“Raegar, how did you manage not to notice that until now?” he asked himself. He gripped the pommels of his short swords all the tighter. He had to be careful or he might have more than one foe to fight right away instead of a time more to his liking.
The gravel path widened around the backside of the manor, allowing space for carriages and three-horse-wide teams. He didn’t need that much room and urged his horse up the steps of the porch that spanned the back of the entire manor. Lights and noise erupted through the long-shattered floor to ceiling windows where the eastern wing met the central house. Raegar leaped off the horse, landing noiselessly, and lashed her reins to the stone railing on the porch. He slipped into the shadows among the window breaks to assess the situation before leaping into it.
Raegar looked into what was once a proud dining hall, but its splendor was long since ruined. Loads of animal scat was piled in various places in corners and along the walls, together with the detritus of leaves and dirt and other natural debris blown through the missing windows. A few rags clung to the walls and window rods, the tatters silently framing the scene within. A long table that might have once seated twenty lay splintered and askew at the long room’s center, its chairs reduced to kindling. The cabinets that once lined the walls opposite Raegar to hold china and glassware still retained a few small panels of glass, but most of them had been shattered, their contents long ago looted. Blast marks along the walls and floors and the smoldering remnants of a large cabinet provided mute evidence of a spell battle only moments old.
The acrid reek of various spells and smoke drifting from the room was bearable but told Raegar that Damlath—or whatever he fought—had unleashed many more combat spells than usual. He knew the wizard memorized very few offensive spells unless he planned to be in an unavoidable fight. Usually, his repertoire consisted of many investigative spells and methods by which the pair of them stayed hidden from any potential opponents. But that day, Damlath—or whoever posed as him—seemed spoiling for a fight. Raegar looked through the broken windows and realized the battle had ventured beyond the dining room. The rogue stepped sideways and slipped inside easily, making his way to the nearest door through which he could see crackling golden energy.
He looked into an entry chamber with grand marble staircases rising over Raegar’s head to the upper floors on both sides of the room. The chandelier had fallen long ago onto the hard marble floor, its metal construction twisted and broken in places but still holding a few now-dry oil lamps. Damlath stood within the massive round chandelier’s center, weaving a blue-green sphere of energies upward into the domed room’s center. Raegar had to move forward and through the small hallway formed by the stairs overhead to see Damlath’s target.
What hovered in the room’s center reflected the energy off its oily black hide, the eyes thick on its front closing to shield themselves from the bright lights. Its two massive limbs stretched apart, and the blue-green energy coruscating across its form collected around the ends of those limbs. At its base, where Raegar expected legs, he saw only a tail, as if the creature was a torso atop a teardrop shape. The creature’s three heads all roared in pain and anger, its jaws distended and moving sideways or tipping the head fully back. Raegar shuddered and was glad he didn’t have to fight the creature, whatever it was. Its skin moved and shifted, fingers, eyes, and mouths constantly forming and disappearing, keeping the aquamarine energy arcing across its form at all times.
The battle paused, and Raegar listened rather than leaping in to aid a no longer trusted ally.
“Now, creature, tell me why you bother me,” Damlath asked. “There is no mention of guardians within Rhaelnar’s Legacy.”
“We know of no Rhaelnar … Guardiansssss ussssss …” the creature hissed. “Lightning and sssstormsssss awaken ussss … Awaken from Ssslumber Willing … and remember …”
“Remember what? I know you to be sharn, creatures of power and mystery. I have no qualms about killing you if your answers prove pitiful.” Damlath closed his right hand, and the aquamarine globes pulled slowly together, wreathing the sharn’s form in greenish arcs of energy. All its heads roared, as did at least half the mouths along its arms and trunk.
“Look, little creature,” said the sharn, “into our mind, if you dare.”
Damlath laughed, but it was hollow and angry, unlike the joyful mirth Raegar liked to hear. “Don’t mistake me for a fool of short years, sharn. I know enough to not risk my sanity delving into your heads.”
“The Awakening isss upon usss … You quicken sssoulsss without knowing what you do … The remnantsss ssspark and affect our mindsss … remind usss of ourssselvesss … The powersss that ssstir usss fragment our mind into many … bring pain memory …”
Raegar watched the sharn intently, its voice growing melancholy. Raegar also noticed random faces pushing forth from the sharn’s skin as it spoke, though the speech still came from its massive unfeatured heads atop its torso.
Damlath shook his arms in anger at the creature and said, “I could care not a whit for your minds, save what they hold. The remnants—tell me more about them! I have many of them but not all. Tell me more about them, that I may claim more than one Nether Scroll.”
Raegar’s brow knitted. Damlath had never expressed any interest before in the ancient lore of Netheril, let alone tracking down the sources of their ancient magic. In fact, Raegar knew Damlath loved history but willfully ignored the North’s wizardly history over that of the southern Lands of Intrigue.
The exchange confirmed to Raegar that the man posing as Damlath was an imposter. The rogue looked around to see if the wizard—whoever he was—had set up a camp or at least had laid down any of the artifacts they had been collecting. He didn’t see any, but a light purple glow of sparkles began forming well behind the wizard.
A black-skinned pair of four-clawed hands slid from the cluster of purple sparks and began to trace mystic symbols in the air. Small mouths at the center of the palms whispered arcane words. A beam of orange light shone from the pair of hands and enveloped the southern mage, whose form shimmered and shattered. The illusory Damlath fell away and Raegar saw his true form.
The wizard wore olive-green robes trimmed with gold runes, a hood drawn up around his face, even though Damlath’s face had previously appeared exposed. The wizard turned and spotted both Raegar and the sharn’s additional hands and began to laugh. The rogue gasped as he saw the wizard’s hands were skeletal, as was most of his head. All that remained of his face was a shred of grayish-black skin across his forehead and down the right side of his face. Red energies glinted within dark eyesockets, suggesting eyes where no physical orbs remained. Around his torso and over his olive robes, the lich wore a harness made of black leather and a large round silver plate covered in runes.
Raegar had fought undead wizards and sorcerers before, and he knew that this lich had been impersonating Damlath, but for how long?
“Ah, Raegar. So now you know, little thief. Inconvenient. You’ve been a useful pawn even more unwitting than that dullard at the temple,” the lich said, its jaws moving without lips and pantomiming magically produced speech. “Still, before this creature strips me of more than base illusions.…”
The lich that was Damlath gestured quickly, and ice-blue bolts rocketed into the free sharn hands. Raegar was close enough to note the rapid drop in temperature and the ice and frost that clung to the once-moist black hide. The purple sparks winked out as the hands receded through them, and Raegar saw some frost appear on the sharn behind the lich, even though Damlath hadn’t cast on it directly.
“Impressive, sharn. Your ability to bypass a spell designed to inhibit spellcasters is intriguing. I will learn that secret from you as well, but not before you tell me more of the remnants.”
“You merely ssserve to awaken, not to claim any treasssure, little lich. We hide enigmasss far older than you, and thossse who pry never benefit from it.” The sharn seemed to smile, its eyeless heads all turning toward the
lich and baring their teeth.
Raegar stepped forward, brandishing both his swords before him in a defensive cross. He knew he didn’t have the power to stop either creature, but he hoped to keep the lich’s attention on him to perhaps allow the sharn to attack again. Raegar felt cold as he realized his friend had either become undead or was dead and had been replaced.
“Are you Damlath and damned,” he asked, “or are you the bastard that killed him?”
Once Raegar stepped fully into the chamber and toward the lich, the Diamondblade spat a shower of blue sparks, as did a ring on the lich’s left hand. Raegar stopped dead in his tracks, and the lich stepped back and behind the fallen chandelier, putting the hovering sharn between them. The sparks ceased.
“Your friend Damlath died swearing oaths too, rather than having useful spells with which to fight for his life. If it’s any consolation, he died with the Binder’s name on his lips.”
Raegar froze as the death of his friend became reality. The only weapon he had that might affect this creature was one he had given him—the Diamondblade. Since it was obvious the short sword was important to the lich, Raegar made a split-second decision and dived toward the doorway. He heard one syllable in the lich’s raspy voice and sensed the magic hit him. Though he remained facing the doorway, unmoving, Raegar felt as if he had been slammed hard against the wall. He stood stunned and trapped in his own body.
“Ah, ah, ah,” the lich mocked. “No, bring that closer, young Raegar. You’ve been such a useful tool these past few months. Show the sharn what we have here.”
The undead wizard gestured again, its skeletal fingers beckoning, and Raegar felt the Diamondblade twist in and rip from his grasp, even though the effort turned his stunned form around toward the sharn. The moment the blade crossed into the larger center of the room, it both reflected some moonlight from the skylight up above and mirrored sparks along with the ring on the lich’s hand.
The lich floated the sword directly into the sharn, point-first, and it unleashed a shriek reminding Raegar of a sword crashing against a shield. The blue sparks joined the other magic and danced across the sharn’s form. The sharn’s own movements pulled the greenish energy globes closer, and their energies also spilled across its liquid form, invoking a mournful moan that sounded like five or six wounded people and animals at once. Raegar flexed his muscles in hopes of shaking off the magic and fleeing into the wilderness rather than face these two creatures. He managed two slow steps before the lich’s magic placed a heavy wall of ice over his exit.
“No, boy. I still have tasks for you, and secrets to cull from this creature as well. Sometimes, though, it’s sensible to make it clear you have your audience’s attentions.”
The lich pulled the sparking ring off its hand while he spoke, setting it on the floor where he stood. He gestured with one hand toward a doorway hidden from Raegar’s sight, beckoning something or someone forward. The lich moved around and set the sparking Diamondblade on the floor as well.
Raegar held back when he saw the sparks building, but stepped around in hope of discovering another exit beyond the front door behind the lich. He spotted the skeleton lurching forward, a small green gem alive with more sparks resting on a dusty, threadbare pillow.
Once the skeleton stepped fully into the chamber, lightning bolts arced among the sword, gem, and ring, and the sharn screamed as bolts slammed through its form. The lightning bolts formed a triangle, and the energies came together into one massive bolt that exploded upward. Neither the sharn nor the stone and glass ceiling stopped the bolt from smashing out into the night air. What little moonlight there had been disappeared as clouds quickly formed, allowing the lightning a path across the horizon.
“Well,” the lich said, “I might have gained more from it, but at least I know it can be killed, despite some rumors about the sharn. Hmph.” He opened his cloak and reached into the lining with his skeletal hand, pulling a small metal skullcap from its magical pocket. The lich placed the skullcap on his head and turned to stare fully at Raegar. “Now, little man, let’s set your orders in place. I’ve another task for you.…”
Raegar’s mind swam with fear and revulsion as he gritted his teeth.
“I’ll never work for you, you bastard!” Raegar yelled, hoping to keep the lich’s attention on his face, not his foot that edged beneath the ring of the chandelier.
As the lich’s hand rose to cast a spell, the rogue kicked upward, tossing a large shard of the metal chandelier toward his face. At the same time, Raegar grabbed daggers from his belt and threw them at the lich’s chest. All three missiles bounced harmlessly off a shielding spell, and the lich completed his spellcasting gestures.
“Futile defiance,” sneered the lich. “Your will is mine, Raegar Stoneblade, orphan, thief, and holy seeker of Oghma. I allowed you autonomy so long as it aided my disguise, but speed now determines my course. Be still while your master sets your tasks in mind.”
The crimson glints within the lich’s eye sockets flared, and Raegar screamed as the lich’s magic invaded his thoughts, freezing his mind with every passing heartbeat. The last thing Raegar heard as he lost consciousness was the lich in his mind saying, Yes, a handy scapegoat was the last piece I needed. The Blackstaff will doubtless untangle the truth, but not until far too late … especially if you cannot protest or reveal any truths.…
CHAPTER TWELVE
29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
(1374 DR)
Ashemmi smiled then spoke in Common. “Her face alone speaks volumes, evae’n. The Blackstaff has finally identified us for his precious apprentice.”
“Khelben? How can we possibly ally with them?” Tsarra gripped Maornathil’s pommel with white knuckles, staring at her mentor in shocked disbelief. Khelben remained silent.
Nameless shared Tsarra’s emotions, and his back bristled with anger. He landed on a table near Tsarra, loudly hissing at the couple and making himself as threatening as possible, wings fully flared open.
“Khelben?” Tsarra asked, not wanting to meet the mocking eyes of Sememmon or Ashemmi. “What is going on here? How do we know this situation here isn’t his—”
Sememmon laughed. “Honestly, girl, if you believe every rumor you’ve heard about me, you’d best be prepared to swallow every falsehood the masses bandy about regarding your glowering tutor here.”
“At least she’s not one of those who thinks all elves must hide their passions and bottle their emotions.” Ashemmi said, staring Tsarra in the eyes. “The most useful thing a wizard can learn from another’s familiar is their true emotional state. Even the most intelligent animals tend to reflect how their masters feel.”
“That’s enough, all of you,” Khelben snapped. “This is neither the time nor place for this discussion. We shall all meet again two nights hence at the agreed-upon site. You gave him the item I made you?”
Sememmon nodded and said, “Yes, the wand now lies in his grasp. Enamored of Shoon artifacts, that one is, and he wears one of them openly—the Duel-Ring of Ghuraxx, if I’m not mistaken, and I’m not. Given how few Northerners bother with knowledge of the south, he stands out like soot on snow. I could not penetrate his disguise, but it is painfully obvious he cloaks himself in illusion. With patience, one can easily notice such things, don’t you think, little half-elf?”
Tsarra answered Sememmon’s affected smile with a glower, punctuated by the deep growl and lashing tail of Nameless, who flexed his full claws as a warning. Sememmon only rolled his eyes upward and sighed.
“This Damlath stinks of undeath, not that any of you—save perhaps the tressym—could smell it,” Ashemmi added. “Either he’s a necromancer seeking more power or he’s undead himself and passing as a live human.”
Undead? Khelben? Tsarra sent, her temper rising again. You owe me—
Patience! Your temper is fraying the edges of my own, apprentice. Explanations are due once we are alone. Now be still.
Khelben’s sending startled Tsarr
a by its forcefulness, but his face did not betray the least shift in emotion or attention off the two former Darkholden.
“That fact has been known to me for a time,” Khelben said. “Now, we must all be off before more questions than answers arise from our presence here.”
Sememmon sketched a bow, and Ashemmi nodded at both Khelben and Tsarra. The wizards’ hands cast spells, and the pair of them disappeared. The air imploded behind them with a slight whoosh of air and a soft thump.
Khelben looked around, shaking his head sadly. His eye caught Tsarra looking at him harshly, and he said, “My dear, that temper will force a quick death of you, should you not tame it. I know you have many questions, but like many things in a wizard’s or sorcerer’s life, they must wait until their proper time in the casting.”
He stepped outside of the ruined inn and onto the grass and Tsarra followed. Nameless, however, busied himself with some fallen plates of food.
The trio arrived in the entry chamber of Blackstaff Tower, startling a few younger apprentices who bowed and ran up the stairs. Khelben shed his cloak and placed it in the wardrobe. He and Tsarra kept silent, sending between themselves while Tsarra doffed her cloak as well.
Now what did we learn from our questioning of Spider and Ryssa?
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