"What are you two talking about?" Raegar yelled. "We're about to be eaten by monsters, and you two act like it's not even a danger! Not to mention you've got us going a long way on a hunch. How do you know that's where that undead bastard went?" Tsarra muttered, "Strong and dumb. Just how I like 'em." She smiled at Raegar then kissed him impulsively. "You really do need to put me down, please." Khelben sighed, "Strike up a romance later, girl. Raegar, follow the count's orders and we may yet see each other in this lifetime. We are in no danger from the sharn, nor have we been since our encounter at the Font of Knowledge. Tsarra and I will work with them to regain the remainder of the Legacy items. We shall meet again by highsun on the Moor. Apologize to Syndra for me for once again not saying my farewells." With that, Khelben's face and most of his body melted into the sharn, and the rest of him slid in as if he sank into a pool. A black-sheened hand reached out a moment later, and Tsarra took it, smiling at Gamalon and Raegar. "Never a dull moment around the Blackstaff, is there?" With a final purr and smile at Nameless, Tsarra stepped forward into the sharn without a ripple. In less than a breath, the sharn above and around the tower glowed dark blue, sent forth a shower of purple sparks, and vanished with a whisper.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Feast of the Moon, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Raegar, Gamalon, and the tressym stood silent. The only noises around them were the wind, pattering rain, and the occasional crack of lightning and thunder. Nameless crept between Raegar's feet in an effort to put something between the rain and him, and Raegar looked down at him. "Five tendays of watching the tower and little beyond the norm happens," Raegar sighed. "The past two days, on the other hand, have had more activity than I've seen in a year. Is this normal?"
Raegar directed his question at the creature at his feet, whose response was simply a bored yawn and what might have been a chuckle, if Raegar knew more about tressym. "Did that blasted mage leave again without tellin' me?" All three males whirled around at the woman's yell, but they didn't see Syndra. A dusk wood rod set with a row of diamonds and sheathed at head and foot in bright-steel floated in the air at the top of the stairs. It swung itself forcefully, dislodging a few loose bricks from where the pyramid had been torn off the tower.
Nearby also hovered an intricately carved silver bracer covered in metallic holly with rubies for berries. "Hrast! We need to-" "-keep our heads, yes, I agree," Gamalon finished her sentence. "On that note, could you become visible?" A copper-colored mist congealed around the rod and solidified into Syndra Wands, the silver bracer on her right forearm. Her face was still stolid but she was a striking half-elf woman with floor-length russet hair, a form-fitting ochre gown flattering her every ample curve. Raegar found himself wondering how Tsarra would look in a gown like that, as Syndra and she were very much alike aside from the arrow-straight hair on the woman before him.
"Your stare flatters, lad, but it's not me ye're seein', is it? It's that livin' girl with the Blackstaff you're lustin' after." Syndra laughed, floating around the red-shirted man. "Oh, for a solid body for just an evenin' with ye…" She leaned in and kissed him, running her hands along his body. Every point of contact felt as if Raegar were rubbing against ice-cold silk. Stranger still, a trail of mist led from her to the rod. Nameless sniffed it and ruffled his feathers in response. "Oh, I know ye don't like its smell, cat. I've just never cleaned it off. Vowed when I first joined with it that I'd only wipe that blood off on the Frostrunt's corpse." Syndra smacked one fist into her palm, and the rod mimicked a swing in response. "So you're in this for revenge alone? What manner of undead are you?"
Gamalon asked. She raised an eyebrow, placed her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders in front of him. "His Excellency the Count of Spellshire and he's not rememberin' an ally? For shame. That injury must've scrambled your wits. We've met, ye and I." Syndra winked at the one-eyed wizard whose look of astonishment forced Raegar to bite back a snicker. She paced around him, nodding, and said, "A right smart robe, though not for Waterdeep in winter-ah. Loved those rings of warmth when I had need of them. Ye're in better shape than when last we worked together. Khelben loaned me to that centaur friend of yours when we spent a few tendays occupyin' that wee hamlet of Trailstone against the Amnian troops." "Forgive me, milady. Well met again." Gamalon bowed his head and shoulders to her, spreading his arms wide. "Apology accepted." "Forgive me, Syndra, but where did that bracer come from? I thought you mentioned the Frostrune claimed Isyllmyth's Bracer." "And after he'd killed me once to get at it, ye think we'd be daft enow to let him find it so easily again? The Frostrunt's got a forgery, which is good, seein' as he's done the same with a few other artifacts we thought safe. Nay, he'll be able to do some of what he plans, but he'll hardly be able to do what he hopes.
Even without it, the pyramid gives him enough power to be a right menace." Gamalon said, "All right, then. We need to be off at best speed to the High Moor-an area I know not well enough to teleport into. You?" The apparition shook her head and said, "Not my style. All right-chat later. If Khelben was right about you and yer staff there, one-eye, you can handle the transportation, then?" Gamalon nodded and added, "Provided you'll not mind the wear and tear on your home."
Syndra shrugged and said, "Served me well a long time, but we both saw this coming. If this does what I think, it'll be worth it to relocate." She turned and gestured to Raegar. "Come on, tight-pants.
Ye've got to help me prep the tower while the count gets us movin'."
Raegar stared at her a moment then turned back to see Gamalon cast a shimmering dome over the exposed top of the tower, waves of magic pulsing from the end of his staff. The older man gripped the staff with both hands and slammed the foot of the staff hard onto the stone floor. Magic leached into the stones and began to spread. "Hey!"
Raegar was shoved from behind, and he turned to see the floating rod gesture menacingly. Syndra's voice came from both the rod and behind him as it said, "Let's get movin', friend!" Raegar put his hands up and began walking toward the phantom Syndra and the stairs. The tressym shook his coat and wings and meowed happily to Gamalon for keeping the rain off of them. "What is he doing, exactly?" Raegar asked, as Syndra led him down two levels and into a library. It was a small room, fitting the tower's compact nature, but it was neatly packed with books on every available space. The lore-seeker in Raegar started scanning the books, but Syndra said, "Carefully move each shelf out from the wall and toward the center of the room. Don't knock any books off." As Raegar fell to it, Syndra's spirit floated over the large square rug at the center of the room. Arcane symbols on the rug glowed when she moved over them. After she finished one circuit around the pattern, the whole rug glowed, and with a slight smell of burning sage, burned itself and its symbols into the floor. She gestured him forward, and Raegar shoved the first shelf onto the pattern. She gestured for Raegar to step back and said, "Sheivah-nom!" The shelf sank into the floor quickly and easily, and she cocked her head at the other bookshelves while smiling at Raegar. "Again, please." Raegar put his shoulder into the next, larger shelf. "So are you ever going to answer my question?" he asked, then grunted as he finally shoved the shelf onto the pattern. Syndra repeated her command word to send the shelf wherever she was sending it. "Not until we're properly introduced, lad. I am the all-too-incorporeal Lady Syndra Wands, servant of Mystra and most hated foe of Priamon Rakesk. What are ye called?" Raegar moved another shelf onto the pattern before wiping his brow on his sleeve and bowing. "Raegar Stoneblade, at your service, apparently. I'm in this for revenge, too. That tluiner killed my best friend." "Pleased to meet ye, and know that he'll do more than that if ye let him, lad. Vengeful prat, that one," Syndra said, curtseying before him. "Of course, ye're not in it for revenge. I've seen the looks ye shot at the other redheaded half-elf. Pretty, but those curls must drive her insane." Raegar stopped dead in his tracks and it dawned on him. "No. Just me. More the fool that I let her go." "Oh, let her, my spells! That one does what she needs d
o, not what some swaggering male 'lets' her do," Syndra scolded Raegar. "Still, now that ye've untangled some of why ye're on this adventure again, mayhap ye'll make some better choices." Raegar kept quiet and moved what Syndra pointed at. After a while, as he pulled two large trunks onto the pattern, he asked, "Why are we doing this right now? Where is this stuff going?" "Portable transdimensional room. Didn't want to lose all of my books or things if it gets ugly. Now be careful with that looking glass-it's been in my family for four hundred years without a scratch…" Syndra started gesturing smaller, lighter objects onto the pattern to send them on their way. Raegar shook his head. The more questions he asked of wizards and sorcerers, the more riddles he got.
A few more minutes and they had cleared that room. Syndra said,
"Prieem," and the pattern became a carpet again, which rolled itself up. She looked at Raegar, the carpet, then Raegar again. "I'd be glad to, milady," Raegar sighed, and he hefted the carpet onto his shoulder. "Where do we want it?" As Raegar shifted his balance for the load, the tower itself rumbled, groaned, and sounded like stone grated on stone. Raegar dropped the carpet and fell over as the tower lurched hard-upward. "Seems like One-Eye's gotten us moving. Bring that up top, in case we have to jump with it," Syndra said, and she floated into the ceiling while the rod moved as if it walked up the stairs.
Raegar grabbed the carpet again and carried it up the stairs. Rhythmic booming shook the tower and the steps, so he took his time. He tossed the carpet to one side of the stairs, and dust exploded from the carpet into his eyes. Across the room, Syndra said, "Good thing I made this tower immune to lightning over the years." Cursing at the dust, Raegar blinked his eyes clear again. He saw Gamalon holding the staff firmly on the floor, a silvery dome overhead providing cover. Syndra smiled at him as well, and said, "Oh, c'mon One-Eye. Let's have the real view. Neither of us gets out of Waterdeep enough." Gamalon's voice sounded far away when he replied, "Of course." The silvery dome overhead shimmered and became perfectly clear-and lightning bolts crackled and boomed all around them. The sky was filled with nothing but gray fog and lightning. Raegar threw himself down on the floor as he saw a lightning bolt crackling directly toward them. He yelled,
"Duck!" After a few breaths, he opened his eyes to stare directly into the tressym's face. Nameless rolled his eyes upward and seemed to chuckle. "Good reflexes on that one," Syndra giggled. "Pity he's just gotten himself dirty. Can I take him down and shower him off?" "Sorry, Raegar. We should be through this… just… about… now,"
Gamalon said, and Raegar sat up to see the clouds part and the sky above fill with more stars than he'd ever seen in his life. He rose and moved to where Gamalon stood, not taking his eyes off the stars all around them. Syndra chortled. "I'm not easily impressed, but this is one great view, Idogyr." "You've-er," Raegar stammered, and both the tressym and Syndra sighed, while Gamalon smiled. Raegar shook his head, almost in total disbelief. He'd seen a lot of strange things while he worked with Damlath… but this… "We're flying a stone tower?" "No, you're riding in one, son," Gamalon joked. "I'm flying it." "But-how? Why?" Raegar noticed the clouds retreating away from them. He couldn't tell how fast they were going as he had nothing to look at for comparison. "Why?" "The how is the magic in my staff and myself that allow me to… well, I won't bore you with those details. The why is simply speed and expedience. We need to get to the High Moor as quickly as we can, and none of us could teleport there.
I'm just taking us up toward the Tears then back down atop the High Moor. We should be able to easily spot Frostrune's lightning pyramid to pinpoint him." Raegar leaned against one of the walls, staring out and down at the Realms. "I'm in a stone tower flying high over the weather… how are we still breathing air?" "Air travels with us, though if we had planned a longer trip, we'd need something to replace the air we breathe. This is just a short jaunt." Raegar started asking another question when he noticed the skies above Gamalon. "The Tears of Selune… they're just huge rocks? That's disappointing. All these years, I rather liked the legend that they're massive gems or dragons' eggs." "Aye," Syndra commisserated. "I was let down too the first time I saw them. But look behind you." Raegar turned, looked back at the Realms, and gasped. They were high enough up that the curve of the planet was now visible. He whispered to himself, "They always said, but it was so hard to believe. The world isn't flat after all." Even with Syndra's ribbing and ribald jokes, he remained quiet for a long time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Feast of the Moon, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Hours later, they were no longer climbing, and Raegar watched the Realms far beneath them. The entire Sword Coast and much of the interior was shrouded in storm clouds. When he thumbed in the clouds' direction and started to say something, Gamalon replied with an annoyed grunt of exasperation. "No, we can't see, because those magical lightning bolts appear to have created a massive stormfront that's engulfed a lot of Faerun with lightning storms like we saw in Waterdeep." Gamalon sighed, furrowing his brow, and said, "One of the main reasons I took this route was to minimize the delays of flying through bad weather, but now I'm trying to find the shortest way to our foe through the storms." Raegar's curiousity got the better of him. "Well, Khelben mentioned Malavar's Grasp a few times. If you know where that is, head for it. I've never heard of it, but then I avoided the High Moor for reasons most sane folk do as well. You know what it's all about?" As soon as he asked, Raegar regretted it. He was still in way over his head in wizardly intrigues, and everyone else-even the tressym-seemed to know more about what was going on than he did. Unfortunately, Gamalon had a far-away look in his eye, something Raegar recognized from far too many Oghman clerics about to lecture him. Despite Raegar being on his blind side, Gamalon looked over at him and laughed. "Don't worry, boy! My stories aren't nearly as long as Oghma's services." Gamalon concentrated a moment, and Raegar felt the tower shift slightly and start to descend. The wizard began talking again. "Khelben has woven so many lies around this gambit, even I have a hard time keeping track of it all. I say this as a 'renowned historian' myself. Malavar's Hand, down on the High Moor, is a false legend-a cautionary tale told to wizards who seek to abuse magic. Different places have different versions, but in most tales, Malavar sought to wield the might of the great sorcerous powers of the past, be they the Shoon, the Netherese, the Imaskari, or even older powers like the Ilythiiri. For his hubris, his spells to make himself a colossus failed, and his twisted body fell through the crust of the High Moor under its massive weight. All that remains above ground are the fingertips of his right hand, and these stand as tall stone menhirs on a blasted plain west of Highstar Lake." Gamalon cleared his throat and continued, "I don't know which legends Priamon has read, but given his obsessions over the Shoon, I'll assume he's followed three or four more accessible historical texts. There are three Malavars who are real people in historical records. The most recent is an insignificant tradesman of Athalantar and another was a notorious pirate, slaver, and early member of the Rundeen. The eldest Malavar is the one allegedly buried in the High Moor. A second-generation Asrami, Malavar of the Three Hands, was a sorcerer who fled Asram about forty years before the Standing Stone rose among the Dales. He arrived in Tethyr in time to become a key vizar for the Shoon Qysar Amahl Shoon III." Raegar snorted and said, "Malavar of the Three Hands? Did a barmaid give him that name, or is it a tale that's going to reinforce my belief that wizards are all as well-balanced as a fomorian on ice?"
Gamalon laughed and continued, "Malavar gained his third hand by slaying Akhir, the second son of Amahl III, who tried to assassinate his father and become the second Shoon emperor. The boy had sorcerous powers, rather than the typical wizardry, and Malavar made a decades-long study of his corpse and his confiscated books on magic.
Amahl's third son rose to power as Shoon I by the time Malavar crafted the mummified Hand of Akhir into a powerful relic. Accurate accounts as to the hand's full powers have been lost for centuries. All we know for certai
n is that the Hand of Akhir allowed Malavar to remain a power in the court of the Shoon for more than fifty years and remain young well past three times that many winters." "This Malavar wore a mummified hand?" Raegar laughed, "How do you people think these things up? If I want something powerful, I'll go track down a nice clean magical sword, thanks." "Don't mock, boy," Gamalon said. "There is more power in the severed hand of a sorcerer than in some countries, strange as it may seem. I could tell you of a hand down in Chult that, should you light candles upon its fingertips, bends tomorrow into yesterday. But I digress. Here is the truth-Malavar existed, along with Akhir's Hand, and they were both powerful, but not powerful enough to stand against two whole clans of wizards. He was exiled from Shoon lands in the Year of the Moor Birds. For two years, he then was chased all across the Sword Coast by dozens of mercenary wizards hoping to even old scores or claim even a piece of his powers. "He finally made his stand at Highstar Lake against five archmages.
Depending on which sources you read, Malavar attempted magic unseen in centuries and lost control of it. He and most of his foes perished and were buried in the High Moor's blasted crust. All that remained to mark the battle were the five curved stone slabs that Maildak of Westgate first coined as Malavar's Grasp in Things I Believe and Have Seen over seven centuries ago." "So what's the truth? What was this fellow after, and does it tell us what Frostrune's looking for?"
Raegar asked. "Thanks to Khelben and his friends-myself included-there are more than fourteen different accounts as to exactly what Malavar was doing and how he died, as well as twice the number of references and legends that reinforce each one." Gamalon chuckled. "At this point, it's likely only Oghma, Mystra, and Malavar himself know the truth. Khelben would try to hoodwink you into believing he's got all the knowledge. Most of it, true, but just enough is missing that he can be blindsided." "Wait a breath-you're telling me wizards have made up false accounts and passed them off to us as history?" Raegar rose and paced angrily. "Bad enough to hide secrets for themselves, but to actively confuse and distract honest historians from-" "Oh, ye'd think someone told ye Leira had mists in her shift, the way ye're goin' on."
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