As Khelben spoke, he withdrew a heavy metal badge from his cloak and held it in his left palm, his right hand casting over the object. The metal badge multiplied in his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, Khelben floated one into Yaereene’s lap and eight others landed in an arc on the table between them. Tsarra saw that all the badges carried a seal of four roses entwined around three staves—the mark of the elven House Maerdrym.
Yaereene flipped the badge over in her fingers. “I am hardly the elder or heir of my House, Blackstaff. Why bring this to me?”
“I have neither the patience nor the time to politic with your uncle in Neverwinter Woods, nor could Malchor Harpell deliver these in my stead. Besides, it was long between meetings for us, as you said.”
“Even so, I find it odd. If rumors are true, you have a gate to the Fair Isle in your tower, Lord Arunsun. Why not ask these favors of Queen Amlauril?”
“Evermeet cannot know of our work here until done is done. This matter must be handled discreetly outside the notice of its irresponsibly political noble Houses.”
“No doubt they think as highly of your approaches to matters of import, Blackstaff.”
Khelben shrugged off the veiled barb and leveled his stare at Yaereene. “Your own family’s debt came in the Year of the Dusty Shelf, when my parents rescued Ryul Ilbaereth and his followers from ignominy and death on the shores of Lake Eredruie. I trust I need not reveal to Tsarra the secrets that bind our names and honor?”
Yaereene’s face paled and she gripped her gown in a fierce fist, then she relaxed and cast her eyes down. “No, Lord Blackstaff. I am at your beckons, last Maerdrym. How may my House serve yours?”
Khelben kneeled by her and put his hands over hers, the elf’s eyes widening at the supplicating gesture. “I need you to assemble a company—yourself included—and travel to Manth’ehl’nar Malavar before Selûne is full in the sky in three nights. Relay these same biddings to the Houses on the other badges, an easy task as highly placed scions of all of them frequent your establishment and the City of Splendors. Request their utter discretion and that each family send one or two wizards bearing each of their family’s long-dead or long-dormant moonblades.”
Tsarra gasped, and Yaereene stood up sharply. “You dare much, archmage, and even more to ask the People to move with such haste. I’ll need more than oaths and honor debts to a nigh-dead House to goad them to action and to part with fabled House heirlooms.”
“None in twenty elven generations have wielded those blades among those Houses. They simply hold them as holy relics, as if they mean more than failure.” Khelben sighed then swept his hair back from his face. “Tell them those heirlooms shall soon bless them with use and honor in the coming days. A great time is upon us, lady, for the People’s redemption. We do not do this work for any mortal partisans. What we dare requires elves and others to work in accord to undo the damage of millennia past. I make the request in the names of Sehanine Moonbow and Corellon Larethian. You know the vows they made when Ivossar’s House strayed from the path of true tel’quessir. Hold the badge to your heart if you truly doubt me.”
Yaereene’s face remained impassive, but she placed the gold badge over her heart, and immediately she whispered, “Faer’tel’miir?” Khelben nodded solemnly and tears flowed over the elf woman’s porcelain features. She replied, “Very well, akhelben. It shall be done. We shall be honored to share this burden with thee, ol ahnvae Sehanine.”
Setting the badge down on the table, Yaereene stood. Tsarra saw the disk also had the Ilbaereth seal on the other side—a pegasus rearing over six wands, a sun surrounding all from behind. From her studies of elven Houses, she recognized that the mark combined elements of the seals of Houses Ealoeth and Ildacer, suggesting a long-ago marriage created the Ilbaereth line. Tsarra bowed to her aunt as Khelben also rose. Yaereene took Tsarra by the shoulders. A growl resonated from above, but she ignored the tressym warning the elf away from his mistress.
“A’su’nys, you are half-blood, and our family regrettably tolerates that less than some. Still, you walk beside an honored elf-friend. That alone tells me more than you know. I and others would know more of you in times to come. Malruthiia is sorely missed and I would know her daughter, regardless of my family’s views on the matter.”
Tsarra tried to respond but only managed to nod after her throat swelled up. Tears flowed on both women’s faces, and they embraced briefly. As Yaereene dipped her forehead toward Tsarra’s in familiarity, Tsarra drew back and cleared her throat, startling Yaereene.
“No disrespect intended, osi’nys,” said the appreatice. “I wished you no harm from touching this.” Tsarra pulled her hair back from her forehead to reveal the gem and tattoos there.
Yaereene inhaled sharply. “The Blackstaff provides his apprentices with kiira as well? You must be special indeed, niece. I look forward to learning more about you soon. Even so, when next we meet, politics demand we not acknowledge each other openly. Do not be offended but rather realize that elven ways differ from those of your father.”
Tsarra nodded in response, guessing that the moments of closeness were only for private times, not public display.
“We thank you for your aid, Lady Ilbaereth,” Khelben said. “May our next meeting be even more harmonious.”
He drew his cloak back around his shoulders and donned the hood. They exited the Elfstone’s front door out onto the Street of the Sword. They turned south to Waterdeep Way and headed north again. Tsarra wondered why they went through so much trouble to cover their tracks. Anyone looking to follow the Blackstaff would hardly look at a much-scarred half-orc in a muddied wool cape and a female gnome in red leathers and a bright pink silk cape.
Master? Tsarra sent as they dodged two pair-carts, their four drunken noble passengers racing them full tilt around the corner from Selduth Street and down the Street of Silver. What was that meeting all about? And are there any other family members you’re going to spring on me?
Nay, Tsarra. No more hidden family. Now pick up your pace. We’re running from time even with three days to work.
Khelben hurried his pace, and even with her half-elf’s grace, Tsarra had a hard time keeping up with him.
Can you at least tell me with whom we’re meeting and why you’re in such a hurry? The person’s not going to die before we get there, is he?
Doubtful, lass. Khelben replied. She has been dead now for nearly seven score years.
CHAPTER SEVEN
28 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
(1374 DR)
“Haulaurake, Damlath! Don’t hand me that ‘You knew everything you needed to know’ garbage!” Raegar whispered at his companion. “That sword summoned lightning powerful enough to blast a hole through Blackstaff Tower! You didn’t think a power like that was worth mentioning?”
The two men turned off Swords Street and into Melody Mount Walk, the tunnel that led to the New Olamn barding college on the city’s western cliffs.
“Talk to me, Damlath!”
“Quiet. I’m concentrating.” Damlath said, dismissing his companion.
The mage willed his flying carpet to hover closer to Raegar’s horse. He’d brought the item back from the city of Llorbauth with him and had ever since refused to use horses for travel. The mare, recently purchased from Fetlock Court, shivered and shied away nervously until Raegar held her in check with leg and reins. Raegar seethed as he stared at his friend.
What happened to him? he asked himself. Ever since he returned from Erlkazar in Mirtul, he’s been dismissive and almost as mysterious as those we’ve stolen secrets from.
Despite their differences as rogue and wizard, the two men had worked together for three years. The Holy Church of Oghma united them in purpose—both men worked furtively to break the hold some wizards had on secrets and to spread those same secrets by the will of the god of knowledge. Raegar had enjoyed the past few years, working with both the Font of Knowledge, Oghma’s grand temple in Waterdeep’s Castle W
ard, and the dark-skinned wizard. Still, things had changed and their missions had grown more dangerous with each passing month.
Damlath had originally come from the south, a small country called Erlkazar on the shores of the Deepwash east of Tethyr. The wizard was a pious devotee of Oghma from the Lore Halls in the city of Llorbauth. He ventured to Silverymoon twenty-four years ago with his wizardly master to work with Sandrew the Wise. When Sandrew began building the Font of Knowledge in Waterdeep, Damlath helped in the temple’s building. Damlath had an acerbic personality that few warmed to, but Raegar enjoyed the edge in his humor, and they worked well together.
The younger Raegar had grown up in Waterdeep’s South Ward as the son of a stone carver and a sailmaker. His parents died during the undead assault on Waterdeep in the Time of Troubles, and Raegar had been on his own since then. Surviving as a street thief and later a stone carver, Raegar grew bitter at the mages who infested the City of Splendors. He saw disaster after disaster brought down upon them by wizards who rarely bothered to explain to the people what had happened or why. His abilities as a thief—necessities when fighting to stay alive—came back into play as he began filching some scrolls and books from the homes of wizards and selling them. He did that infrequently enough that people never suspected the stone crafter who carved new gargoyles outside their windows was the culprit. When Raegar found work helping to finish the construction of the Font of Knowledge, he befriended some of the priests there. For the first time he found a voice that spoke to his heart in Oghma’s teachings. They also confirmed that his mission in life was to honor Oghma in taking secrets from the hands of those who would abuse them and spread the knowledge. For six years, Raegar worked unofficially for Loremaster Gustyl “the Curious,” a gnome priest whose knowledge of wizards of the North astounded the young man. The only wizards Raegar could not spy upon, by Gustyl’s insistence, were Maaril the Dragonmage and any wizards directly associated with the Wands clan or Blackstaff Tower. Recently, those rules had changed, and that made Raegar nervous.
Three years ago, Gustyl died suddenly, and his responsibilities fell to his assistant Phanar Manthar, a devout priest and disowned lesser son of a Waterdhavian noble House. Phanar introduced Raegar to Damlath, insisting they all work together. Long used to working alone, neither man liked the idea, but together their surveillance and dispatching of Surkhas of Leilon kept the Arcane Brotherhood from claiming the High House of Thalivar and its secrets. By the end of that adventure, the two were fast friends, though Damlath was more than twice Raegar’s age. The two were known devout lay members of Oghma’s temple, though very few outside of the upper clergy knew the tasks they undertook in the Binder’s name.
Raegar’s musing ended when Damlath cleared his throat and began muttering some incantations. Raegar’s grip tightened on the reins. Damlath didn’t tell him what he was casting, something that happened more often of late.
When the wizard finished, he said, without turning back to Raegar, “Come along, boy. Must remain a few steps ahead of the Blackstaff. Stay close.”
“What are you talking about?” Raegar asked.
He urged his horse forward, staying within a stride of the hovering mage who sat cross-legged on his magical carpet. Raegar’s thoughts kept him from paying attention to the tunnel, its interior length lit by infrequent torches, until the tunnel disappeared entirely. Pain lanced through Raegar’s head, and he slammed his eyes shut.
When he opened them, Raegar saw he’d pulled his horse up short on a muddy track only partially paved with ruined stones. He and the mare stood just past an archway, the wall fallen to rubble on either side of it. Blue and purple sparkles hung in the air around them.
“Blast you, Damlath! Never do that without warning me!” Raegar’s head throbbed, and immediately he regretted yelling.
“Don’t just stand there. Some magic lingers about, and we don’t need to find out its meaning. We need to make haste to get to the inn before it’s too late.” Damlath sped away. Raegar could barely spot him by the moonlight breaking through the trees.
Too late for what? he wondered, as he urged the mare forward. Still spooked, the horse was only too happy to break into a canter. Raegar groaned then gritted his teeth against the headache and rode swiftly to catch up to the mage despite his increasing speed.
As the wary horse settled in next to Damlath, Raegar said, “Wizard, you’ve told me next to nothing in the last tenday. For someone dedicated to sharing knowledge, you’re not doing very well, friend.” He smiled, trying to break his partner’s reserve with the joke.
Damlath looked at him and scowled. “I liked you better when you chose to be silent for most of a mission.”
Raegar raised his eyebrows but let the insult pass. “Where across the Nine Hells have you taken us? And what’s the rush? You wasted all afternoon and evening at the Font of Knowledge and insisted I meet you at Fetlock Court instead of the library.”
Damlath’s explanation was monotonal, as if he could hardly be bothered to explain himself. “Time in research is never wasted. We seek to not miss a particular traveler on the road. We’ve just left the ruins of Rassalantar’s Keep, the portal between it and Waterdeep sat unused for more than a century. I doubt even the Blackstaff knows of its existence. We’re approaching the hamlet of Rassalantar, and we have business at the Sleeping Dragon. After that, we can rest at a manor east of the village overnight. A friend of mine owns Stagsmere and insists someone check on it before winter. If we get separated, it’s nine miles east of Rassalantar’s pond. Just follow the creek, rather than the road, and turn off when you see the Stagstone. The manor’s a mile to the northeast with a trail that’s a bit overgrown.”
As Damlath fell silent, they broke from the trees and onto a muddy trail between two farms. The nearly full moon and the Tears of Selûne behind it lit a downward slope and the tiny little cluster of buildings and farms around a pond. Raegar enjoyed the crystal clear night sky and all the stars not easily visible from inside Waterdeep’s walls. He’d been through Rassalantar before, but not in a while. Raegar wondered how many others knew of that portal that saved them nearly two days of hard travel.
A short while later, Raegar slowed his horse to a trot when they crossed a small wooden bridge over the eastern edge of the pond. He dismounted, loosened the saddle’s girth, and walked the mare cool before leaving her to drink and rest. Meanwhile, Damlath only had to step off his carpet, roll it up, and slide it inside his cloak’s magical pockets.
Damlath said in a loud whisper, “We’re to meet someone who wishes to remain anonymous. You keep an eye out and distract anyone who takes any notice of my meeting.”
Raegar nodded, and left his mare to graze. The two men moved toward the inn’s door. Damlath’s eyes seemed blank and lifeless, and Raegar wondered why someone nicknamed the Laughing Mage no longer laughed. In accord to their usual methods, Raegar turned off and walked around the inn, both to examine points where he could make a quick exit and to avoid any surprises from additional guards. He noted useful egresses such as wide windows on every level. He also noticed chimneys on both the eastern and western walls, the former chimney wafting cooking smells aloft. Complete with the usual stables and privies, the Sleeping Dragon Inn seemed comfortably normal, despite a local legend that a gold dragon hid among the barmaids to defend the inn and its patrons.
Raegar finished his circuit and retrieved his horse. He walked the mare over to the rail across the road from the inn and lashed her reins to it. Raegar crossed the road again and approached the door, but yells behind it and approaching fast suggested he step back. The door slammed open in his direction, followed immediately by a howling drunk and the barkeep shoving him outward and into the mud.
“Guard or no Guard, Anthan, ye’re an ugly drunkard and ye’re disturbing me inn. This ain’t no Dock Ward dive, after all. Now go sleep it off and ye can fix things with me in the morning.”
The man was older and hardly rose to Raegar’s shoulder, but the musc
le on his exposed arms and the stern look on his face made Raegar think twice about what tactics he’d try in the inn that night.
The innkeeper turned to reenter and noticed Raegar standing aside in the shadow. He smiled, nodded, and gestured his newest patron toward the open door.
Raegar returned the smile and said, “Well, I suppose there’s an open seat within for me, then.”
“To be sure, lad, to be sure.” The man chuckled and offered a hand in friendship. “Welcome to the Sleeping Dragon. Ye can call me Spider, if all ye bring to my place is a smile and some coins. Ye’ve seen what happens to those what cause trouble, eh?”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, then, Spider. My stomach and seat demand I stop for a moment and a meal.” Raegar chatted amicably with the innkeeper as he entered the inn. “Oh, where are my manners? I am Terrol, late of Waterdeep, and I am a courier on way to Longsaddle one last time for my masters before Auril spreads her snowy tresses over the North.”
When he stepped past the threshold, the rogue took in the entire room in a glance before crossing to the bar. The door entered the taproom in its southeast corner to not dilute the heat from the fireplace dominating the western wall at the far side of the room. The bar ran half the length of the northern wall, and men sat hunched over their beer on the high stools there. The rogue noted with surprise the slim mirror that spanned the length of the wall behind the bar—a rare luxury even for Waterdeep, let alone a tiny backwater such as this. Still, it made his job easier to watch Damlath and his companions without being noticed. Immediately on Raegar’s right was an archway leading into the kitchen, and Raegar became famished once he smelled what cooked therein. The rest of the eastern wall held cloak pegs and crates, barrels, and various packs beneath the stairs that led to the rooms on the next level up.
Raegar turned to Spider as the man slipped behind the bar, and asked, “Could I trouble you for a bowl of that boar stew I smell and a tankard of your best?”
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