Blackstaff Tower

by Steven E. Schend

  “Khelben?” Renaer whispered. “But he’s been dead for more than—”

  “Is this the ally we were supposed to find?” Meloon asked. “Doesn’t look too friendly.”

  A snarl cut him off, and the figure leaped straight up, clearing the height of the trees, and his arms threw the cloak wide. Huge black wings threw it off and a massive cat-headed man with raven black wings flew around the clearing. Various white sigils stood out on its torso and arms as if tattooed or bleached into its black body pelt. A long tail lashed behind the figure, its movements swift and angry.

  “Oh stlaern,” Osco whispered. “The Nameless Haunt!” He looked around for shadows in which to hide, and quickly slipped behind Meloon, who was handing Vajra over to Vharem with one arm while unbuckling his axe.

  Laraelra whispered, “I never expected … he’s beautiful.”

  Vharem said, “Yeah, like a knife’s edge—and far more dangerous!”

  While his voice should not have carried across the distance, everyone heard the creature equally well when it spoke. “Intruders,” he snarled, “have you come to steal our power?”

  The cat-man’s hands gestured, and his claws and pinfeathers glowed green. The forest shifted around them, trees sliding backward with groaning, clattering branches. The six heroes found themselves standing in a clearing with the creature diving toward them. He smiled, and his fangs gleamed in the moonlight. The cat-man broke out of his dive and landed in a crouch nearby. “Good,” he said. “We’ve been bored.”

  “Forgive our trespass,” Renaer said. “We come as friends. We mean you no harm.”

  The Haunt laughed. “You couldn’t harm us if you tried, boy. But since you’ve come as friends, I’ll be polite and warn you.” His claws wove a spell, and suddenly there were seven identical images of the Nameless Haunt standing in a semicircle, spreading around them. All of them smiled their fanged grins, and said in unison, “Run.” With that, the figures leaped toward the group.

  Laraelra stood her ground, launching two quicksilver bolts at the images. An illusory Nameless Haunt dissipated under the assault, and the other roared as the silver colored missile slammed into his wide feline snout.

  Meloon ran forward, leaped into the air, and swung his axe with a roar. The blades passed cleanly through two more images, popping them like soap bubbles. Meloon landed and rolled along the ground, coming back up in a crouch behind the creature, his axe at the ready.

  Vharem carried Vajra back to the trees as quickly as he could, preceded only by Osco running full out. Renaer held up a long sword and backed away, trying to provide cover for them to get their vulnerable friend away from danger.

  The claws of the four remaining Nameless Haunts all glowed silver-blue. They raised their arms and wings in unison, and then snapped all sixteen limbs straight out. Shadowy webs shot out of eight pairs of wings and claws to entangle Osco, Meloon, Vharem, and Laraelra.

  Meloon whirled with his axe and stumbled out of the dark patch. He encountered no resistance. “Hey! It’s nothing!”

  Laraelra stepped to one side, her hands cupped together. She finished her spell and unleashed a dazzling display of colored lights over the cat-man and his shadow web. Her magic wiped those images away.

  Osco jogged forward, a slight whistling at his side, and whipped his sling upward. The stone bullet easily pierced the head of his feline attacker, and the mirage dissolved.

  Renaer stepped forward to help Vharem and Vajra, but yelled, “Hey!” as he found the shadow webs solid, unlike the others. The dark cocoon containing Vharem and Vajra quivered and large batlike wings unfurled from its surface and flapped the cocoon skyward. The sole remaining Haunt flapped its wings and hovered over the clearing, chilling everyone with the cold downdraft of his huge wings. While the dark cocoon flapped off to the east, the Nameless Haunt looped high skyward and then dived toward Laraelra.

  Quicksilver bolts flashed from her fingers and streaked straight for his wings, stunning him and turning his glide into a tumble. Laraelra turned and ran, but the Haunt rolled out of his fall and pursued, loping along on his arms and legs like a cat. She reached the trees just ahead of the Haunt, who shoved her into a large tree.

  Laraelra vanished.

  “No!” Renaer and Meloon yelled, and they broke into a run, brandishing sword and axe.

  The Nameless Haunt turned toward the roaring warriors. He gestured, a slight glow of magic on his claws, and a large pit groaned open in their path. Renaer, unable to check his speed, fell in. Meloon leaped, swinging his axe, and landed on the far edge of the pit. He sank his axe into the frozen turf, his weapon holding him up at the edge of the pit. “Climb up me, Ren!” he yelled, but Renaer lay stunned at the bottom of the pit. Meloon shifted around, using his free hand to grab at frozen grass and turf at the edge to pull himself out.

  The area went dark around Meloon as the Nameless Haunt glided down to crouch over where Meloon scrambled out of the pit. The cat-man sniffed, growled low, and extended one claw at Meloon’s axe. His touch turned the axe’s wooden haft to dust, and Meloon yelled as he fell backward into the pit.

  Sniffing and growling, the Nameless Haunt looked down into the pit. He called down to the men. “Nameless shall take wizards to talk. You and your friends stay here.”

  His head twitched to one side, as if he caught a scent, and he lashed his wings back, slamming Osco Salibuck on both chest and back, driving the wind out of him. The Nameless Haunt stepped over to the gasping halfling and picked him up by his cloak and collar, sniffing at him more intently. Osco struggled for breath, made even harder as his cloak pulled taut, pressing the clasp against his windpipe. The cat-man’s yellow eyes widened, and he smiled.

  Osco winced. “Stop! Don’t eat—”

  “HappylittlemanPikar! Nameless joyous!” The cat-man pulled the halfling into an embrace and licked his face, then pulled back with a growl. “You are not Pikar, though your scents are similar. Who are you?”

  Osco, finally breathing normally, struggled against the creature’s greater strength, and said, “Pikar? You’ve got me confused, saer. I’m Osco Salibuck.”

  “Osco did not have this.” Osco shuddered as the cat-man’s claw popped out in front of the halfling’s left eye. “He also had a beard and stank of bad pipeweed.”

  “Sounds like me great-gradam. Hey—you knew him? And Pikar was me great-gradam! Say, how old are ye?”

  The Nameless Haunt cocked his head, considering Osco’s words, and the lightly furred face held a quizzical look. “You are a friend of the Blackstaff?”

  “Aye!” Osco nodded, still squirming to break the creature’s grip. “At least until you made off with her! Where’d you take her?”

  “Home.” He carried Osco over to the pit’s edge, holding him over the edge as he looked down on the two men. “You are friends with the Blackstaff, too?”

  Meloon nodded. He seemed awkward and insecure without his axe.

  Renaer rubbed the back of his head and said, “Yes, and if you’ve—”

  The Haunt gestured, and the pit filled up from below, raising the two humans back up to stand even with him. Renaer still held his sword, but he dropped it when the Haunt tossed Osco at him. The cat-man held up his hands and said, “Peace, then. We too are friends of the Blackstaff. We shall go to my home. We carry you, yes?”

  “I can walk on my own,” Meloon huffed.

  The Nameless chuckled, shaking his head. “You cannot reach our home by walking. You need wings.”

  “Do you vow on the Blackstaff not to harm us? Or those you captured?” Renaer asked.

  “Aye. All are safe. We go now.”

  The Nameless Haunt spread his arms, but Meloon shook his head. “I’m not going with that thing. Not flying.”

  The cat-man seemed puzzled as he looked to Renaer, Osco, and then back at the cross-armed Meloon.

  “Meloon, come,” Renaer said. “We know we can’t fight him, and he’s offered us hospitality. Let’s go.”

  “You
go. I’ll follow on foot.” Meloon picked up Renaer’s sword and looked at the cat-man. “Which way do I need to go?”

  One claw extended to the northeast. Meloon nodded, then turned and started walking that way. The Nameless Haunt launched a quick spell at his back, which froze Meloon in mid-stride. He swept his left arm back to hold Renaer back, and said, “He is scared to fly, we think. We go now. Easier. Come.”

  The cat-man wrapped his left arm around Renaer’s shoulders, and Renaer threw his right arm around the Haunt’s massive shoulders, above the joints where his wings sprouted from his back. The Haunt shrugged Renaer off the ground and walked to collect the frozen Meloon, wrapping his right arm around Meloon’s waist and carrying the paralyzed warrior like he would a large log. He then flapped his wings and took to the air.

  Renaer had only ever been this high in the air with a solid tower beneath his feet, and his stomach warred with him as he saw the ground drop away. He gulped and breathed deeply, and the cat-man snorted. “It’s easier to not look down. Look up, groundling. Look up.”

  The Nameless Haunt flew high into the air, and Renaer looked up. The clouds had parted and he could see Selûne brighter and closer than ever before. The Haunt swooped up and over, and Renaer let out a slight gasp of surprise that became a deep laugh as they rushed to the ground. “I never knew flying felt so free! So alive!”

  “Hey!” Osco yelled. “What about me?”

  The Nameless Haunt snatched Osco by the shoulders with his foot claws. After a moment of wailing and howling, Osco started laughing.

  Renaer called down to him, “What’s so funny, Osco?”

  “You ever have such a view, Ren?”

  “Never.”

  Renaer’s worries about the others faded as he focused on the experience of flying. The Nameless Haunt’s strange combination of feathers and fur and strong scent mattered little, though Renaer was glad the creature’s hard muscles held them aloft rather than fought them. He looked down and around and smiled. Osco was right—to see the world from on high was breathtaking. The moonlit trees were silver and white, and they flew high enough that Renaer could make out the entire southern half of the Pellamcopse. They passed over a small clearing, and Renaer saw a six-legged bear with a white mane leap upon what looked like a deer with two heads. Nearby, a tall collection of conifers stood out above the bare deciduous treetops, though their needles were a blazing red and glowing slightly in the moonlight.

  “Amazing,” Renaer whispered.

  The Nameless Haunt purred. “There’s more to see when it’s not winter.”

  As they swooped around the red pines, three tentacles lashed out of the treetops toward them. Renaer saw numerous fanged maws dotting the wide flat limb and he tried to free his sword. The Nameless Haunt growled out a spell, and brilliant light shone down from his eyes. The tentacles snapped out of sight beneath the tree cover. The Nameless said, “The buarala hunger, but they shun light. Much more dangerous beneath the trees.”

  The quartet flew in silence after that, and Renaer kept his eyes open despite the wind and cold. He loved the sensation of flight and enjoyed the expanded view all around. He could see the Crown of the North far off to his right, and a few fires dotted the night to the south and the east of them and the forest.

  “Travelers bringing goods to Waterdeep before winter?” he said.

  “Fools should hurry,” the Haunt replied. “We scent blizzard coming fast. Two suns or less.”

  “Speaking of fast, are we there yet?” Osco asked. “It’s chilly down here!”

  The cat-man looped lower and down to the right. “’Tis a short flight yet. The forest pulled me far to answer the call.”

  Renaer asked, “So the Pellamcopse’s magic drew you to us? Or was it Vajra’s spell?”

  “No spell. The Pellamcopse asks us to go to any magical intruder—and helps us do so. Vajra is the one marked by Blackstaff?”

  Renaer nodded.

  Osco’s questions came quickly through his chattering teeth. “Why do you look the way you do? Did a Blackstaff do this to you? Did Khelben curse you to haunt this place?”

  The cat-man’s growl-like chuckle vibrated against Renaer’s side. “Khelben was a friend—and more. The Spellplague made us. We had to become as we are to save our love. We protected Blackstaff so she could guard Waterdeep.”

  Renaer noticed the cat-man’s eyes tearing as he talked, but he cleared his throat with a rumbling growl and then focused on their flight, not saying a word.

  For the rest of the flight, the only sounds were the flapping of the creature’s wings and Osco’s incessant chatter.

  “… big baby—scared of heights. He’ll be sorry he missed this view! Hey! Ren, did you see those green owls down there? And those perytons? This forest has some of the nastiest critters alive down there.”

  They arrived at the Haunt’s treetop lair with the stars still bright. The cat-man spread his wings wide, and they came to a soft landing on a balcony formed from three parallel tree limbs. The lair looked like what Renaer had read about elven tree settlements—platforms and rooms shaped out of or into massive trees. The only difference was that Renaer couldn’t see any stairs or ways to reach this height without flying. Renaer guessed they were higher than even a five-story building in North Ward.

  The Nameless Haunt ushered them into a large chamber, and Renaer gasped at the warmth in what appeared an open-air room. The cat-man set Meloon properly on his feet and relinquished the spell on him.

  Meloon said, “Well, which—Hey!” The blond warrior reached back for his weapon, only to find it missing, and he looked around in confusion and anger, scratching his head about how he arrived here.

  “We are sorry to enspell you,” the Nameless Haunt said to Meloon. “We only wanted to reunite friends more quickly.” He motioned to the rear of the chamber, where Vharem, Laraelra, and Vajra sat or lay inside cells within the massive tree trunk, the bars thick thorn-laden branches. The cat-man gestured and the bars all spread wide, allowing them to exit their cells. While Vharem and Laraelra got out quickly, Vajra remained unconscious.

  Osco cackled happily and asked, “What happened to you guys?”

  “That cocoon dumped me here in this cell along with Vajra,” Vharem said. “The place is warm and there was food—but it’s still prison!”

  “For your own protection.” The Nameless flexed his claws, cocked an eyebrow, and asked, “You wish to fight us, boy?”

  Vharem fumed, but Renaer intervened. “No, we don’t. We just didn’t know what you wanted with us, why you attacked us, or why you abducted our friends.”

  “Wizards more apt to talk than warriors,” the Nameless explained. “We only take warrior because he carried her.” He pointed at Vajra. “She sick? Nameless know Samark healthy. Did someone kill Blackstaff?”

  Renaer nodded.

  The cat-man’s face glowered, and Renaer suddenly understood the tales of how fearsome Khelben’s glare could be, especially now when mixed into leonine features. The cat-man returned to stroking Vajra’s hair and face, whispering to her. “She has not been to tower? She needs help to understand her power.” He uttered a few quick syllables and his palms glowed as he stroked her head.

  Vajra’s eyes snapped open, black orbs with storms of green energy. The Haunt shushed her like he would a baby, and continued to stroke her head. Crackles of lightning surged from her eyes, then died down to normal hazel-colored eyes rimmed with tears. “Raegar …”

  “Tsarra love mistress wife … we are glad to see your eyes again.” He purred in return.

  “It hurts to see you this way, Raegar. What you and Nameless did …”

  “Had to be done. Now why do you haunt this lass? You belong in tower, as we belong here.”

  Vajra sat up and looked around. “We’re in the Pellamcopse?” When the cat-man nodded, she said, “Vajra wasn’t readied. The power transfer happened outside the tower. Someone killed Samark. Why are we here though?”

  The woman�
��s eyes clouded to black again, then shifted to cobalt blue eyes. Vajra sat up straighter, her shoulders squared, and raised an eyebrow as she stared around the room. The cat-man bristled slightly, his wing feathers ruffling.

  “I brought us here,” she said. “Nameless, you’ve guarded something well for some time, but it needs to return to the city.”

  “As do you, Khelben. Spirits hurt Vajra.”

  “I realize the dangers more than you, familiar friend. Let us attend to our task and we’ll visit again when we have more time.” Vajra’s stern voice whispered something only the Haunt could hear, and he nodded.

  The cat-man and Vajra both cast the same spell with their left hands, their right hands remaining tightly grasped together. Their magic opened one wall of the room, revealing a small chamber.

  “You four men need to see who she’ll allow to wield her,” Vajra said. “Her time for sleep is over.”

  “So what befalls here?” Laraelra asked, stepping up and blocking the opening. “Why not me?”

  “You shall wield something far greater, girl, should you prove patient enough.”

  Vharem, Osco, Renaer, and Meloon entered the small chamber, finding it close and small for all of them. At the center of the room was a tree stump, and embedded in it was a beautiful silver axe with a rune-carved double-bladed head, its haft wrapped in blue dragonskin and a star sapphire winked at the pommel’s end. The exposed edges of the blades all glowed with a shimmering blue radiance, lighting the chamber.

  Renaer stepped forward, whispering, “Azuredge.” When he grasped the axe’s handle, he pulled hard once, twice, and gave up after the third tug didn’t release it. Renaer was crestfallen as he stepped back and let Vharem try. “This axe is legendary. Its wielder is always a great defender of Waterdeep. Ahghairon the first Open Lord himself made this as a tribute to the Warlord Lauroun more than four and a half centuries ago.”

  “Well, it’s useless if none of us can pull the thing free from this stump,” Vharem said. “Why do wizards always muck up good weapons by sticking them in things that need a prophecy or destiny or something to get it free?” The slender man grabbed the axe’s haft, but rather than pulling, he held it and his eyes wandered and his face lost its color. After a moment, he let go, as if the axe were painful.