Where is all this coming from? she asked herself.
Tsarra blinked and felt dizzy—she looked out on more than nine different scenes all at once. She recognized a few features of Waterdeep through one eye, while another watched the sun rising on the shores of a small island, and more scenes than Tsarra could process. More and more eyes opened until she shut hers, or so she thought. She looked upon dozens and dozens of sights both sunlit and dark, beneath storms or clear skies, in deep tombs and atop mountains … and the images kept coming.…
Tsarra!
The shout drew her back to herself. Once again, Khelben drew her out of madness.
Lass, you dive in too easily. This isn’t mere sorcery or wizardry, so you need to be careful. Focus on my voice again. I’ll stay with you. Khelben’s voice rang strong in her mind, but thundering behind it was a cacophony of voices. Khelben’s face appeared near her, the white wedge of his beard shimmering with purple light as blue sparks revealed his face separate from the darkness.
Remember who you are, Tsarra. Don’t drift or meld too far into the sharnmind. Just listen to it and watch. See through its eyes, but only as much as you can handle. Know you are a part of all this. Neither give in to it or fight it—just be with it, and it will teach us all we need to know. Thanks to the past few days, you’ve become adept at bearing more than one soul. Now, get in touch with being both one singular form and many forms.
That was the strangest sensation—like dreaming and feeling your body but not … but still seeing and moving and feeling something, Tsarra sent to Khelben. Are we sharn now? You said earlier it was a way to more quickly move to where we needed to go.
It is, yes, Khelben replied, but it is also an experience you’ll need in order to help me do what I foresaw nine hundred and ten years ago this night when I was Chosen.
You’ve been waiting for this to happen for nearly a thousand years? You saw us melding with sharn? Is that why you’ve kept me in the tower for so long? Waiting for this?
Aye—that and more. Know that they who are with us, around us, within us, have waited far longer than that.
The noise surrounding her moved closer, and she recognized it as both a sea of random voices talking amongst themselves and the collective droning of a repetetive phrase: n’fhaorn … avail … avaess … n’quel … n’sukarat’layr.
Tsarra knew she wasn’t blind, but she wasn’t seeing physical forms. The overall gloom seemed almost empty until magical sparkles winked into existence near her, as Khelben appeared. When a form arrived near her like that, its voice stood out from the overall din. Each form was little more than a hint, purple and blue sparkles outlining muscles and features of an unclad but ideal creature: gnome, human, elf, centaur, or others. Their outer and inner forms had not matched in ages, and many of them stared at their sparkling outlines in wonder, as if waking from a long dream. Tsarra knew without asking that all of them comprised the sharn collectively, not individually, and they had all chosen their form and their fate.
Very good, child.
The voice came from “behind” Tsarra, who shifted her attention to that area and found herself staring into an eye larger than her head. Despite the softness of the sending, Tsarra’s instinctive reaction was fear. As the eye narrowed and the dragon’s outline morphed down into a beautiful elf woman, Tsarra saw three dazzling points of light—far brighter than all the others—approaching both of them.
What or who is that? Tsarra sent and asked aloud, though both became mental impressions of her question, rather than anything audible.
They wish to meet you, as did we all. The elf woman who was a dragon carressed Tsarra’s face, her touch both warm and cool in this maelstrom of sensations.
Khelben’s face and form shimmered near, and she saw that like the others Khelben’s outline was stripped of any clothing. Tsarra looked down at her own form, realizing that she too stood exposed and vulnerable, right down to the birthmarks on her left hip—three dots of purple sparks. The oddest difference between Khelben and all others was the scars he bore on his image—random scars on his face, arms, and legs, and the massive hand-wide scar slashing across his torso. His left leg went missing here as well, and he bled silver sparkles from the stump and around his hip.
Khelben? What aren’t you telling me? And why am I so afraid of those three lights? Tsarra sent to her mentor.
Fear is healthy when one faces fundamental changes. What you learn now is how to navigate a sea of thoughts and intentions and sensations and magic. What they may teach you, even I do not know. They are the Three Watchers. The last person they spoke to in any direct manner was Oacenth, coronal and grand mage of Jhyrennstar. Khelben’s sending felt reverent and totally in awe of whom he spoke.
At last, Arun’s Son. You
Are welcome among us,
Tsarra Autumnfire, and we
Honor you as
Our hands.
Tsarra bowed to them, but asked, Your hands? I don’t understand.
You have borne three souls in part and thrived. The laughing elf woman appeared before her as if a reflection on a still pool. Tsarra liked her face with its deep dimples and broad smile. The image scattered, only to be replaced by another, as if a breeze blew through the sharn and disturbed its surface.
The male’s voice matched the seriousness of his tone. Greater still is your burden to come. Know you are of our blood, thin though it may be.
The bald woman’s visage shimmered into Tsarra’s sight, and she leaned forward to kiss her on both cheeks. So open and closed all at once. She knows and ignores both heart and head. Half an elf, half a woman, but always stronger than you believe yourself, like so many. Your strength shall carry us all this day. You only need unlearn your limitations.
And here I thought Khelben was cryptic, Tsarra mused to herself.
I heard that. Khelben’s voice whispered from her other side, and it felt like he took her right arm as the bald elf woman had taken up her left. There is no difference here between thought and voice, Tsarra. Now, for all our sakes, listen to them. Hear them.
Tsarra felt her neck get hot, which it always did when her temper rose. I’m willing to play my part, but someone had better ask soon, rather than assume I’m able and willing to do what you need me to.
Good. The gravel-voiced elf became the bearer on her left. Stop tamping down emotions. Emotions are the heart of magic. We should not have to tell a sorcerer that.
His face shimmered into the rounder-faced woman who looked up into her eyes and asked, Autumnfire, what would you know? The answers are within you and all of us. Let them in, rather than fight. We awaken to individuality for the first time in millennia. We need ask of you no more than you ask of us, for we are all one. Do not fight this as you do your heart. Let us in, and we shall all understand.
Hamra is right, Tsarra. I’ll be here to help you, if you need me. Khelben’s voice reassured her and grounded her.
Tsarra’s heart felt like it was bursting and she seemed to be breathing very fitfully, but she realized it was simply fear.
They are magic too, in their own ways, but rarely for the good. Fear is ignorance and anger. Unlike most half-breeds, you do not fear one side or the other. You are whole, for you were not raised by fear but love. Humandelf. No division.
Tsarra remembered both her parents repeatedly telling her, “You are not a half-anything. You’re our daughter, you’re whole, you’re loved, and that’s all you ever need to know.” She smiled and relaxed as he sent, Learn what we understand …
Tsarra remembered both her parents repeatedly telling her, “You are not a half-anything. You’re our daughter, you’re whole, you’re loved, and that’s all you ever need to know.” She smiled and relaxed as he sent, Learn what we understand.
Tsarra knew the gravel voice was T’karon, Cor’Selu’-Taar’Miyeritar. The awareness came to her like an awakening. Despite his gruff exterior and voice, T’karon had a kind heart. She understood his simplest pleasure was walking b
arefoot in dew-covered grass. She found herself remembering things that were dust five thousand years before her grandfathers were born. Her eyes welled with tears as she watched the olive-dark stormclouds sting and sear the Syavaeor Fields. She saw the fires choke and sunder the shimmering citadel of Kraanfhaor. She screamed as she felt the sting of the acid rains falling on her—his—her—his skin, and she howled as the whirlwinds shredded stone, wood, and flesh. She felt the fall of cities and armies and fell to her knees beneath the weight of all that tragedy. She sobbed over the corpses of loved ones and beat her breast in memoriam of those fallen at Myth Akherynnar and shaved her head bald to mourn imprisoned far from home and among her enemies.…
Too Much! Khelben’s voice shattered through a thousand memories and feelings to reach her. Grand Mages T’karon, Hamra, and Alunor, Stop!
Khelben’s voice fell away again, as Tsarra was caught once more in the undertow of wave upon wave of memory, emotion, and more power than she’d ever known. She smelled the rewaran blooms beneath a full moon, when Chearel finally proposed, the scent of a healing draught, the sandalwood-and-sawdust scent of his love’s hair, the smell of burnt air in a spellduel … She felt the hot embrace of lovers, the cool stone and the smell of dust and metal as it shaped by his will, the merry drumbeat of her hooves beneath her at full gallop, chasing after Karnoth in the Courting Herd.… More than a thousand minds pressed upon her, but Tsarra focused on one thing she knew very well—Khelben’s voice.
This place is nigh-timeless, but to force her to relive a thousand lifetimes to understand is too much.
Tsarra had never before heard Khelben plead. Only in his own memories did he defer to anyone’s authority. Her senses were awash with hundreds of smells, tastes, touches, and voices, but she clung to his words.
Do not sacrifice who she is for what you need! It is within your power to overwhelm her, possess her, and have her act out your will as a puppet. Do so and you do not realize your dreams or those of your protégé Oacenth. You only repeat the sins you fled from. Do not become Vyshannti!
What scared Tsarra the most was the immediate stillness. No memories, no senses, nothing. She saw the three selu’kiira of the grand mages hovering nearby, the faces and bodies of their bearers hidden from her. She sensed their shame, their anger, and their fears, knowing everything hinged on what happened next. She needed to learn what was expected of her, what they all needed … but to ask them for information was too overwhelming.
Tsarra smiled as she realized the solution. Khelben? I need you to help me speak with Danthra. If everyone can focus on her and send her energy, we can guide her visions toward what we need to know. Is that possible
More than possible, and an ingenious solution that had escaped me. Khelben beamed broadly, and the sparkling crowd returned as the mood lightened. Khelben faced her and the three kiira floated down to form a straight line between Tsarra’s kiira and Khelben’s forehead. Smaller lights glistened off the gems and Tsarra heard the three speaking all around her.
Apologies, Autumnfire. We have been of singular mind
Longer than an age. We have forgotten that not
All minds are ours to use at our will and for our
Purposes. Let us make amends and work together
As friends, not as subjects.
Friendship, too, is a magic and one we needs foster
Anew. Let us speak with the Dreamer and see
What she sees, and from there, we shall seek
The final remnants of our realm—
the seeds of our future.
The seeds of everyone’s future.
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 Faerûn, 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 Faerûn. 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.
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