“What happened?” Renaer asked.
His long-time friend looked at him, opened his mouth, and then closed it, shaking his head. “Not for me,” he whispered. “Told me so.”
Meloon, who had been awestruck when he entered, stepped up, but Osco leaped up onto the stump to straddle the axe’s handle and pull on it as hard as he could. His efforts were useless, other than to make Vharem chuckle and Renaer and Meloon smile. The half-ling opened his eyes after another strained attempt, and shrugged. “Had to try, didn’t I? I get the feeling this thing’s meant for the big guy.”
“That thing probably weighs as much as you do, Osco.” Renaer said. “If you’d drawn it, how could you have used it?”
“Fetch a fair price for the gems, the silver, the dragonskin,” Osco ticked off items on his fingers to Renaer’s gut-wrenching horror, and then giggled when he saw Renaer’s face. He winked at Vharem and said, “I’m not sure. Has he always been this easy to tease?” Osco hopped off and clapped Meloon on the calf as he walked out of the room. “Go to it, big man.”
Meloon reached over and grabbed the haft of the axe. Blue flames flared around the axe and the warrior. Renaer and the others flinched back, but Meloon stayed transfixed and seemed unharmed by the blue fire.
A bitter wind whistled around Meloon, who found he stood alone on a wooded plateau, seedling trees and shrubs slapping his knees in the wind. He whirled around to the familiar sight of Mount Waterdeep. But all else was strange. No city, no roads crossed the plain where he stood, and the mountain lay bare and untouched by any hand but nature’s.
He stood near a crossroads, and he turned toward a rider’s approach. Astride a stallion was a woman clad in chain mail, her face framed by the metal garb and a few stray red locks. She stared down at Meloon, her cerulean eyes freezing him in place. She broke eye contact first and stared east, down the lone dirt path. She looked again at Meloon, then directed her eyes west, down toward the deepwater harbor. Meloon could see a log palisade on the mountain spur where Castle Waterdeep would be, and he could see the Spires of Morning, recognizable as the great temple to Amaunator, even though it was still being built.
Meloon asked, “Am I fallen into yesterday? Is this Waterdeep in the past?”
“Will you fight?” the blue-eyed warrior asked.
Meloon nodded. “If the cause is just.”
“Or the pay is right?” She cocked an eyebrow at the sellsword’s common phrase.
Meloon shook his head. “Take only honest pay from honest folk, or you repay coin with guilt.”
The woman smiled, then tossed a double-bladed axe to him. “If the Black Claws descend upon us, how do we protect the city?” She stared to the east, a cloud of dust rising beyond the trees.
Meloon looked east, then west toward the temple and further down the plateau at what he knew as Dock Ward and she knew as the city. He saw the limited trails, the heavier forest to the northwest, and the cliffs to the east.
“The walls protect the docks and the southern city?” Meloon asked. She nodded, and Meloon pointed with the axe at the trees along the trail. “I’d use my axe to fell the trees and block the trail. That forces any attackers into smaller units among the trees or around the whole plateau to attack along the roads to the south. Either way buys you more time for more defenses—or more ways to pick off the enemies. If you have to, set fire to the undergrowth—the smoke will slow them further, and it shouldn’t harm the trees much.”
The woman smiled and brought her shield up—a serpentine dragon wrapping vertically around a sword resting point down on a green field.
Meloon’s eyes went wide, and he said, “Did you copy that from my memory?”
The woman’s face became unreadable, as she shook her head. “This is my family’s crest. Why?”
Meloon pulled his shirt open to reveal the same emblem—the dragon over the sword—tattooed over his heart and beneath a hairy chest. “It’s my family’s mark of old. The Wardragons of Loudwater. I was told many Wardragons originally settled Waterdeep, but I’d found none in two years in the city.”
The woman dismounted and grasped Meloon by the shoulders. “You found me. You are not only worthy, you are kin. Know me as Lauroun, once-warlord of this place. Now, together, we can both be her defenders.” She grasped his hand around the axe and brought them both up, her eyes framed above the blade. The axe burst into blue flames that matched her eyes.
Meloon’s eyes focused on what he held in his hand. The runes on the axe head flashed three times, and the entire axe flared with blue flames. Meloon whispered, repeating the voice he heard in his head, “May the weapon be as worthy as its wielder, its wielder as worthy as the weapon …”
Meloon blinked and saw the last of the flames wink out as his normal eyesight returned. He came out of the room carrying Azuredge.
Vajra smiled a tight, thin smile, and said, “Good. Wield her well, warrior.” She looked back at the cat-man. “When dawn breaks, the magic that created and tied you here should open. We need to redirect it, pulling us home.” She reached up with a glowing hand and rested it on his cheek. The Nameless Haunt snarled in pain as she sent magic into his head. She muttered, “I’m sorry for it all,” and collapsed into the cat-man’s arms.
“We are too, Blackstaff.” The Nameless stood and carried her out onto the balcony overlooking the forest. The light of dawn lit the eastern horizon. From their high vantage point in the tallest trees of the forest, everyone could see the distant slopes of Mount Waterdeep and the city huddled around it a few miles to the west.
The Nameless Haunt settled Vajra into Renaer’s arms and began weaving a complex spell. He seemed to pull more and more light from the horizon and onto the balcony with them. After a few moments, he turned and said, “Stand here and face the mountain. I’ll send you home.”
“Thank you for everything,” Renaer said. “If there’s anything—”
“Not for us,” the Haunt said. “Get her to her tower. She needs to touch the true Blackstaff soon. Then all may be better.” He looked at them all, then shot a quick look at the eastern horizon and ruffled his wings. “Go now … to where we became. Help her and our city. Tell her we love her always. And be her friend, for a Blackstaff’s life is lonely too.”
The Nameless Haunt’s wings spread full, scattering magic all around and over the group, his black feathers edged and glistening with red-gold energy.
Vajra stirred in Renaer’s arms and said, “Farewell, love.” Tears fell from her hazel eyes and streamed down her cheeks.
The sparkles swirled into a ring of light that settled around and over the six of them. Renaer watched as the air around them grew hazy. The haze shimmered, then a flare of light on its eastern face lit up the entire globe. The silver ring expanded from their feet, rising up around them and above their heads. Renaer closed his eyes and felt his stomach flip, and he had a brief sensation of flight again.
When he opened his eyes, he stood in a small fenced garden, winter bare and frost-rimed. Before him were not the trees of the Pellamcopse but the seaward slopes of Mount Waterdeep. Night still reigned in the skies overhead, but the first rays of dawn lanced beneath the heavy clouds that drifted above from the western sky. What bothered Renaer more was the fact that he stood alongside Osco, but the others had disappeared.
CHAPTER 13
In efforts to avoid the worst of the Second Pestiliars, those who could afford it built upward, scaling the mountain and building upon it, as old protections kept them from burrowing into Mount Waterdeep. Mountainside was borne of panicked nobles and a need for cleaner air.
Kuldhas of Waterdeep,
A Walk in My City,
Year of Azuth’s Woe (1440 DR)
11 NIGHTAL, YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Renaer did not often come to this area of Mountainside, but he knew the cobblestone road he faced was Mandarthen Lane because of the bright blue doors on every building and the white-stone tiles on the roofs. He also knew most folk, who
disliked the abusive Mandarth noble clan and its whaling-derived riches, referred to it as the “Ambergrislide.” Below them, Osco and Renaer could see the morning shift change of the Watch on the west wall, as lights bobbed along the length of the walls, new watchmen climbing the tower stairs with torches.
Osco smacked Renaer behind his knees, causing him to fall and land hard on his back. Before he could yell at the hin, the halfling’s hairy hand covered his mouth, and Osco’s face came close with his index finger at his mouth, signaling quiet. Renaer relaxed, but fought the urge to cough, as a foot patrol of Watchmen wandered past them. They were close enough that Renaer and Osco overheard snatches of conversation.
“—said there’s an extra bonus in our pay if we can catch them without the Watchful Order’s interference!”
“You ever had to chase him? Renaer Neverember’s a greased fish that slips the net every time.”
“When it don’t matter, maybe. Now, with the murders in Ravencourt, he’ll be caught. And he’s got friends. They’ll be easily enough caught, and then—”
“What? He’ll come for them? Anyone who’ll do what he did to the Blackstaff’s heir isn’t worried about retribution and hardly cares what happens to others!”
A third rougher voice growled at the chattering Watchmen. “Less jabber, more seeking, fools!”
“They’d stand out too easily up here,” the first voice said. “There’s no one awake and on the streets but a few servants heading downslope to fetch mornfeast for their masters.”
Renaer could now make out the Watch patrol passing directly in front of their position on the other side of the iron-rail fence. If they looked even an arm span in their direction …
In the distance, Renaer heard some commotion, and Osco whispered, “Somethin’s disturbed some dogs.”
A few breaths later, the shadowed pack of four Watchmen started, as a horn sounded a few streets over.
“Let’s see where our fellows need our help!” said one of the Watchmen.
They ran east and up over the slope of the mountain, leaving Osco and Renaer behind them. The two of them exhaled in relief, their warm breath clouding the air around them.
“Sorry, Renaer,” Osco said, brushing snow and frost off the human’s cloak and vest. “No time for warning. How you humans avoid trouble with such poor eyes and ears is beyond me.”
“I suspect avoiding trouble’s not on our agenda today,” Renaer said. “You heard them and that horn. How much would you wager they’ve spotted some friends of ours and sounded the alarm?”
Osco beamed a broad smile. “Haven’t had a tussle with the Watch in four days myself. Let’s see if we can trip them up without them being the wiser, eh? We’ll head up Gorarl’s Way and over to Tybrun Ridge, right?” With that, the halfling slipped through the wide rail fence and scampered off into the shadows.
“Osco!” Renaer whispered harshly, but not too loud to draw attention. “I meant we should—grrr!”
Renaer got up and found he could not slip between the rails as the hin did. He found the gate and eased it open with only some noise from its hinges. He headed in the same direction as the halfling and the Watch, and he found it easy to know what direction to travel by seeing the scuffs in the mostly undisturbed frost on the street. He just hoped they’d reunite with their friends before anyone got caught.
Laraelra slipped and began to fall as the ground under her proved too icy. She felt someone catch her, but she could not see with the rising sun lancing in her eyes. Shielding her face, she realized that Vharem stood behind her, and he kept his feet despite the ice. “Thank you, Vharem,” she said.
“Any time I can help damsels in distress.” He grinned.
“Any idea where we are?” Laraelra asked as she regained her footing and looked around. The two of them stood in an open court that sat higher on the mountain slope than most of its surrounding one- and two-story buildings. In the shadows of the buildings, untouched by the rising sun, furred creatures stirred and stretched. One or two dogs slipped into the sunlight and approached the two humans, growling and apprehensive.
“Stlaern,” Vharem whispered. “Elra, back out of here as calmly as you can, but quickly.”
She tried but found her way blocked by another growling dog, a Moonsharran mastiff. “Where are we?”
Vharem did not answer. He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew three large hunks of dried venison, which he now waved to spread the scent. He whispered, “I’m going to toss these. Then we run.”
The court exploded with color and light and numerous yelps. Laraelra grinned as Vharem turned to find her casting her spell. She clapped her hands together as if brushing off dust, and said, “Or I can take care of a pack of dogs with a simple spell.”
“You didn’t get them all—run!” Vharem threw the venison to her right. His aim was true, and the mastiff caught the largest hunk of meat in his jaws instead of lunging at the sorceress. Other dogs now fought over the unclaimed meat as Vharem and Laraelra ran out of the enclosed court and into the small street.
Vharem looked left, saw a number of folks heading east toward them with hands raised to see against the rising sun. Two wore Watch colors. Vharem pulled her to the right and the two ran. No other steps disturbed the morning frost on the streets in this direction. Laraelra realized they were up in Mountainside, racing down the northern slopes of Mount Waterdeep. This road ran parallel and just one block east of Tybrun Ridge, the slope edge of the mountain. She recognized no buildings, as she’d rarely entered Mountainside.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“Wildhound Court,” Vharem said as he steered them to the right and onto a wider street that curled back north almost immediately, but ran lower on the slopes. “Whenever dogs get loose up on the mountain, as they do when drunken nobles stagger home in early morn, the dogs get drawn to that court and form a wild pack, no matter how good-tempered they might be normally. Oftimes, folk who wander into it at night are found dead by full morning. It has something to do with some old curse left over from the warlords’ time or something. Here!”
Vharem pointed, and he and Laraelra swung left into another court that had an exit opposite them. He rushed them both toward a baker’s window just opening for morning business. He flipped a few coppers toward the young apprentice and said, “Fresh bread, and hurry.”
The entire time they stood there, Vharem never stopped tapping his foot.
“Do we have time for this?” she asked in a fierce whisper.
“We’ve got to let those Watchmen go by.”
“But why are you nervous now?” Laraelra asked. “You weren’t even this twitchy against that fake Blackstaff two nights ago.”
“I was sure he didn’t know me or carry a grudge,” Vharem said. “There’s a few Watchmen up here who really don’t like me, and I need to get both of us out of here. We need to find the others. Why didn’t we arrive together?”
“I don’t know,” Laraelra said, “but don’t worry. We’ll find them.”
“I’ll worry. I’ve played some pranks on the Watch up here.”
The apprentice baker reappeared with two piping hot loaves, which he handed over nervously, apologizing for the slow service. Vharem handed one to Laraelra and moved to keep on walking, when the court exit was blocked by a Watch patrol. One of them pointed, and the rest chuckled. Vharem and Laraelra turned on their heels to leave the way they had come, only to find the Watch armar blocking their way.
The tall man, whose remaining long black hair was tied behind his shaved scalp, rubbed his head and smiled at Vharem without saying a word. He simply pulled his signal horn up to his lips and blew. The high, clear sound echoed in the court.
“Oh parhard,” Vharem and Laraelra swore.
Meloon’s eyes remained clouded, the haze of silver replaced by a full blue glow. He saw Lauroun’s face again, her cerulean eyes, hawklike nose, and strong brow beneath a chain mail headpiece. She smiled at him, and mouthed the words he heard in
his head. Home again. Good. Meloon tightened his grip on Azuredge, the axe whose voice spoke to him.
A small hand at his belt steadied him before he fell forward, and he shook his head to clear his eyes. Meloon found Vajra smiling up at him. Her brown eyes became purple and she licked her lips while looking at him. The eyes shifted again to sea green, and she said, “Listen to Lauroun. She’ll never steer you wrong.” Her gaze darted to the magical axe, and she said, “Nameless’s portal only works when the first rays of dawn strike the place where he was born. Alas, we alone arrived on target. The others are near, scattered by some whim of magic attached to this mountain. Perhaps the Godstair interferes …” Her voice trailed off and Meloon followed her gaze to the peak of Mount Waterdeep. When she turned back to look at him, her eyes were brown again. “We have little time and must get to the tower. They can meet us there.”
“No,” Meloon said.
“Don’t argue with me, warrior. Why not?”
“Because you faint. A lot. And I can’t fight and carry you. So we find the others first.” He looked around and found that the cobblestones on which they stood were scorched in the shape of a cat’s head. “Did we do this?”
“The Spellplague did a century ago,” Vajra said, her hazel eyes shining with tears. “It robbed me of both husband and familiar in one magical blow. The magic marked the city forevermore, even though they have changed the stones seven times in and since my lifetime.”
“Vajra?”
“Tsar—Unh,” Vajra said. “Fehlar’s Bones, this hurts! They keep pushing out of my head!”
“Yet another reason why we need the others,” Meloon said, looking out from the intersection in which they stood. The crossroads led straight along the ridge of the mountain to the south, but zigzagged away from their meeting point down the slopes to the west, east, and north. As he looked down to the city, a brief flash of colors flared up in a court south and east of them, and he pointed. “There!”
Blackstaff Tower Page 18