are done with whatever they were doing in there.”
The door thundered and all four heard both women cry out. Meloon shoved the door open and Renaer stepped to the side, his daggers at the ready. Inside the room, a column of green energy roared, Vajra hovering at its center. Lightning crackled off of her, and she spasmed with each pulse leaving her hands or feet. The magic circles above which she hovered absorbed some of the magic, but random bolts arced across the room.
Osco yelled, “Down!” and shoved at Vharem’s knees, knocking him out of the path of a blast heading out the door. The halfling looked at Vajra, then yelled to Vharem, “I agree with you—I liked her better unconscious too!”
From behind the open door, Laraelra said, “Just before this started, she dropped that wizard’s tome, her eyes went all black, and green lightning crackled all over her. Then she said, ‘Chartham, ye stand as traitor,’ and slammed me into the door. I can’t stop her!”
“Chartham?” Renaer asked.
Vajra’s head snapped toward him. Her gray eyes widened and she spoke, her voice deeper than usual, “Slay my heir, would you?” She raised a hand, and Renaer dived behind the table to his right as lightning exploded where he had stood.
“Blackstaff!” Renaer yelled. “You’re dead, Krehlan! Let Vajra go!”
The energy in the room dimmed, but Vajra remained focused on Renaer. “Dead? Let who go?” She stared at him, then down at her own outstretched hand, and finally down at her body. “But—oh, we’re not in the tower. In an unreadied heir …”
With a snap of her fingers, the lightning storm ceased, and Vajra settled down on the ground. Her head kept twitching left and right, and Renaer saw her eyes shimmering in many colors. Her eyes widened as she saw Meloon helping Laraelra up with one hand, his other holding his axe. As Renaer approached her, she nodded, murmuring something he didn’t catch.
“What did you do, Ren?” Vharem asked.
“Chartham Dellenvol killed Krehlan Arunsun, the Blackstaff, over fifty years ago,” Renaer explained. “When Vajra said his name, I guessed she might be possessed by Krehlan’s spirit. He was the one who was Varad’s friend too. All I could do was make him notice he wasn’t in the past and hope that’d do something. Guess it did.”
“And here I thought reading all those books would never help,” Osco said.
Vajra balled her fists and closed her eyes a moment. When she looked up at Renaer, her deep brown eyes stayed focused and alert. “Thank you,” she said. “Can we get to Blackstaff Tower soon? The power is … unstable. I need to claim it before it claims me … or another usurps it … and with it, the city. And my life.”
“Very well,” Renaer said. “Let’s go.”
Renaer led everyone out of the chamber and down the stairs. As they descended, Renaer said, “We can use the entry hall to teleport directly to another house I have closer to Blackstaff Tower—one the Watch may not know I own. From there …”
Osco nodded and said, “We’ll improvise.”
They entered the receiving chamber, and Renaer said, “Everyone stand on the carpet at the room’s center—where we arrived—and hold onto each other. Do we have what we’ll need?”
When the others nodded in agreement, Renaer stepped onto the carpet with them. He opened his mouth to speak the command, but Vajra’s hand shot out to hit him in the chest. Her eyes were black storms afire with green energy, and she yelled, “Uarlaenpellam!”
Renaer shouted, “No!” as the six of them vanished—
—and reappeared in ankle-deep snow and a wailing wind. The sky was open overhead, though dark and frigid, and they saw they stood at the center of a stone circle, its ancient arches holding back the thick, dark forest that surrounded it.
“Quality place, Renaer,” Vharem said. “Very top coin, this. Roof needs work, though.”
“Nice, Ren.” Osco snorted. “The one place we don’t want to go—”
“I didn’t do it—she did!” Renaer grabbed Vajra by the shoulders, hoping for an answer.
She smiled, looking past Renaer at Meloon, and said, “Find something that’s been safe here—an ally for today and in times yet to pass. Find your fate.” She pointed at the stones to the east, and fired five amber missiles from her fingertips. One lanced through a stone arch, disappearing but leaving a wake of sparks, while the others splashed onto the stones and lit the entire circle with a yellow glow that pulsed upward as a pillar of light. With that, her eyes rolled up into her head again and she fell into Renaer’s arms.
“So much for help from the mighty wizard,” Vharem said, “or for avoiding notice.”
“You know,” Osco said, “if all it took was so much fainting, my Aunt Delalar could be considered a wizard.”
“What’d she mean?” Meloon asked. He took Vajra from Renaer’s arms and hefted her almost effortlessly into his
own. “Where’s this ally she mentioned?”
“Out there. The quicker we find him, the sooner we can head back to the city.” Renaer stomped angrily through the archway and into the forest in the direction of Vajra’s missile. The trail was easily followed as the orange sparkles it left behind still hung in the night air.
It was not yet midnight, but the night was icy. The blizzard and its cloud cover at Varadras had not yet drifted south to this area. Selûne and her Tears sent moonlight filtering through bare branches bedraggled by glowing mosses. Lichens and mosses glowed underfoot. The spongy deadfall and undergrowth crunched and crackled as the friends’ steps cracked the frost and snow.
“Where are we?” asked Meloon. “I don’t recognize the trees or the scent of this place.”
“The stars look right for the Sword Coast,” Vharem said, “but I can’t see much beyond the trees.”
“It’s odd,” Laraelra said. “All the magic around here seems tied up in knots instead of flowing. See?” She pointed ahead and the orange sparkles whirled around like angry gnats and then splashed into a large tree, which quivered in response.
“This place is as far from a normal forest as Undermountain is to a cellar,” Osco said. “They say it’s a haunted place filled with dead wizards, spell-warped animals, and worse. No one goes through the Pellamcorpse unscathed. The only good thing is that no undead walk here.”
“Osco, would you be quiet?” Vharem said
“Would you all be quiet?” Renaer snapped. “Or do you want to attract more attention than Vajra’s magic already has?”
“I’d say that’s a moot point,” Laraelra whispered, pointing down the vine-choked trail toward a clearing, where a shadowed figure blocked their path.
Tall and wide-shouldered, the cloaked figure hunched over on one knee in the center of the clearing. In the moonlight, they could see clouds of its breath curling from beneath its hood. The figure lifted its hooded head, and the moonlight caught a bright patch of white hair on the darkly bearded chin. Little else was visible beneath that hood.
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