Blackstaff tw-1

by Steven E. Schend

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Feast of the Moon, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

  Tsarra smiled as she hugged the sparkling form of Danthra the Dreamer, who kissed her cheek and promptly dissipated into the sparkling void of the sharnform. Why can't she stay with us, Khelben?

  She'll only distract you now and pull your attention away from where it needs be. She will be there when you need her, as will all here.

  Now, all fears allayed? Tsarra smiled. All the old ones, aye. It's the new ones that are crowding in now. As with all things-you reach the end of your climb to understanding and you find yourself at the bottom of an entirely new slope invisible from below. One of my mentors said it's the tree you can never stop climbing. The fall would kill you once you'd climbed high enough, so it's best to focus on going farther. So let's keep climbing, then. How long has it been since we left the Eightower? Not even a half-bell. Remember that we communicate far more swiftly enmind than we do in mundane ways. Now, the sharn have their abilities to slip through the ethereal and broach nearly any protections or barriers. Focus on watching the Gathering, Tsarra, and participate where you can. Every chance to work cooperatively will help you in the working to come in a few hours. I need to converse more with the grand mages. With that, Khelben's presence drifted away.

  Tsarra turned her attentions outward, again trying to see through the multitude of eyes of the sharn. She realized that the sharn had always been one form that budded off a seemingly separate form that remained part of the collective group mind. She saw through three different forms at once and marveled at how much more vast it was to see through seven or more eyes at once to take in each scene. She settled into hunting mode, and a number of centauran minds and a few dwarves sparkled in around her, all of them focused on the gathering of other hidden remnants of Miyeritar. She smiled, understanding all of them enjoyed the hunt. Tsarra opened her eyes and let her sharnsenses scan the Realms. Tsarra understood that, like the items and relics they had collected thus far, there were shards and pieces of Miyeritar all across Faerun, hidden away by accident or design. Very few were whole items, and fewer still held enchantments from that time. What she did know is that the sharn were awake to their true purpose. The last time the sharn acted with such focus of purpose was to construct the Sharnwall around the Phaerimm of Anauroch. Most often, magical fields or internal conflicts among their groupmind made the sharn act unpredictably or madly. The sharn tracked by scent and by magic, and everything they sought had a shared scent. Every single thing exposed to the Killing Storm brought down on Miyeritar by the Vyshaanti of Aryvandaar was touched by a singular magic unused since then. Thus, everything held a scent, even after all these millennia and even if forged or changed anew. All those touched by that magic reacted to the storms engulfing the Sword Coast and much of the rest of Faerun.

  Depending on its location, items rattled or hummed or vibrated or sparked in relation to the storms and the rising magic involved within them. A belt buckle here that was once an ore-laden rock on the High Moor hummed curiously, its Sembian wearer thought, though he fainted dead away when the sharn stuck its head and arms through its portals to claim its prize. Tsarra felt the cold as a sharn materialized in an ice cave far to the northeast to snatch a small broken dagger from the ribcage of its victim, who lay embedded in the glacial ice. Tsarra actually felt the sting of many magical missiles when a sharn infiltrated a meeting of the Arcane Brotherhood, smashing its meeting table to bits to claim the carved wood tile at the table's heart. She heard the snores and smelled the peaty breath of a green dragon as a sharn quietly pulled fifteen seemingly random coins out of a rather proud treasure hoard. Each time a sharn reclaimed an item, it was drawn into the sharnform, but then Tsarra felt a shifting and the item was almost immediately dropped out onto a wet and storm-blasted heath she had never seen, save in Danthra's vision. Each item, with or without any power of its own, needed to be in place for the rituals to come. Luckily, none of them were dropped near the vicinity of any of the others, so no additional lightning bolts crackled to life to reveal the items' existence there. Every time Tsarra tried to focus on the pattern they were putting in place, the collective's attention moved on to the next item. Only once did Tsarra pull the collective sharn's attention toward the storms overhead, and they all saw their enemy. The Frostrune flew standing atop the base of his pyramid, the point blasting the ground below with eldritch lightning and power. The four corners of the pyramid also connected to the storms by four constant streams of lightning linking to the clouds. She ached to lash out at him, using her new connections to the sharn to attack, but calmer voices prevailed around her. Soon. Soon. He still has one last role to play here. Tsarra accepted that and shifted her focus to an even darker place-a web-covered crypt, where their sharn encountered resistance. A vampire held fast to a metal-shod tome, blasting the sharn back with effective spells of black fire. Stranger still, she recognized him-Asraf yn Malik el Kahaman yi Manshaka. She asked the collective for help, and she willed two of the sharn hands to trace glowing sigils in the air. Once she completed the star-enclosed scroll mark of the tel'teukiira, the vampire stopped and stared. Tsarra spoke and her words came out in the hollow voice of the sharn, "The Blackstaff has need of that, but you have his gratitude for being an able guardian. A reward shall be forthcoming." She reached out, snatched the tome with three claws, and pulled the book into the sharn as it dematerialized and returned to the central form. Tsarra helped reclaim more than a dozen items in this manner, everything from a vambrace off a suit of armor in Dhedluk to a dungsweeper's shovel from Arabel, until they finally encountered two places even the sharns' magic could not penetrate. Khelben? Grand Mages? Tsarra and a number of her fellow hunters asked to the collective. We've found most of the remnants and delivered them into place. Priamon is nearly at Malavar's Grasp. There are only two things that are not in place-and when we push against the magic screening these places, the mark of the Blackstaff flickers to life in silver flames. Ah. Tsarra, it is our time to leave the collective then. Hopefully, this was enough of an education to guide you through the working we have later today. That's the one thing I don't understand. I saw myself at the center of a great working, but I didn't see you. Why didn't I see you there?

  Khelben's eyes grew sad, and his visage turned away for a moment. All in good time, my dear. Now, simply push yourself at-no, not that one, the other barrier. Push yourself against it and will your kiira to rest on the sigil. Tsarra concentrated on moving forward and focused her attention on her forehead. She saw her own magical mark in her mind, aglow from the kiira's energies, and when she touched the naming sigil, the barrier bent and flexed around her, snapping behind her like the string of a bow. She fell hard onto a stone floor and coughed as a thick layer of dust erupted into a cloud around her. Lights whirled around her, and Tsarra coughed more when she realized the lights were shaped to be muscular men no more than a few fingers' length tall with birds' wings. "There you are." Tsarra's head snapped up and she had her scimitar half-drawn before she saw the woman who spoke. Tsarra had never met her, but she'd seen enough paintings and likenesses for sale in the Market to know the woman anywhere. Tsarra sheathed her weapon and remained on her knees as she greeted, "Lady Alustriel, forgive our intrusion." The silver-haired woman sat atop the flat bier at the center of a dust-choked and webbed crypt, her purple linen gown immaculate despite the mess around her. Her feet were clad in fine wine-colored slippers. Her eyes danced and her smile was infectious. Over her heart was a pearl brooch of a unicorn's head, its horn and mane shining in polished silver. She appeared every inch the queen she was, though Tsarra was distracted at how similar she and her sister Laeral were in appearance. Even so, each one's bearing and carriage made a totally unique impression on those they met. The crypt, aside from being small and dust-choked, was nondescript. One spiral stair of stones led down into it in the far corner, and there was only the one large sarcophagus in the center of the room. There was room for two men
to walk around it, but nothing else seemed to be in the tomb. Tsarra read the inscriptions on the bier and realized it was a husband and wife buried together:

  Halver Gehrin 844–956 DR Honored Father, Mage, Mentor Lyia Moonwhisper 844–879 DR Treasured Mother, Mage, Mate "Don't be silly, my dear. Stand up. 'Tis no intrusion, as this isn't a place of mine. I'd make a comment on how awful a housekeeper my brother-in-law is, but I suppose one need not keep a tomb tidy."

  "I've never found it necessary to do so, dear sister." Khelben's voice sounded before he appeared, stepping from a wall. "After all, why clean if you only intend to visit once every two centuries? Now, I realize we are in your city, but how did you know we would be here?"

  "Mystra," she said. "We should know by now that the only times I fall asleep without meaning to are when she needs to send a message via our dreams. You're to give me something, and I'll assume it has to do with our Moor working? I've a council quite irate with me for postponing two meetings and a city disappointed I shan't be on hand for any of the fetes tonight." "Not so loud, milady." Khelben barked. "There might be prying ears and eyes around." "Unlikely. I cleared the Chapel of the First Magister earlier this morning and my Spellguard keeps watch outside. Besides, we're two cellars beneath it as well. Who's likely to overhear?" Alustriel floated over then giggled, and hugged Khelben and kissed him on the cheek. "Wh-what are you about, woman?"

  Khelben sputtered. "It's been years since I've been either mother or aunt, so let me be a little excited in private, you grump," the Lady Hope chided. "Even if Laeral had kept it secret, our Mother did not.

  Your mate bears the children of two Chosen. Blessings, indeed, and happiness deserved." Khelben's face betrayed nothing, but Tsarra felt him pass through a maelstrom of emotions-pride, love, happiness, gratitude, wistfulness, sadness, grief, and resignation-in the space of a breath. All Alustriel knew was that her brother-in-law gruffly shrugged her off and hobbled around the bier. His, "Thank you, sister," was barely audible at all. "Khelben! You're wounded!"

  Alustriel gasped. While their clothes had been restored when they exited the sham, Khelben's wounds had only been cloaked by his robes.

  "Let me help you." Alustriel's arms lit with silver fire, and she knelt by Khelben's missing left leg. Her hands dripped with silver fire, and Tsarra felt a rush of life, power, and warmth, but it did not linger. From Khelben, she felt only felt his sadness, as his wounds did not heal. Alustriel looked up at him, puzzled, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. Khelben said, "My thanks, but things are as they must be. Save your strength for the working." Khelben hobbled around the bier, and his hand trailed briefly over Halver's and Lyia's names both. He cleared his throat and said, "Saproath Khar," as he touched an empty torch sconce on the far wall. The sconce flipped forward off the wall, exposing a small recess behind it.

  Khelben reached in and pulled out a dusty, web-choked box. He blew off the worst of the dust and handed the box to Alustriel. The ruler of Silverymoon opened the thin box after motioning for Tsarra to join her. Inside, atop a bed of velvet, lay a white ash wand with a scarlet gem set into its top. The glow alone attracted the attentions of Alustriel's male-lights, who flocked atop the box's open side. The gem was flat on one side and perfectly rounded on the other, as if it were cut for another purpose. Alustriel looked up at Khelben. "Hosskar's Blinding Baton?" she asked. "Yes, but what it's been constructed from is more important-that gem is a selu'kiira of a grand mage of Miyeritaar. You, the Aumar, and Alvaerele shall bear them in the first circle, even though our foe unwittingly holds the third of the three.

  Given Laeral's condition, I dare not allow her a kiira's touch."

  Alustriel nodded and closed the box, much to the mute complaints of her lights. "Very well. You need to visit this chapel more often or at least make a donation. It's only Master Paral, his relatives, and a few loyalists. Most prefer the larger temples to Azuth and Mystra at the university grounds." Khelben moved to another part of the wall and tapped another hidden panel open with the head of his staff. A shelf slid from the recess, holding four dusty black leather-bound books. He handed them one at a time to Tsarra and Alustriel. "So far as I am aware, this is the only complete four-volume set of these prayerbooks, penned when Azuth's faith was less than two centuries old," said the Blackstaff. "They can go to Master Paral after your scribes make four copies over this winter-one for the Vault of the Sages, one for my Silverstars, another for Gamalon to take to Tethyr, and one copy for Candlekeep. After that, the originals remain here among Mystra's and Azuth's faithful. The Codici Magistiri should draw in a few zealots and many mages, once word gets around. Fair enough?" "And they say the Blackstaff knows naught about quiet statecraft," Alustriel teased, winking at Khelben. "Shall we be off then? Are we to worldwalk to the moor?" "No. We take the-what did Dove call this? Ah-'Dead Man's Walk.'" "Dove always did have a sick sense of humor," Alustriel observed, "but never as sick as your wife's." Khelben nodded, and both of them chuckled. Khelben, what's this Dead Man's Walk you're talking about? Tsarra sent silently, rather than disturb the two Chosen's banter. Simple. We just travel across the Realms using portals at my graves. "What?" Tsarra yelled. "Tell me you're joking!" "Oh, he doesn't joke, girl," Alustriel teased. "You know that." Khelben's sigh was felt as well as heard by Tsarra. None of them are truly my grave, as would be obvious. They are simply where I chose to mark the passing of previous identities. I also set portals at the graves of my aliases to allow me secure hiding places for things. Only a senior Harper, Moonstar, or a Chosen of Mystra who knows the names of my aliases can use these portals. This makes them easily but little used. We use this as we have yet one more item and two agents to retrieve. Khelben moved quickly to her side, grabbing her arm and pinning a badge on her tunic beneath her cloak. Alustriel took his other arm, and the three of them walked them toward the stone wall. Khelben said, "Acris," and instantly they were awash in sunshine. Tsarra blinked and held her hand up to shield it from the sun, and Khelben swore under his breath.

  Tsarra asked, "Khelben, where-" She looked out over a small, overgrown graveyard on a hillside overlooking the sea. Waves crashed far below at the bottom of a cliff. "Wrightsvale. A village a slow day's walk northwest of Starmantle. No time to visit, as we're already running out of time, if I read that sun right." Khelben tightened his grip on Tsarra's and Alustriel's arms, backed them both up a few steps before walking toward a split and ruined gravestone, and said, "Seamar." The trio arrived in an outdoor mausoleum. Unlike the previous tomb, it held recessed biers in all four walls and a large sarcophagus in the center. Tsarra scanned the names of those buried there-Seamar Ruthyl, Adaram Ruthyl, Caras Ruthyl, and Wyrick and Nura Ruthyl-and recognized not a one, nor did any dates adorn the biers. Alustriel noticed Tsarra's investigations and explained. "Impilturans rarely date their graves, Tsarra. They count on historians to track all that, either royal or family scribes. It has something to do with keeping demons from taking on old shapes and forms, but I've never made a study of it." The sun beamed through the tiny windows at the top of the walls, their directions suggesting it was near highsun where they were.

  Swearing as he floated upward, Khelben traced a complex sigil over two walls and the ceiling in the upper corner. The sigil flashed a green color, and Khelben tapped it twice with his blackstaff. Beside her, Tsarra felt the central sarcophagus of Wyrick and Nura slide backward without a sound. Looking down, she found a stairwell leading down into a chamber that was growing with light. Alustriel asked, "So who are we supposed to meet here? You never mentioned there was a chamber beneath this before, but I've only ever used Adaram's coffin to dispose of more problematic things." Tsarra asked, "Why there?" Alustriel smiled and replied, "Khelben built this mausoleum for himself as a hiding place and a way to dispose of evil artifacts he dredged from Seros-the Inner Sea. Adaram's bier was specifically built around a stable dead magic zone, making it perfect for that purpose. He's buried standing up on one end of that, which is why his bier is longer than the others." Alustr
iel strode forward toward the stairs, but Khelben's blackstaff whipped around to block her. "It's not safe yet. I'll call you down," he snapped. Khelben walked down the stairs, using the wall and his staff for support. He stopped in front of a torch burning with silver flames, looked back up at Tsarra, and said, "I'm sorry, lass."

  He shoved his left hand into the torch's flame to set his own hand alight with silver fire. Tsarra fell to her knees, clutching her left hand and gasping from the sudden pain. She could feel the magical fires burning both of them, until he gripped the unlit torch at the bottom of the stairs and lit it, placing the silver flames on the torch. Once that torch flickered to life, Tsarra's pain ended, and she and Alustriel watched five different fields of magic dissipate.