Blackstaff Tower w-1

by Steven E. Schend

  A sudden twang, and Faxhal snapped backward, a crossbow quarrel lodged in his throat.

  "Careful what you wish for, boy," came the hoarse chuckle from the dark.

  The thief felt both the impact at his throat and the crack at the back of his head when he slammed back on the stone floor. I expected that to hurt more, Faxhal thought. His breath caught in his throat and he found it hard to breathe or move. He lost his grip on his sword and heard it rattle on the stone floor. Oh stlaern, I never got the chance to tell her how pretty her eyes were… or save her from this…

  The last thing Faxhal heard beyond his own heartbeat was a plaintive gasp from Laraelra's throat as she looked down at him. No love poem, but I'll take it, he thought.

  The noise, the smells, the sensations all faded. Faxhal felt lighter and lighter with each heartbeat. Until the heartbeat ended.

  CHAPTER 6

  Even on the slowest night, the dark is never quiet in Waterdeep.

  Borthild "Steelbard," One Seasons Nights and Days Waterdhavian, circa the Year of the Prince (1357 DR)

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

  Jaraelra gasped as Faxhal almost flipped backward. Her signal of true danger was the spray of blood arcing past her own shoulder. She looked down at Faxhal's fallen body in disbelief, the mixture of annoyance and amusement he triggered in her already shifting to horror.

  "Down!" Meloon ripped his axe out of its harness, swinging it up into his hands.

  Vharem grabbed Faxhal by the collar and pulled him out «f the way. By the time Vharem had his friend behind the door near Renaer, Faxhal had stopped moving and his eyes were open and blank. Renaer pulled out a potion vial from his pouch and looked at Vharem, pleading. Vharem shook his head and reached down to close their friend s eyes. Laraelra couldn't hear everything he said, but she did catch "… farewell, little fox."

  Laraelra shouted out a spell, and blue light rippled out of her, clearing the darkness from the corridor. They faced two men in Watch garb, one kneeling and holding a spent crossbow while next to him an older man with an eye patch waited with a sword and shield. Behind them both stood Samark "Blackstaff" Dhanzscul, the gem atop his staff flaring red.

  Samark waved his hand and red bolts flew from his fingers. Two slammed into Meloon's broad chest, and he grunted but held his ground. Three more arced at Laraelra but skittered around her, feeling like lightning-charged rain on her skin, before they launched themselves back at the Blackstaff.

  Laraelra focused, despite the distraction of the Blackstaff’s spell, and cast another spell of her own. She pulled up an amber energy that crackled among her fingers until she pointed at Samark and said, "Drialrokh!"

  That bolt hit its target unerringly-his throat. Laraelra smiled as she watched color drain from the already-pale face of the Black-staff when he realized he could not speak. The wizard turned and ran, to the surprise and anger of his two guards. The eye-patched one stepped forward, yelling, "Get that crossbow restrung or draw your blade, boy! They'll not be much bother for us, e'en without hisself."

  "Meloon?" Laraelra shouted as she stepped back and to the side of the opening.

  Meloon jumped into the corridor, swinging his axe wide with both hands, forcing the corridor's two guardians to shuffle back a bit from the door. "Hope I'm bothersome enough, one-eye."

  The older man grumbled and spat in Meloon's path, but he and his companion backed up farther from the swinging axe.

  Laraelra looked down at Faxhal, caught both Vharem and Renaer's eyes, and whispered, "Avenge him."

  Renaer's reached into his wide sleeves and pulled a dagger from each one.

  Vharem drew a short sword out of his belt and whispered to Renaer, "Didn't think we'd need these, but thanks for the loan."

  The sorceress looked up and saw the younger guard raising his spanned crossbow. She concentrated, waved her hand, and the crossbow quarrel flipped out of the stock just as he pulled the trigger.

  Renaer dived and rolled in a somersault, staying low but moving forward. Vharem stepped into the corridor's opening after Renaer, holding a dart in one hand and a short sword in the other. Renaer stopped in a crouch before the guard, adding the momentum of his roll to his two thrown daggers. One missed, sailing past the guard's shoulder, but the second one hit him in his hand, forcing him to drop the crossbow. The guard kicked out at Renaer with little effect. Vharem let his dart fly and hit the young guard in the thigh. He stayed back behind Renaer and Meloon, who parried the older man's blade with his axe.

  "You've had good teachers if you're not taking the first swing at me, boy," the gravel-voiced man said to Meloon. "Too bad you gave up your only advantage." The older man stabbed his long sword forward and Meloon brought his axe up, making the blade scrape along his mail shirt instead of piercing it. Meloon countered by swinging the double-bladed axe back down toward the man's side. The older man brought around a shield, and the loud clash of weapon and shield filled the corridor.

  Laraelra stood back at the corridor's opening, harnessing her anger at letting the Blackstaff escape as she thrust quicksilver-colored missiles at the two guards. She willed one upon each of them, and the young guard fell over with a choked cry.

  "You little traitors'll pay for that," the man grunted, as he stabbed again at the dodging Meloon. "You have no idea what you've stumbled into."

  The man backed up the corridor, his features masked in hatred. Meloon pressed forward, and Laraelra could not see his face.

  "Granek Ruskelver, I remember you," Renaer said. "You were drummed out of the Watch last year for accepting bribes and conduct unbecoming a Watchman."

  Granek flinched, looked down briefly at Renaer, and his singular eye shot him a look of revulsion. "You got no idea how this city really is, rich boy. You'll find out what happens when you trip over the plans of the mighty. I did my job well for Ten-Rings, and no young sellsword's gonna drop me!" Granek swung hard and fast at

  Meloon, who brought his arm up. The sword scored a long, wound along his left forearm, crossing two thick white scars from some previous battles. When Meloon shoved his axe up to force the blade away, the sword's point stabbed into the mortar in the wall.

  Granek's eyes widened as he tugged to free his weapon, and Meloon brought the axe down hard on Granek's overextended right leg. Granek screamed as he fell to the ground, clutching the stump of his leg and groaning. After a few moments, he passed out.

  Meloon whispered, "I'm still striding. How about you?"

  Steven E. Schend

  Blackstaff Tower

  Renaer stood, noting he and Meloon had both been sprayed with Granek's blood from his leg wound, and blood already covered the floor. Vharem shoved his way past both of them, muttering, "Want to get that wizard before he can cast on anyone again."

  Laraelra yelled, "Vharem, no! Don't be a fool!" I don't think Renaer could handle another death tonight, she thought. I don't think I could either.

  Meloon reached out for him and grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulling Vharem short. "Don't let Faxhal's death make you run to your own."

  Vharem shot Meloon a look mixed with anger and grief, then shrugged off Meloon's grip, only to find Renaer blocking his path.

  "Don't lose your head," Renaer said, his eyes welling with tears. "We will get that wizard, but I don't want to lose another friend tonight. We're here to save someone, not lose everyone."

  "Caution is good," Laraelra said, "but we do have to hurry. That spell I hit the Blackstaff with won't last long. I can try it again, but he may have some defenses up against it now. Our best bet is to find and save that woman. We'll avenge Faxhal another night."

  "I'll take point. I'm a bit tougher than the rest of you," Meloon said. He kneeled by the fallen young Watchman and ripped off his sleeve, then wrapped his bloodied forearm in one scrap of cloth and wiped off his axe blade with the rest.

  Laraelra moved closer and helped him wrap his makeshift bandage around his forearm. She whispered, "Thank you, Meloon. If he'd
run on ahead…"

  "I know," he muttered. "Seen it happen before."

  "Don't think that you won't get paid," Laraelra said, "just because we're becoming friends. You'll be compensated as agreed this morning." She put the finishing touches on the bandage and pulled it tight, then smiled at the blond bear of a man.

  He returned her smile and said, "Friendships are better currency anyway." From his crouch, he grabbed the empty crossbow off the floor and stood. "Well, what's the plan, Renaer?"

  "All we know about the end of this corridor," Renaer said, "is on my maps and notes-and the fact that we've a very angry archmage, or someone powerful enough to impersonate him. I want to get to the bottom of this, but I don't want to die."

  "We are not leaving without killing him!" Vharem choked. "Don't let Faxhal's death mean nothing!"

  "He meant as much to me as to you," Renaer said, "but I'm not willing to risk our lives. We can go back and I can hire many more sellswords-" -

  "And he'll have us arrested for trying to attack the Blackstaff," Laraelra said, "the Watchful Order, or some other trumped-up charge. And he'll have this area so well protected we'll never get in again or find out who they were torturing or why. We have to do this now, Renaer, risks and all. Let's find the woman we came to save-that is what Faxhal died for."

  The four looked at each other, nodded, and Renaer said, "Very well. Our secret corridor-which they discovered somehow- exits behind a privy. We should turn left and into a corridor lined with doors."

  Vharem lined up behind Meloon, leaving Renaer and Laraelra to cover their backs. As the others moved forward, Laraelra felt something touch her foot. She looked down to see a very weak and trembling Granek, whose lone eye locked on hers. "Help…," he pleaded.

  Renaer stepped over and said, "Even before tonight, Granek, before your lackey killed my friend, you deserved this death. Alone, in the dark, no one to mourn you."

  Renaer kicked the man's grasp loose from Laraelra's boot and moved away, taking the lantern with him.

  Shadows falling on his form, Granek pleaded with Laraelra, "Lass, mercy."

  Laraelra hugged herself, staring at Renaer's back, but she understood his cold anger, remembering her own when she heard his words earlier. She looked Granek in the eye and said, "Nay, before the gods, torturers deserve no mercy. Ask it of Kelemvor when you see him." She snapped her cloak tight around her as she turned to follow Renaer.

  They moved quickly and found Meloon and Vharem stopped by the opened secret door, the privy seat still attached to it and turned to one side.

  "What's the problem?" Renaer asked.

  "No pit," Meloon said, his brow furrowed. He dropped the crossbow and kicked it across the floor, only to watch it disappear through apparently solid stone and clatter loudly as it fell down a shaft. "Hmph. Neat trick, that."

  "How did you know that was there?" Laraelra asked.

  Meloon grinned. "Saw the seat and knew someone had to have dug one. You dig those enough times, you remember how much work is hidden beneath a lot of dung." He knelt, grabbed a loose rock and scratched an X at the near side of the pit. He reached back and said, "Lend a hand, please." He grabbed Vharem's forearm to keep from falling into the hidden shaft and then leaned forward, closing his eyes and tapping ahead with the rock in his hand. When he touched solid rock again instead of illusion, he scratched an X there as well, and said, "Haul me back, Vharem, and then everybody, jump past the second mark!"

  He got to his feet, took his axe in both hands, and jumped across easily. The rest of the group followed suit. As Renaer landed, a woman's harsh screams rang out around the corner.

  The quartet ran around the corner into a slim corridor, two doors lining each side of it. The screams seemed to come from the one on the far right. Meloon starred forward, but Vharem bolted ahead of all of them. He ran to the door, reached for the handle, and his hand passed through the illusion. He stumbled forward, off-balance, and Vharem's world went red as fire exploded all around him. The blast knocked him off his feet and threw him back down the corridor. His sword, dislodged from his left hand, bounced across the hall and hit the opposite door. This too exploded in a blast of flame and heat, but Vharem was already down and the explosion passed over him. With the explosion came another shriek from beyond the door.

  "Vharem!" Renaer yelled, and he rushed to the fallen man.

  His leathers and hair all smoking, Vharem tried to talk but just coughed. Much of his long brown hair fell away in singed clumps, and his face and hands were blistered, but he fought to stand again.

  Renaer dragged him back against the wall and away from the doorways, saying "Rest here, friend. Catch your breath."

  Vharem winced as he flexed his fingers and watched thick, blackened flakes of his skin crack off his hand.

  Renaer pulled out a small vial from his belt. "Drink, V." He poured the contents of the vial over his friend's cracked and soot-stained lips, and the cracks instantly healed. The worst blistering on Vharem's face and hands subsided and returned to his normal skin tone. Even his hair began to regrow.

  "Wow," Vharem said, looking at Renaer and then the vial. "Who knew healing draughts tasted like clover honey, mint, and zzar all in one?"

  "Don'tget used to them," Renaer said. "They're more expensive than your usual bar tab for a tenday."

  "Didn't you need that for whoever was down here?" Vharem asked as Renaer helped him to his feet. "Help her get back on her feet?"

  "I've one left," Renaer said. "Besides, you needed it more. I don't want to lose another friend tonight." Renaer opened his mouth to say more, and then simply hugged Vharem and asked, "Elra? Meloon? Find anything?"

  "Look at the marks on the floor," Meloon said. "It's weird that the blasts stay in the doorway and never slip inside the door. They're also not wooden doors, see?" Meloon shrugged toward the farthest doorway Vharem had approached, and the wooden door was now a prison door of metal bars and naught else.

  Laraelra's concentration showed her the world she loved-the world of magic. She looked at Renaer, her eyes filled with a sea of stars, then she looked intently at the corridor, the doors, and the floor. "I'm seeing magic all around here. The-remnants of the spells Vharem triggered match. the auras on those two other doors." She pointed at the doors they had all run past, one on each side of the passageway. "I'm also seeing some lingering but powerful magic. I think it's an illusion of some kind. It's dotting around here, as if it's-"

  "Footprints?" Renaer asked.

  "Exactly," she replied, snapping her fingers. "You're right, Renaer. Whoever's posing as the Blackstaff only wears his shape. If nothing else, I think he's gone, as the trail heads up the passage and turns."

  "Help me!" A voice cried through the first left-hand door.

  Laraelra snapped her head in the door's direction, her concentration shattered. She held up her hand and waved everyone away from the door, then tossed some pebbles at the door. The illusory door exploded with flaming fury, but no one stood in its path. Renaer and Vharem found it was a locked wooden door, just like it seemed. The pair kicked it twice before the lock broke and the door swung inward, scraping against the stone floor.

  Inside the room, a young woman lay spread-eagled and strapped to a table, blades and other torture implements on the tables around her. Her long red hair matted on the table or to her head with sweat and blood. The gown she wore was reduced to tattered rags, and her feet were visibly injured within iron boots with ankle screws. She saw her three saviors at the door and whimpered, "Please! Get me out of here before he comes back!"

  Vharem and Renaer rushed forward, pulling at the blood-soaked leather straps and unscrewing the iron boots. Laraelra wove a minor magic to repair the woman's tattered gown. The woman gasped, "Don't know what they wanted, but they kept hitting me! And my feet! Oh blessed Ilmater, my feet!" She wailed as Laraelra and Vharem removed the boots, but her black-and-blue flesh hardly resembled feet at all, given how many bones were shattered in them.

  Vhare
m asked, "What's your name?"

  "Charrar," she replied. "I'm a dancer at the Ten Bells on Brondar's Way."

  "What did they want with you?" Laraelra asked.

  "I don't know!" Charrar said, but whimpered slightly when Vharem picked her up off the table. "They just kept hurting me, and the Blackstaff just stood there smiling!"

  Laraelra started to ask, When did they bring you here? but stopped herself. Something didn't smell right here, though the stench of blood was real enough.

  Renaer reached into his belt pouch and said, "I've got something that may help."

  "Hang on, Renaer," Laraelra said, resting her hand on his forearm and another over the cork-stoppered ceramic tube he held. "Wait, in case someone has lethal injuries, hmm?" She looked around the room and asked, "Where's Meloon?"

  A loud, piercing scream came from out in the hall, and Meloon stuck his head in the room to say, "Elra, come look over here. I hear the screaming, but there's nothing here. It's really irritating… and repetitive."

  Laraelra walked to the doorway, but as she passed Renaer, she arched her eyebrows at him, her back to Charrar. His eyes widened, but he nodded.

  Laraelra exited that room and breathed deeply, then coughed. I don't know what's worse, she thought, the smell of blood in there or of singed Vharem out here.

  She crossed the corridor where Meloon stood, angry. "I ran down that way while you checked the room. That bastard sealed off the corridor leading out of here with stone. I couldn't find a door, even though I saw scratches where a door scraped the floor for years."

  "That's probably an illusion of a solid wall," Laraelra said, "if not a conjured wall itself."

  "Did I mention how much I hate illusions?"

  "So which room again?" Laraelra asked. As if on'cue, the scream pierced the air again. Obviously coming from the room on the far right. "You're right. Really irritating." She shared a smirk with Meloon as they approached the room, and Laraelra concentrated, summoning her ability to see magic. The prison-bar door stood partially open from Vharem's disturbing it, and Laraelra looked at the threshold. "There's an illusion set right inside the door." She tapped her toe lightly on the blue-gray puddle of magic, and the screams ended abruptly. Her eyes widened, and she peered intently at the far corner of the room. "This room is clean. No other magic in play that I can see."