Tsarra toweled her long hair but dried herself in the morning sunbeams and air. She stood before her wardrobe a while before choosing a simple shift of gray wool. She approached the bed and took up the bow and arrows, placing them carefully back in their places on hooks next to the wardrobe. Finally, she drew the scimitar from its sheath, and its silver sheen caught the morning light to dazzling effect. Mhaornathil-the only thing she'd inherited from her mother other than her elf blood-was a Rilifane-blessed scimitar that could cut ghosts as easily as flesh. Tsarra loved the blade almost as much as she hated undead, the bane of her existence since her father died by undead hands fifteen years before. Still, Tsarra knew she couldn't use the scimitar for the test. Danthra already knew a lot about the blade, and it wouldn't be a fair test of the spell. She snapped the weapon back into its sheath and hung it and the sword belt on their pegs above her headboard.
Tsarra approached her window to stand in the sunlight a moment and breathe in the fresh morning air. Within five breaths, she sensed her familiar coming, even though he didn't loop around the tower and land on the windowsill for a handful of moments. She loved the muffled rustle of his wings as he landed, as well as his purred greeting.
In its language, she said, "Good hunt to you too, mighty one."
Jet black in hue, the tressym stuck his head out, gesturing for a head scratch, his ravenlike wings ruffling slightly over his back.
Tsarra obliged him, letting him rub his head solidly on her palm. She stopped a moment, staring into his mismatched eyes-one of deep blue, the other green-and smiled.
"Of course you're a good companion and a very good hunter," she said.
When the creature tensed to hop onto her shoulder, she held him back, smoothing his feathers and chucking him under the chin. In Common, rather than the purrs of tressymspeak, she said, "Not a chance until the smell of those chipmunks you ate fades from your breath.
Now, go take a nap. I've got to work with Danthra for a while. Oh, and remember to leave Chaid's familiar alone until he gets used to you."
Nameless let out a trilling purr, and she said, "I don't care if he looks and smells like prey. He's not food, any more than you are."
His trilling retort made Tsarra laugh as the tressym flapped his wings and headed out the nearest window, en route to the sunny top of the tower. Tsarra chuckled as she finished combing her hair with her fingers. Satisfied her auburn curls were under control with a white ribbon tying them back, she exited her room and descended the stairs.
When leaving from the dormitories, the lack of a command word deposited the descender on stairs at the second level of the tower.
Alcoves and tiny shelves lit by permanent fey lights lined the walls along both sides of the winding staircase, revealing random books and knickknacks. Tsarra remembered her first tendays in Blackstaff Tower, as she spent her free time staring at all the magical items and artifacts seemingly left out unprotected. By the end of the first tenday, she'd learned that none of the items could be removed from the alcoves without command words, and the things changed so often one might never see the same twice within the same tenday.
After her first year, Tsarra knew she had seen more than two hundred magical tomes and at least as many unknown items and artifacts littering the walls of the tower. She stopped counting and just accepted that Khelben Arunsun had more magical items within the tower than all the rest of the City of Splendors held within its walls.
In the short walk from her second-floor room down to the ground floor, she saw a pyramid of fifteen tiny silver frogs, the glistening black leather cover of The Fanged Tome of Lykanthus Szar with its four dragons' teeth clasps, a gnoll's skull carved from or transformed into green marble with eyes of scarlet flames, the golden crystal called Alaundo's Loop-forever turning in on itself in a twisted curl and hiding eternity in its depths-on a pillow of white velvet, a floating square blue-wax candle burning from each corner, and a clockwork cat whose buff rag tongue lent a shine to its mechanical paw as it cleaned itself with only the mildest of ticking sounds. She turned to her other side and started scanning those niches for objects she had never seen before, spotting a miniature throne with a small wax figure seated on it, a round book with a ring binding and solid silver covers, its runes identifying it as The Annals Adamarus, and a goblet made of glacial ice and set with rubies, its contents steaming hot.
"Choose one, Tsarra."
Tsarra started, and shook her head in frustration. Despite her better-than-average hearing, the half-elf had not heard the mage come down the stairs behind her. He stepped from the gloom of the upper stairs, reminding Tsarra why so many feared her master. He stood only a bit more than six feet in height, and his build was strong, but hardly threatening. His robes proclaimed him a wizard, and he carried his trademark staff of blackened wood at his side. His hair fell just past his shoulders, its jet blackness interrupted only by a silver-white wedge on the chin of his full beard. While normal and fully human in many ways, the Blackstaff cultivated an aura of power and mystery. There were very few he couldn't intimidate with a simple stare. For the moment, that stare was leveled at her.
He said, "I haven't got all-what is it, love?"
The look on his face changed instantly, and his eyes focused on something past her. Tsarra smiled as she tried to ignore Khelben's conversation with what appeared to be the wall. The Blackstaff and his wife Laeral shared a bond and could hear each other's words when they spoke the other's name. Khelben seemed distracted, but his voice never rose above a whisper.
Tsarra returned her attentions to the niches and their magical items. As the items before her shimmered away and others materialized in their places, she spotted a fascinating object-a golden belt of chain mail loops made of either gold or some amalgam. Ornate golden scales shaped like swords, shields, and oak leaves covered the surface of the belt. Set atop the shield scales, small, sea-green, opaque gems glittered, sixteen in all. The buckle was breathtaking in its workmanship-it was an ice eagle's head in profile, a larger sea-green gem as its eye. Tsarra had never been a great student of magic items, but the belt absorbed her attention. She reached for it, whispering the command word to release it… and failed.
As a senior apprentice, Tsarra was privy to many of the command words to access certain places and things within Blackstaff Tower, so she said the command again, louder, only to have a force field remain around the belt and niche.
She sighed loudly and said, "Sorry to interrupt you, Lord Arunsun, but I cannot get the niche to release its burden to me for this test."
Khelben did not even turn toward her as he began vaulting the steps.
"Adkarlom." The niches all briefly flashed and Tsarra's hand closed around the cold metal belt. Khelben dashed upstairs and spoke as he spun from sight. "Wait for me in the lower library. I'll be there… soon."
Tsarra was stunned. In sixteen years at the tower, she had never seen Khelben run for any reason. While she'd heard the rare snort or chuckle, she'd also never heard Khelben laugh, which he seemed to be doing from up the stairs.
"Something weird is going on, Danthra," Tsarra said as she entered the library. "Did you hear that? Khelben laughing!"
Danthra blanched, her porcelain skin paling even more than normal.
Tsarra placed the belt on the table, and put her arm around her friend in support. Danthra hugged her fiercely, almost squeezing the air from her. After a few moments, she relaxed, and Tsarra held her shoulders as she asked, "Gods… What's the matter, Dreamer? You can't be that nervous about this spell."
"It's not that… it's that vision… I didn't know it before, but Khelben's laugh was in my vision too."
"You're kidding me! Well, tell me-"
"Ladies, good morning. Let us proceed." Khelben walked briskly into the room, his face cloaked in its usual stone-seriousness.
Tsarra saw what had gone unnoticed in the dark stairwell. Instead of his normal dark robes, Khelben wore modern-cut robes of deep crimson wool. His trademark black sta
ff that he often carried with him was not the usual trim staff shod in silver on the ends. Instead, he bore a gnarled and blackened piece of wood that seemed more a small sapling blasted from the ground. As Khelben closed the door, Tsarra also noticed that blue sparks danced among the cluster of roots at the staff's top. He also had a broad smile on his face, and his steel-blue eyes danced with delight.
Khelben turned, noticed his apprentices' stares, and within a heartbeat, his face returned to its normal impassive countenance.
"Why is it so surprising that I am not wearing my usual dour robes? I have of late been at the Tchazzam villa for mornfeast," he said in a low monotone. "Now, I believe the Dreamer has a spell to show us. Tsarra, please place the item before her so she may begin."
Khelben spoke quickly, leaving them little room to respond or question. "Center yourself, Danthra, and educate us as to the parameters of your spell."
"Uh, Master," Danthra interrupted. "I had a vision this morning that concerned you."
"Indeed? Fascinating. You can tell me all about it after you've performed this spell, yes?"
Danthra looked at Tsarra with a weak smile. Tsarra gave her an encouraging grin. Danthra always got nervous around the Blackstaff, even after spending the past nine years in his home and under his tutelage. He was the one to name her the Dreamer, after her unpredictable and debilitating visions. Each vision could incapacitate Danthra for moments or whole days, but all of them proved prophetic.
Tsarra laid out the belt, smoothing its links and getting slight tingles from the green gems. With her back to Khelben, Tsarra winked at Danthra to set her more at ease, and the girl smiled weakly back.
Tsarra took up a parchment and quill to record the spell test and all things said during it.
Danthra released a long breath then stood and placed her hands on the table without touching the belt. "The spell has no name as yet, but it's an extension of the divination theories behind basic detection and identification spells. It can divine anyone who crafted the item or anyone who used it for extended periods of time. Most often, it deals with concrete factors about an item, not ephemeral legends or historical information. With concentration and time, this spell should allow its caster to learn as much about the physical and magical properties of any item she encounters." "What is the spell's range?" Khelben asked, his fingers steepled before his lips. "Less than an armspan, sir. I limited it, as this is a spell for study, not combat." Khelben nodded his approval then rose. He seemed lost in thought but waved his hand for her to move along. Oblivious to how he was distracting her, the archmage moved behind Tsarra and placed his gnarled staff against the outer wall, leaning it against one of the bookshelves. As he returned to his seat, he explained, "Best I get any other magical items from your sight, lest they disrupt the casting.
Please continue, but go slowly so our sorcerous friend-" Khelben gestured toward Tsarra-"may record the nuances of the casting."
Danthra coughed nervously, took a drink of water, and resumed. "The older an item is, the longer the casting can take to divine all its properties, but unlike the common identify spell, this can root out all of an item's abilities with enough time. If an item is made of many different materials, that may slow the effects as well, since the magic will take the caster through all the information on all components. Again, depending on the time spent casting and concentrating, this spell could potentially show you where an item's metal was shaped, forged, or perhaps even where the ore was mined for it." Khelben interrupted her. "Intriguing, young lady, and certainly research of some merit. Be warned that the item before you could take days to reveal all its secrets, but it should suit for this test.
Begin your casting, for theory can only get you so much of my praise."
Danthra nodded and breathed deeply to center herself. She took a handful of incense-"This is purified olibanus resin"-and dropped it into a small brazier at the table's center, its sweet smoke wreathing her and the table's contents. She traced mystical movements in the air within the incense smoke and around the belt. Danthra drew one finger in a perimeter around the belt and brazier, and the smoke stayed within that boundary thereafter. She then picked up a small pouch and said "This is powdered ivory and pearl mixed together." She poured the powder into her palm, intoned her incantations, and dusted the item with the powder in her hand. The dust undulated within the incense smoke before settling in a light layer upon the item. After a number of incantations, the dust glowed a variety of colors, all reflected in the smoke and the eyes of the entranced caster. Danthra's voice dropped an octave due to deep concentration and relaxation. "The belt is made of platinum, steel, gold, and beljurels, all of different ages and constructed at different times. This item's primary purpose is defense both physical and mystical. It augments physical armor with magical defenses but cannot aid other mystical defenses. It can add lightning's touch to one weapon wielded by its wearer." With each revelation and comment, the dust and the smoke sparkled and one color among the many dissipated. Still deep in her spell trance, Danthra's brow creased in confusion then surprise, and she smiled. "This belt has held other dweomers and other powers… other names. The dominant magic is no more than three centuries old, and the stones were enchanted centuries before that… cut even longer centuries ago." Tsarra's nose itched due to the incense, and she scratched while Danthra paused in her monologue. While the cloying sweet smoke prevailed, Tsarra caught another scent-the smell of air after a lightning strike. Tsarra's thoughts were interrupted as Danthra began again, her words coming at a swifter pace. "Zelphar Arunsun changed this belt. He added the buckle, repaired its scale…" Tsarra looked over at Khelben, but their master reacted not at all to the name of his long-dead father. Danthra continued, "A half-elf warrior wore this belt last, eleven decades ago. His name was Dakath of Nesme, and he died wearing it. His squire brought it to Blackstaff Tower and delivered it unto Zelphar… His family knew it as the Shield Belt of Storms… A dark wizard crafted the weapon scales with a dwarf centuries before." Danthra touched nine of the individual scales across the belt as she spoke. "Ryttal Ghalmrin forged the metals, and Theod Darkwhisper laid in the enchantment of weapons… they twisted an older magic to bond their work to the belt… Seven warriors wore it in lands cold across many years." Tsarra stretched her cramped hand and refreshed the ink on the quill. Danthra remained in her spell trance, concentrating for long moments. Khelben looked at Tsarra, glanced down at the parchment, and looked back toward Danthra without a word. The sharp smell of lightning's wake remained with Tsarra. She noticed the belt was sparkling even more brightly, shooting off sparks that bounced off the spell boundary hemming in the incense smoke.
"Must be part of the spell," Tsarra mused, as she reached for another sheet of parchment. Danthra flinched and her brow knotted again in frustration. "The belt was filled with darkness… spiders crawling.
.. drow held this for some time… muted the light it once held… this belt was made for elves in sunshine… It was the-ow!"
Danthra's concentration broke when a stream of sparks and crackles came from the belt, striking her and arcing past her to Khelben's gnarled staff. Tsarra noticed that it too crackled with blue energy.
She put her quill down, staring in wonder at Danthra and the two items. Danthra looked up, shaken from her spell trance. "Master?"
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Khelben lunged from his chair toward the table and yelled, "Down, both of you!" Tsarra saw brilliant blue crackles coalesce around the belt and the staff. She felt paralyzed as the energy engulfed them all. She and her chair were both launched from the floor. She saw fear and confusion in Danthra's eyes, but only anger in the glare of their mentor. The wall behind them exploded inward. Tsarra felt as if she were sinking in a whirlpool then suddenly jerked skyward, and she heard lightning filling the air above a soul-rending scream. Energy crackled all around them, making their bodies jerk spasmodically before it bolted upward, lightning stabbing the crystalline sky. Wracked with pain, Tsarra la
y where she fell, staring through the ragged hole in the tower and outer courtyard wall. In the middle of Swords Street, Tsarra saw the young man she met earlier that morning. He was down, clutching a short sword, smoke and blue sparks surrounding it. The only details she could make out were his dark, close-trimmed beard, ponytail, red shirt, and three golden diamond designs set into the blade of his sword. Her sight darkened around those diamonds, the three glints of gold playing with blue lightning as she lost consciousness.
CHAPTER THREE
28 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
The rogue had walked by Blackstaff Tower nine times in the past four days. His encounter earlier with Tsarra and her apprentices was only his second time being seen by denizens of the tower, both times of his design. Raegar looked for hidden doors in its courtyard walls, though to any watching he appeared only to wander among the wagons and carts scattered around the streets. In late autumn, the guilds, Guard, and Watch turned blind eyes to the many foreign vendors who spread carts beyond the Market, anxious to unload the last of their wares before leaving the city and returning to their homes for the coming winter. A bundle of southern traders crowded Marlar's Lane and Tharleon Street, providing Raegar with ample distractions. As he dickered with an Amnian weaver over the price of a traveler's cloak, he felt a tingle on his hip where his sword rested-the new short sword Damlath had given him only a few tendays ago. Raegar broke off negotiations with the trader and moved in his planned path across the street and close to the wall surrounding Khelben's tower. He expected to walk across the front, then turn at the southeast corner to urinate in the midden behind Jhrual's Dance, the festhall adjacent to the tower. But the sword's tingling increased with each step. Raegar wanted to stop before it got worse, but a noble's carriage barreled down Swords Street, forcing him and other pedestrians to the roadsides. Raegar's right hip brushed up against the outer gate of Blackstaff Tower's curtain wall. The gate's intricate ironwork-its bars shaped into a mixture of wands, staves, and vines of metal-unleashed an explosion of magic on contact. The sword shattered its own scabbard with a blast of lightning that did the same to the gate and part of the wall. Raegar bent down to pick up the fallen sword but hesitated as the sword stood up, balanced on its pommel, and crackled with energy. At the same time, bolts of lightning blew away the wall at the base of the tower. Those bolts zeroed in on the sword, unifying and launching skyward from it as a massive lightning strike.
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