The Alabaster Staff

by Edward Bolme

  “Yeah, I think so. I don’t really need much, do I? I have my rapier and dagger, I’m wearing my armor … and,” she added with a smile, “I’ve got this.”

  She pulled out a slender, bone-colored wand and twirled it expertly. For the first time, she saw Demok startled.

  “What’s that?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “It’s a replica of the staff,” she answered. “I thought I’d better bring it along, so if I get a chance to … reclaim the original, I can leave a double in its place, and maybe we can just sneak out of there without getting into a fight.”

  “Worth a shot,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”

  “You probably don’t really want to know,” said Kehrsyn with an uncomfortable smile.

  Demok nodded and led the way outside to where his horse waited. The two mounted up, Kehrsyn sitting behind Demok, and the grim guard reined the horse around to head back to the Chariot Memorial.

  As they approached the great statue, they saw a wagon waiting in the lee of the huge pedestal. Demok steered the horse for it.

  “Art thou ready?” came a familiar voice.

  “Always,” Demok replied. He halted the horse next to the wagon. “More bodies for the Zhents?” he asked.

  “It seemeth to me that none should question one bearing more fodder,” Massedar explained. “Ensure thou that such a fate befalleth not me.”

  “Lead on,” said Demok.

  The wagon lurched forward in the rain, the horses eager to finish their task and return home. Demok and Kehrsyn fell in behind.

  Kehrsyn leaned close to Demok’s ear and said, “Good thing you like to kill.”

  “I don’t,” said Demok.

  “But—”

  “It’s what I do, and I’m good at it, but killing I do not enjoy,” he said over his shoulder. “Killing is wasteful. Combat I love. Pitting my skill and wits against another with the ultimate stakes. There is no purer test.” He turned his head to face forward again, nodding to himself. “I’d wager that’s what you find addictive about theft,” he added. “Not stealing, but testing your skills in dangerous situations.”

  Kehrsyn cocked her head and furrowed her eyes as she considered that.

  “Got incredible skills,” Demok continued after a moment, interrupting her thoughts. “Good heart, too. Question is, can you find a way to use those skills that doesn’t break your heart? If you can, you’ve got it made.”

  A gust of wind ripped through the street, whipping their cloaks. Kehrsyn pulled hers back around her and tried to huddle down as small as possible behind the shield of Demok’s shoulders.

  “You did that,” said Kehrsyn, finally understanding the source of Demok’s quiet self-assurance. “So how did you answer the question?” she asked.

  “Killing is a by-product. Didn’t want it to be a waste, so I dedicated my life to the destruction of the Zhentarim and the church of Bane. If I found someone else who needed killing in the meantime, I didn’t have a problem with that, either.” He reached for something beneath his cloak, and after a moment’s fumbling reached over his shoulder to hand something to his companion. “Know what this is?” he asked.

  Kehrsyn took the item and studied it, holding it very close to her eyes in the dim light.

  “It looks like a pin in the shape of a harp,” she answered. “What does it mean?”

  “I’m a Harper.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  Demok paused a moment, then explained, “We protect civilization. Fight the tyrant gods and their followers, strike down those who need it. I came here when I heard Bane was moving on Messemprar. Wing’s Reach seemed a likely target. Other Harpers are elsewhere in the city.”

  “What, right now?”

  Demok nodded and said, “We need them. Dark times are coming.”

  “So why’d you join the Harpers in particular?”

  “May not be a home, but it’s a family,” he said.

  Kehrsyn handed the pin back to him. He took it and replaced it somewhere inside his cloak.

  After a pause, he spoke one last time. “Consider that an offer,” he said.

  Massedar’s wagon led them to the Temple of Gilgeam. During the rule of the god-king, who had taken the throne in the stead of his father Enlil some two millennia before, it had been the centerpiece of all life in Messemprar, where the god-king basked in the worship of the lesser beings of his empire. Everything had changed when Tiamat slew Gilgeam, and even after fifteen years the pillars and capitals of the temple still showed some of the blackened smears from the oily fires that had devoured the lives of so many priests. Ever since the excitement of those first heady days had waned, the occasional new graffito still gouged its way into the pillars and walls.

  The great pedestal out front was, of course, still empty.

  “I hope we never see Bane’s likeness erected on Gilgeam’s pedestal,” Kehrsyn murmured.

  “One way or another,” replied Demok, “we won’t.”

  After Gilgeam fell, no one really knew what to do with the massive building. No one remotely associated with the priesthood wanted it. The army used it for a while, hoping the tradition of power that emanated from the building would help them maintain control, but even the soldiers didn’t want to be there. As the Northern Wizards consolidated their power, they avoided the issue. In the end, the edifice ended up being used for two purposes: barracking foreign mercenaries, as their very presence would further despoil Gilgeam’s memory, and executing criminals, as that activity remained very much in line with the building’s original purpose.

  The foreigners were left to argue among themselves how best to divide the space, so it was easy to understand how the Zhentarim could appropriate some of the subterranean levels for their own nefarious activities.

  The wagon rolled around the great, empty pedestal and pulled up at the base of the grand staircase. The massive marble steps stretched almost the entire width of the building and were carved both tall and deep, specifically designed to make even the tallest visitor walk up the steps in the manner of a child.

  At the top of the steps, a group of three or four figures stirred. Kehrsyn could see the telltale glow of a shuttered lantern in their hands.

  Massedar got down from the wagon and directed Demok to pick up the larger of the bodies. That he did, working the corpse over his shoulders. The other corpse remained in the wagon as Massedar led Demok and Kehrsyn up the steps. Though clouds were scudding in, no rain was falling at the moment. Massedar removed his heavy cloak just as a gust of fierce wind blew through, and the sheer drama of the movement made Kehrsyn’s heart thrill.

  At the sudden motion, the figures at the head of the stairs flicked one of their lanterns open and shone it fully on Massedar. Kehrsyn saw that Massedar was dressed in priestly Banite raiment, no doubt the robe worn by Ekur himself. The long gown was full and black, with green rays and mystic sigils showing in the lantern light. Massedar had thrown the hooded cowl over his head, and he held his rain cloak out in one arm for Kehrsyn to take. As she stepped up to take it, she saw that he had shaved his beard to better match Ekur’s clean-shaven face, and, thanks to the wind, she saw that Massedar had padded out his normally trim form beneath the garment, the better to emulate Ekur’s bulky build.

  As Kehrsyn took the proffered cloak in her arms, the light flicked off, shuttered once more within the glassy confines of the lantern.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, Demok jerked his head back toward the wagon below.

  “One more,” he grunted.

  Two of the sentries moved quickly down the steps to unload the other corpse as Massedar, Demok, and Kehrsyn entered the Temple of Gilgeam.

  Kehrsyn’s heart fluttered with fear. She had not set foot inside so much as a Gilgeamite shrine since the day Ekur had killed her mother. Even in the high holy days, when the troops searched the city for stragglers and the impenitent, she had risked her life rather than bow a knee to the despotic thearchy that had taken her pa
rents from her. In a bizarre way, she almost felt that trying to stop the Banites in their plot would be defending Gilgeam’s memory, but that thought made her so angry that she shelved it far away, to be dealt with later.

  Massedar led the way through the temple, his accursed Banite gown billowing as he walked. Demok moved behind, carrying the heavy corpse over one shoulder. Despite the bulk of the body, and despite the sweat that trickled down his temples and the breath that labored in his lungs, Demok’s face was calm and placid. Kehrsyn trailed, holding Massedar’s rain cloak. As she passed a convenient lantern alcove, she quickly stuffed it in the nook. She needed her hands free to do her job, and if they were to pass that way again, they’d either have time to search for the cloak or they’d have concerns far more urgent than getting wet.

  In the distance, the reflected light of fires danced along the walls like will-o’-wisps. They heard the sounds of a bawdy Chessentan song reverberating though the temple. The regiment was trying to liven up the dreary evening, but the hollow way the tune echoed among the huge walls of slab marble twisted their cheerful lark into a mournful, ghostlike sound.

  Near the center of the great structure, Massedar quickly located the ramps that serviced the lower levels of the temple. One level down was the actual Chessentan base camp, a solemn, military place. Massedar led them lower still. On the next level, the Chessentan officers made their encampment next to a platoon of Thayans. Kehrsyn mused the Thayans had been called in to help ensure the safety of the enclave should Messemprar fall to the pharaoh’s forces.

  They continued down, past a prison level left empty by the foreigners, save only for a few rowdies held under guard for infractions. A desultory guard stood watch, in all likelihood a punishment in itself, doubly so for the whispers of the cloying stink of death that skulked around the still air at that level.

  Two soldiers in full armor and Zhentish tabards stood at the top of the ramp that continued down.

  One of them saluted as the group filed past, saying simply, “Ahegi,” in respectful greeting.

  As they descended, the butcher’s smell of the dead grew with every step. They debouched into the bottom level, and Kehrsyn saw that it was dedicated wholly to torture. She realized also that the wide, open ramps would help convey the sounds of the damned to the heart of the temple itself, warping and twisting the screams to provide a macabre backdrop to the worship ceremonies.

  The room was very large and open, and lit by a matrix of blood-red candles suspended in black iron chandeliers. The whole of it was filled with a bewildering array of devices of every sort imaginable, and many others of which the operation was so invasive, so cruel, that Kehrsyn’s innocent mind could not in the slightest imagine what they actually did.

  Between these instruments of torture, the floor of the room was stacked with bodies neatly arranged like firewood. They seemed incongruously peaceful when contrasted with the sinister mechanical shapes of the devices. Two aides staggered at the edge of the stacked remains, carefully placing another corpse.

  The torture floor itself was sunken some three feet. A walkway circumnavigated the room, eight feet wide and without a rail. From the walkway the priests of Gilgeam could oversee the torture without having to step in the fluids of the maimed. Steps periodically descended from the walkway to the floor itself, in case a priest saw fit to intervene personally. At the time, though, a large number of Banite priests occupied the walkway, their black-and-green robes whispering and hissing across the stones. None stepped down the stairs, leaving the few workers to finish the arrangement of the bodies.

  Behind the walkways on each side were galleries, outfitted with ornate stone seats for those witnesses who grew weary of the victims’ resistance. Those stood empty at the moment.

  Kehrsyn roused herself. Massedar and Demok were already moving onto the walkway. Kehrsyn marveled at Massedar’s ability to disguise himself so thoroughly. Even his gait had become Ekur’s. Demok followed behind with perfect ease, apparently unconcerned to be carrying a corpse among a cabal of those he said he’d sworn his life to destroy. Unbidden, Tiglath’s words came back to her: no one is what they seem. Kehrsyn wondered how far she could trust the self-proclaimed Harper. Unfortunately, in her current situation, she had no choice.

  No choice. It was becoming all too common a theme in her life. She hurried after her two companions, doing her best not to look awkward or rushed as she did so.

  Massedar stopped toward the far corner of the room, while Demok continued around to where, judging by the ornate design of the robes, the senior cleric stood talking with his subordinates. Demok stepped down onto the torture floor, unwrapped his burden, and lay it on top of a stack in front of the chief priest. With a deft move, he draped a cloth over the corpse’s face. Two guards entered with the other body.

  Massedar whispered to her, “Tell thou the guards to place that body here before me.”

  She passed his message along, and, with as much of a shrug as could be managed while hefting a corpse, they placed the body where she indicated. When they unwrapped the oilcloth from the corpse, they saw that the body had been carefully wrapped head to toe in a mummy’s bindings. A smell of dust and mildew graced the already inhospitable odors of the room.

  “Whoa, been keeping that one for a while, have you, Ahegi?” said one of the bearers with a leer. “Must be someone special. If you need an onyx, just tell one of them,” he added, pointing to the several workers who moved among the bodies placing black stones into the mouths of the deceased.

  Demok moved back to stand close to Massedar, out of the way in the corner of the gallery.

  Kehrsyn joined him there and whispered, “How on Toril did they get so many bodies? Wouldn’t they rot?”

  “Embalming,” whispered Demok. “Or a prayer that keeps them fresh. Simple work for priests. They’ve been stockpiling.”

  Kehrsyn grimaced.

  “Zhents are patient,” added Demok.

  “And … tolerant. I don’t think I could handle having a dead guy in my—”

  “Sshh!”

  Kehrsyn looked over and saw that the high priest had stepped to the very edge of the walkway. Everyone in the room ceased their conversations and waited attentively. Silence ruled the room for a long tenbreath, broken only by the sound of a cough heard faintly from the ramp.

  The high priest’s hood was huge, draping over his shoulders so that only the lower part of his jaw could be seen. Kehrsyn assumed that the material of his black hood was thin enough, at least in places, to allow him to see. His sleeves trailed along the floor, and his gown washed behind him for several feet. Every inch of his robe was stitched with fine sigils and formulae in bright green thread. At a distance it appeared the black material had a green opalescence. Upon his chest he wore a circular ephod emblazoned with Bane’s sigil, a clenched fist emitting green rays of power, and in his right hand he bore a long, ornate staff topped with a fist carved in obsidian.

  “My servants,” began the high priest, and his voice was low, seductive, reasonable, “it is time. No longer shall Unther wallow without a ruler. No longer shall the Untherites, in fear of the pharaoh, turn to other, weaker gods for help. Tonight we shall place Unther under the outstretched arm of Bane. Tonight the army will have a cause to fight for, and a cause greater than mere survival, for no one is willing to die for survival, but all will be willing to die for the glory of Bane. Tonight the Northern Wizards, who stand atop the chaos and proclaim themselves lords, shall have their weakness revealed to all. They shall be torn down and dragged through the streets, to be spat upon by the widows and stoned by the children. Tonight shall the army grow greatly in strength and continue to grow as it smites the forces of the Pharaoh of Mulhorand. Tonight marks the return of the new Empire of Unther, under a new god with a new king!”

  Kehrsyn almost moved to applaud at the pause, expecting it to be done, but held herself when she saw that no one else moved.

  “We have just spoken with the Chessentans, and
they understand that their services have been contracted by Unther, not by any particular faction within Unther. They will not interfere as we move. In fact, I rather fancy they’ll be relieved to see a stable government paying their wages.”

  A chuckle rippled through the assembled priests.

  “Let us then begin. Let those who have fallen by the weakness of their government”—he gestured to the carnage at his feet—“be the first to strike a blow for a new power!”

  He reached with his free hand into the voluminous sleeve of his other arm and pulled out the familiar thin lines of the Alabaster Staff. Violet swirls of energy began to coalesce as he held it out over the bodies.

  The assembled priests stepped forward to the edge of the walkway with a great rustle of fabric on stone. One cleric, a woman who stood at the right hand of the high priest, intoned a liturgy to lead the others. While the high priest held the Alabaster Staff high, the other priests joined the canter and began to weave their magic.

  As they moved through the gestures of the incantation, their hands seemed to draw energy forth from the wand, and the luminescent purplish smoke reached outward in a web of energy until the wisps drifted in the wakes of their hands and the power of the staff covered all the room.

  The words and gestures looked like a spell, but whereas most spell invocations lasted a short while, that one continued on and on, the priests droning and moving in unison.

  “What kind of ritual is this?” Kehrsyn whispered to Demok.

  He gestured with one finger for her to be quiet, then started to slide stealthily along the wall toward the high priest.

  A body in the far corner of the torture floor moved and started to rise, lurching upward from the waist as if a drunkard abruptly awakened. Kehrsyn watched in horror as its limbs flailed around before it found its feet and stood, swaying slightly. A hellish light shone from its open mouth, and a purplish haze wafted from its nostrils like smoke and merged with the web of energy emanating from the Alabaster Staff.

  Kehrsyn cast her eyes around the floor in shock and saw several other bodies twitching as the priests’ ritual took hold. She glanced over at Massedar and saw that, while he was going through the same motions and appeared to be chanting in unison with all of the others, no magical traceries graced his gestures. She was at once alarmed that he knew the choreography of the ritual and relieved that he was not actually participating.