Blackstaff Tower w-1

by Steven E. Schend

  As the Blackstaff willed his own iridescent illusion up the stairs, the two young men followed it without hesitation. While the woman had initially struggled against the magic, she followed them as ordered.

  After a few moments, the Blackstaff returned to the cellars and said, "I'm sorry if I acted out of turn. Too many questions."

  "It got them out of here, and that's all that matters to me right now," Khondar replied. "If the woman hadn't resisted your spell, I'd not have had to waste one on her. Still, should we need to, I can influence her and keep watch on her activities over the next tenday or more."

  "Well, not one person blinked as the pattern led them out onto the alley and headed toward Trollkill Street," the Blackstaff said. "I've put an arcane lock on the front door so we won't be disturbed easily now. I'll set up other defenses later."

  "They should have been in place already," Khondar said, turning away from his son. "Let's get to work, then."

  Samark flinched, looked back upstairs, and then asked, "Shouldn't we ensure they don't talk to anyone? Or at least find out what they know for certain?"

  "They may actually prove useful. She cannot say anything due to my spell's enchantment. As for Renaer, his well-known habits for avoiding responsibility and his reluctance to implicate his father should keep him quiet as well. The sellsword… well, who's going to believe a sellsword over the Blackstaff and the Watchful Order?"

  The Blackstaff s eyes shifted to gray as he spoke, "True, but they could cause problems-like they did here. There's no way they could have heard her, Father." His form wavered, then solidified into Centiv's younger leather-clad form. The pale, balding face melted into one far younger with a full head and beard of chestnut-colored hair.

  "Well, they heard something, Centiv, and it led them here," Khondar said. "Just open the door, while I figure out what to do next."

  Centiv approached the wall and opened the rack-door as Renaer had earlier. His ring flashed bright blue, and when he pushed the rock in the wall, a door recessed into the wall, exposing a well-lit spiral stair leading down.

  "I have enough friends and influence to turn the public's trust against them before they can interfere," Khondar said as they descended. "They've played into our hands perfectly. After all, many saw them come here, while we enter and exit invisibly. Should anything get exposed, they're the ones caught on the hook. Dagult will most likely protect his son from the worst of it, which makes the brunt of it fall on that skinny girl and her barbarian friend. Either way, it forces all parties to cover for us, should anything leak out."

  "I know I've seen that scrawny woman before, but I can't place her," Centiv said. "She's not a member of our guild, though perhaps she should be, given her resistance to my spell."

  "What she should be is grateful I chose to waste that domination spell on her instead of blasting her and her meddlesome friends to ashes." Khondar punched his fist into his other palm. "Now we lose another day before I can get answers!"

  Centiv said, "Then that's another day in which we find more folk to rally to our cause-freeing knowledge for the guild from the grasping hands of private mages like the Blackstaff."

  "Yes, yes, of course," Ten-Rings said, as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. The chamber they entered was merely another nondescript cellar by all appearances. The elder nodded to his son, who used the staff he carried to tap three stones in succession at one corner of the ceiling. In response, a secret door slid open, the walls and floor unfolding into yet another secret stair. Screams pierced the air.

  "That's the only part I hate." Centiv shuddered. "I know we're doing all this for the city's good, but do we really need to torture her to get the answers we need?"

  "Unfortunately, we do, lad." Khondar sighed. "Samark and all the Blackstaffs keep secrets they should share with the guilds, the "Lords, and others. It's how they maintain their mystique, their stranglehold on power-they keep their secrets, even when it harms the City around them.

  "We do this only because this woman, like too many, would rather maintain the way things have always been done." Ten-Rings sneered. "She wants our fair city to stay under the control of the money-grubbing merchant classes and foreign interests. Wizard rulers would never allow Sembian shades to infiltrate the palace. We'll restore things to right, son. We will. We'll clean up this city. All we need are the keys to the tower and its magic. The sooner that outlander bitch gives them up, the sooner her pain will end."

  Ten-Rings exited the stair into a tiny chamber only as wide as a staff's length. Set into the wall facing them was a small niche holding a handful of tomes and beneath it a number of vials in a wooden box. He snatched up a vial as he stormed through the open doorway to the left of the stair. A pair of doors lined the hallway on both sides, and all the noise came from the nearest room on Khondar's right.

  The woman lay strapped to a rough wooden table, bound spread-eagled with each hand and foot bound to a corner of the table. Her clothes were whole, though rent to expose her limbs and her midriff. Blood dripped or dried on nearly every exposed bit of skin. A large metal clamp encircled her right knee, bending it unnaturally to one side. Obscene black bruising and bleeding around a clamp at her left hip showed that her interrogator had also shattered that bone in his ministrations. Numerous cuts along her arms, legs, and stomach had long since scabbed over. Her face held half-healed bruises days old, and her lower lip was a mass of scabs. She lay senseless, breathing heavily but irregularly, and her eyes were closed. Her short dark hair lay matted to her head with sweat and grime. Blood-both dried and otherwisecoated the table beneath her.

  The man standing over her shoved a dirty rag into the pulsing wound on her left forearm as he withdrew a nail, sighing as he did so.

  "Has she told you anything, Granek?" Khondar asked, and the man whirled around. Granek was short, stripped to the waist, and covered with hair, dirt, and blood. His graying hair hung loose and long, its receding hairline making it look like his hair slipped to the back of his head. The eye patch over his right eye failed to cover the two scars that crossed his forehead, temple, and upper cheek. He dropped the nail and hammer onto a side table and wiped the blood from his hands onto a rough leather apron and breeches he wore. Granek shook his head and went to a water bucket, raising the dipper to his lips.

  "The lass has spirit, aye," Granek said after wiping his mouth with his forearm. "As we'd planned, she had two days to heal before we went at her again this morning. All she's given me are screams and a few insults directed at me mam. Oh, and a few for you as well, Khondar."

  "Address him as Guildmaster, dog!" Centiv snapped "Show some respect!"

  Granek glared at the younger man and said, "You need me, and I still need to be paid. Gold gets you my respect, as I've done more for you than you've for me. Besides, we're all out on the plank together here. Show some manners yourself, lad."

  Centiv's fingers crackled with energy and he began mouthing a spell, but Ten-Rings rested a hand over his fingers and said, "Enough. You should not be so easily baited." He then turned his attention to Granek, and said, "And you should not presume to be more important than you are, hireling, or you shall find out how adept I am at doing magically what you do mechanically. Now, give her this, so we might talk." He handed the vial through the bars to Granek, who snatched it away with anger.

  Granek stalked to the woman's side, muttering, "Waste of a good potion, ask me." He opened her mouth, but stopped as Ten-Rings cleared his throat.

  "Maybe you should remove the clamps to allow her to heal?" said Ten-Rings. "We already know how well she screams, and don't need to hear it for this discussion."

  Granek frowned and tucked the vial into a pouch. He removed the clamp from her left hip, and she groaned. Even Centiv shuddered as Granek removed the knee clamp and her leg moved like its bones were no more than gravel in a bag. Granek retrieved the vial and poured its contents into her mouth, manipulating her throat to force her to swallow. He then pulled the rag out of her forearm, wh
ich made blood flow freely again.

  Within moments, the blood stopped flowing and the woman's old and new bruises faded beneath her dark skin. She shed the scab on her lip as-that wound healed, and her hip and knee returned to their normal positions. Her indigo-colored eyes darted open and she snapped her head up to stare at Granek, then beyond the bars at Centiv and Ten-Rings.

  "Does that feel better, Vajra?" said Granek.

  "I'd thank you for healing me, but I know you don't do it for my sake. We've danced this dance before, Khondar," Vajra said. "I won't give you the knowledge you seek."

  Ten-Rings sighed and said, "To think you came to this city to join my guild-"

  "Your guild?" she laughed. "Does the Watchful Order know they're your personal servants?"

  "Better that than lackeys of the Blackstaff," he said.

  Centiv added, "Or whores of the same."

  "Centiv"-Vajra shook her head-"so much power stunted by sycophantic adulation. Thirty years here and still no life without Father?"

  Centiv's knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists.

  "You wizards are all the same-all talk, no action," Granek said. He leaned onto Vajra's recently healed knee, and she inhaled sharply and grimaced. Granek cackled. "Just 'cause you're healed don't mean you're healthy. So tell us what we want to know. Tell us how to enter Blackstaff Tower safely."

  She opened cobalt blue eyes and stared past Granek at Khondar. "Ye only need courage and a Blackstaff. Dare ye pick one up?"

  "Tell me what the books are for," Ten-Rings said, "and we'll stop the pain. Grant us entry into the tower, and we'll end this once and for all."

  Vajra laughed a deep laugh, and then opened wine purple eyes to stare at Centiv. "Why did your father bring you here from Sundabar, Centiv? Did he need a scribe? Or were you just his only child to swallow every lie?"

  "Keep this up and you'll part with your life, Vajra Safahr," Ten-Rings whispered. "We saw the Blackstaffs death give you an influx of power. Who's to say that power won't transfer to one of us upon your death?"

  "We've been threatened by worse than fools like you who conjure enemies whenever he's denied any desire," Vajra said, glaring at him with sea green eyes. "The enemies you've always seen-from Sundabar to Athkatla to Waterdeep-were all your own fear or your own incompetence. Now, you tell yourselves you do this for Waterdeep. You delude yourselves. You do it for yourselves alone. The power you seek you neither deserve nor understand. Your teachers weep in the afterlife for your failures."

  Granek growled and struck Vajra hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. As she fought to breathe, he said to Ten-Rings, "I'll get more answers out of her and tell you later. You'd best go, as all you three do is trade insults."

  Khondar shook his head and punched his palm in anger. Centiv stalked out of the dungeon, through the entry chamber, and through the other door past the stairwell leading up. When en

  Ten-Rings caught up to him at the end of the long hallway, the two of them stared at the Duskstaff, which hovered a foot off the floor in the center of the circular chamber

  "It took a lot of magic to bring this here," Centiv said, "but with some illusions and Cral's ring, I can make it seem like I'm carrying it. We could take it to the tower and see if that truly does get us in. Beyond that, I'm sure the two of us can handle whatever the tower throws at us. It's obvious she doesn't deserve the powers hidden away in there."

  "I've no doubt, Son," Khondar said, "but patience. She has secrets yet to be slipped, and I'd rather not face that tower without knowing we'll easily exit again. I'll not walk into a trap laid by Samark or one of his predecessors. We've wasted too much time. Go wander a bit and be sure to be seen as Samark. I have a guild meeting to attend. Do make sure the house and these cellars are properly warded this time."

  CHAPTER 5

  Were this humble scribe to note all those who fell before and behind to place such heroes upon their path, this account wouldst be lengthier still for all the blood and bone upon it.

  Khel Largarn, Heroes Legendary and Others Still, Year of the Quill (1397 DR)

  9 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

  Selune and her Tears gleamed in the clear night sky, the lunar satellites illuminating the steam that rose from the mouths of those arguing in the cold night. The figures worked their way cautiously off Heroes' Walk and around to the south along Gunarla's Dash. Their boots scraped the frost-rimed cobblestones. Although they were among the few out on foot in this neighborhood, they did their best to remain in the shadows, hugging the rough wooden walls of the buildings. The moonlight glistened off the tile roofs up ahead, but Renaer couldn't spot anyone standing watch over the alleys. He waved his friends along, but their bickering continued.

  "I'm just saying if you're a sorceress, why not conjure a few lights and save us the lamp oil and the smoke?" Vharem whispered.

  "Magic is more precious than lamp oil, fool," Laraelra snapped. "Besides, it also attracts drifting glow-globes, so it would make it harder to hide. Now would you get out of my way?"

  "Why do you need to be right next to Renaer?" Faxhal asked. "Sweet on him already? Fast work, Neverember."

  Both Renaer and Laraelra hissed, "Shut up!" Faxhal merely grinned in response.

  "Hey," Meloon said in an excited whisper, pointing to his right. "I've been in that tavern. Had my pocket picked, but recovered my loss in the fight after. Anybody else try The Mysticslake?"

  "Will you all be quiet?" Renaer said. "We don't want to draw more attention than we already have."

  "There's no one else out here, Ren," Vharem said.

  "I want to keep it that way," he replied. "Besides, don't you always say that's when you should be more nervous? When you can't see who's watching?"

  "What'reyou so worried about?" Faxhal asked.

  Renaer threw his hands up. "We're about to break into a powerful wizard's house-even his ownership of it is suspect-and you're asking me what I'm worried about?"

  Renaer paused at the alley intersection. The rest halted behind him, and Faxhal bumped into Laraelra. A lamppost illuminated the north side of Roarke House, the south sides of another of his warehouses, and the slate-tiled Kendall's Gallery. From this angle, the group could see the lights ablaze in the windows of the Halaerim Club across Kulzar's Alley. The windows of Roarke House were all dark. Renaer tugged his hood low and rushed past to the door of the building on his left. Renaer shrugged and then rotated his shoulders a few times, releasing some tension along with a long exhale. He rummaged in his belt pouches for the key he needed.

  "I get it," Faxhal whispered. "He's worried because of you. He doesn't know if he can count on you."

  "He can count on us," Meloon snapped at Faxhal. "You're the ones late to the party, as I see things. Laraelra and Renaer spent most of the day reading up on the old passages 'neath these buildings. You and he just showed up looking for a free meal and drinking."

  "Like we always do," Vharem said. "We weren't expecting a home invasion on Gunarla's Dash. Not that lack of planning makes it any less fun."

  "Please, let's keep talking until the Watch finally hears us," Laraelra grumbled.

  Renaer grunted as he turned the key in the long-unused and rusted lock, and he pushed the scraping door inward. He turned and nodded at Vharem and Meloon, who both lit their lanterns and brought them up as the five of them shuffled inside. Renaer barely spoke louder once inside. "Welcome to Gildenfires, friends. Watch where you step."

  The long-abandoned festhall still had some furniture and decor intact, but all could see why the place had been abandoned since the reign of the previous Open Lord. Scorch marks marred the paintings and half-burned gold draperies along the walls. Massive holes yawned in numerous places in the ceiling and floor.

  "What happened here?" Meloon asked.

  "A battle among some wizardly patrons," Vharem said. "No one could get any charges upheld, though. These men had so many people scared or bought. Rumor has it they were high-ranked members of th
e Watchful Order. Because the festhall operators couldn't claim restitution, they went broke and this building's been empty for twelve years. Dagult chose not to fix the place and just had it boarded up."

  "Too bad, really." Faxhal sighed. "This place had some great attractions in its day."

  "How would you know?" Laraelra asked. "You would have only been twelve or thirteen when it closed."

  Faxhal winked at her in response, and Renaer chuckled as he saw Laraelra blush.

  "Let's keep moving," Renaer said. He led the five of them past the piles of rubble and around the holes in the floor toward the kitchen. Other than their footsteps on the creaking floorboards, the squeals of rats fleeing were the only sounds.

  "So remind me again why we're not out having a fine evening entertaining our new companions?" Vharem asked.

  "I'm having fun," Meloon said.

  "How many times do we have to tell you?" Laraelra said. "Meloon and I heard someone being tortured somewhere beneath this area. We just couldn't get to her."

  "So why don't we use the way you two came before?" Faxhal asked.

  "We couldn't reach it before," said Laraelra. "The guild should already be at work repairing that breach. Besides, I don't want word to reach my father that I'm-"

  "Fraternizing with the high and mighty oppressors of us all?" Renaer smirked, his tone rising to a rough voice with a nasal high pitch.

  Laraelra's jaw dropped and she said, "By the gods, that's a pitch-perfect impression of him! I didn't think you'd met him that often."

  "Once was enough, I'm afraid," Renaer said. "Your father's rants disrupted a rather pleasant party I attended at the Jhoniron Club last summer down in Castle Ward. As for the impression, my apologies. I don't always realize when I'm mimicking someone's accent."