Blackstaff Tower

by Steven E. Schend

  Osco whispered to Vharem, “Hey, V, is this going too easily or is it just me?”

  “No, it’s not just you,” Vharem said, his hand resting on his sword hilt, as he looked around at all those approaching them.

  The group paused to drink at the fountain, and Renaer passed Vajra over to Vharem to stretch out his arms and lean over for a drink. With the group clustered around the fountain, Osco snapped to attention and hopped up onto the fountain’s surrounding ledge. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What makes you say that?” Meloon asked.

  “It just got really quiet, and those two people on the far side of the fountain haven’t stopped talking.” He unfurled a whip at his belt and snapped it out into mid-air—and suddenly the air shivered around them.

  Within a breath of Osco’s whip-snap, nine young wizards wearing the gray robes of the Watchful Order surrounded him and his friends against the fountain.

  “How the gods did he know?” A young mage yelled as he came into sight.

  His companion lurched over, howling and holding his face. He glared at Osco, the welt on his cheek fresh and bleeding. “You’ll pay for that, halfling.”

  All nine of the gray-robes held wands, aimed at Laraelra and her friends.

  CHAPTER 15

  Regrets? I haven’t wasted my time or energy on them for seventy winters, and I’ll not start now. All I do lament are missed opportunities, ignorant fools, absent friends, and good wine spilled.

  Kyriani “Blackstaff” Agrivar, A Life Relentless,

  Year of the Fallen Friends (1399 DR)

  11 NIGHTAL, YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

  It shocked Eiruk Weskur that these accused murderers traveled so brazenly with an injured person, but he held his wand on the large blond barbarian while Sarkap called out, “Renaer Neverember and company, you are to come with us to answer for your crimes!”

  Eiruk knew all of the gray-robes had wands to either paralyze or slow their foes down, but he didn’t trust Mauron or Ulik to not have more potent magics at hand. The pair of them were fanatic followers of Guildsenior Naomal, and they followed his every command. While Eiruk respected the wizard, he could not put his finger on why he felt increasingly nervous around him.

  Some of the younger apprentices seemed scared even while leveling wands at Renaer and his friends, but the Naomal-loyalists seemed happy to provoke a confrontation, including Sarkap.

  “Put down your weapons and throw yourself on our mercy!” Sarkap said.

  Eiruk hated working with these bullies, but his tutors tasked him with cloaking them with illusions to take their targets unawares. Eiruk just wanted answers. He’d only heard about the murder of Vajra that morning and was still numb. She’d been his friend—and now she could never be more than that.

  Renaer held up his hands and said, “As you can see, we can’t be guilty of someone’s murder—”

  “Silence!” Ulik yelled. “Riarlemn!” His wand fired a blue-gray beam, but Renaer leaped forward and down, avoiding it, and it struck the dragon’s head fountain to no effect.

  Renaer answered the attack with a dagger, stopping his roll forward but letting the dagger fly as he did so. The ornate hilt of Renaer’s dagger stuck out of Ulik’s arm, his blood staining the sleeve, and the young man howled as if mortally wounded.

  Eiruk watched in horror as his companions unleashed spell-missiles on every member of the party, including the wounded woman. Her hood fell back as she grunted in pain from the missiles her bearer failed to shield her from. Eiruk’s jaw dropped. It was Vajra—alive!

  His head and heart revolted. Eiruk been ordered to capture her murderers, but here the supposed murderers were protecting her.

  “Stop!” Eiruk yelled, but few were listening. They were all trained in the Art, but most had never been in a magical fight. Thus, the apprentices panicked or, like the bullies Mauron and Sarkap, took advantage of the situation to abuse others. Luckily, those brutes focused on those who fought back, not the helpless like Vajra.

  Eiruk heard Renaer yell for them to stop, but no cooler heads heard him. Laraelra Harsard unleashed a well-aimed blast of colors that knocked out Mauron and blinded two others, but Raman paralyzed her with a bolt from his wand. Renaer’s friend Vharem Kuthcutter, who had set Vajra behind the fountain, slashed an angry wound across Ulik’s arm, making him drop his wand. The bully of the third-year dormitories fainted at the sight of more of his own blood. The halfling wielded his whip effectively and managed to trip Gharill, bouncing the wizard’s head off the cobbles.

  Despite surprise and their better numbers, some younger Watchful Order apprentices panicked, running from the fight when challenged with a blade. The few who remained either missed or aimed only at the biggest target—the blond man named Meloon. However, Eiruk saw the blond man step in front of spells and heard him yell, “Protect Vajra!”

  That’s when Eiruk made his choice. He focused on the remaining three Watchful Order attackers. He wove his spell carefully, and two of his compatriots fell asleep, slumping to the ground, while the third whirled around to face Eiruk in disbelief.

  “Traitor!” Sarkap screamed. “Ten-Rings will kill you!” His attention on Eiruk, Sarkap didn’t even see the halfling’s whip lash out, wrap around his leg, and pull that leg out from under him. All he saw were the cobblestones rushing up at him to send him to oblivion. Eiruk smiled grimly when he saw two broken teeth fly out of Sarkap’s mouth.

  Renaer sighed and said, “Thanks, friend,” though Vharem, Meloon, and Laraelra all glared at Eiruk with suspicion.

  “I did this for Vajra,” Eiruk said. “They said you killed her, but I saw—is she all right?”

  “She will be, if we can get her to—” Laraelra said

  But Vharem interrupted her. “We’re not murderers. Why not call off your dogs?”

  “I tried, but …” Eiruk noticed that some of the wizards were stirring, so he said, “Let’s go. We’ll talk on the way!”

  Renaer nodded and picked up Vajra while Meloon unhooked a massive axe from his back, its edges glistening with blue energy. The axe reminded Eiruk of something, but he didn’t have time to think yet.

  Once the others were past him and down the stairs to the next landing, Eiruk lay a spell down to slow pursuit—he savored the irony of using it to help, not hinder, Renaer and his friends. As he turned to follow the others, Eiruk found Vharem sticking close to him, a naked blade in his hand. “Give me one reason, wizard, and I’ll hurt you worse than your men hurt my friends.”

  “All I care about is her safety,” Eiruk said, pointing at Vajra. “If that’s your goal, we’re on the same side.”

  Yells drew Vharem and Eiruk’s attention behind them on the stairs. Two apprentices had reached the steps where Eiruk’s spell lay, and both slipped as if grease coated the steps. Both fell off the stairs and rolled a bit down the slope of the mountain. Vharem smirked slightly and lowered the point of his blade, but Eiruk knew it would take more to gain the man’s friendship.

  The last wizard on that patrol, a fourth-year named Phalan, lit up the morning sky overhead with green fire. The fireball exploded, and emerald sparks showered down onto Eiruk, Vharem, and the others—but no bystanders on the stairs.

  “Stlaern,” Eiruk swore. “This spell will draw every patrol right to us —Watchful Order and Watch alike!” He and Vharem reached the next landing, halfway down the slope.

  The seven of them, their bodies sharing bright green auras, took refuge behind the only cover they had at this landing. Northspur Rock, like other massive boulders on Mount Waterdeep too large to move out of the way, jutted out of the landing constructed around it. Eiruk joined the others behind the massive house-sized rock, shielding them from immediate view. Only then did he realize they were backed into a corner against a sheer cliff of exposed rock with no way out but the stairs.

  “Good leading, Elra.” The halfling’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I love being cornered.”

  The chorus of “Be quiet
, Osco!” at least gave Eiruk the half-ling’s name.

  “I am Ei—” he started to introduce himself, but he gasped as Vajra woke to his voice. Instead of the intense brown eyes he loved, she stared at him with lettuce green eyes that reminded him of Samark.

  “Eiruk Weskur,” Vajra said. “You may accept Ainla’s son, friends. He can be trusted, now that his path intercepts ours.”

  Eiruk’s stomach felt like it dropped away. Vajra didn’t know his mother’s name—but her mentor did. “Samark?” he asked.

  Vajra nodded. “All of us … we need your help, son.”

  “Help’s what ye need all right,” said a gruff voice. The speaker was a squinting, much-scarred man with a patchy scruff of a beard, a rusty chain shirt, and a large number of friends behind him. Only then did Eiruk remember that Northspur Landing was also a mercenaries’ gathering place. The leader growled out to his followers, “Boys, I hear there’s a price on their heads taller than a tavern. Whatsay we capture these folk before the Watch does it for free? Or before some of them angry wizards yonder steal our bounty?”

  Eiruk gulped as they all turned to meet the voice. A score of grizzled sellswords raised weapons.

  CHAPTER 16

  While I might map all the unseen pockets of magery about the city, I cannot predict the effects visited upon those who trod upon them. Northspur Rock alone has blessed or cursed many a guardsman on the mountain, whether they knew it or no.

  Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun,

  On the Matter of Magecraft and the City,

  Year of the Stalking Satyr (1179 DR)

  11 NIGHTAL, YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

  Sellswords closed in on the party from both sides. Vharem counted at least nine men closing in on them from the far side of the rock, all armed with drawn swords, cudgels, or maces. Laraelra shouted a spell and blasted them with a silent maelstrom of colors; while many of them howled and grabbed at their eyes, only one fell unconscious. Osco jumped up onto the Northspur Rock and scattered caltrops among the men, the sharp metal barbs slowing their advance.

  Between Laraelra and Vharem, Eiruk Weskur swept his arms up as he intoned a spell, and a cloud of glittering golden sparkles erupted among the mercenaries closing in on them from the rock’s southwest side. All but two of them clutched at their eyes and yelled about going blind. Like Vharem and his companions’ green glows, the mercenaries shone in gold light.

  Vharem clapped Eiruk on the shoulder and nodded his thanks. “That helps, but we’re still trapped. Come, Meloon—Osco’s got the right idea. We need the high ground to tackle a lot of them!”

  Vharem scrambled up the rougher side of the Northspur and found the halfling whipping sling stones down on the heads of blinded mercenaries and cackling with glee. “I liked the sneaking-about plan better, V!”

  “Me, too.” Vharem sighed, as he showered the larger crowd near Vajra and Renaer with caltrops of his own.

  Meloon clambered up the rough outcropping, his axe dangling from his wrist by a strap. Once Meloon stood next to him atop the rock, Vharem saw the bright blue flames suffusing the axe head.

  Atop the Northspur, Vharem saw how dire a situation they were all in. Four of them were hemmed in between the rock and the cliff face by twenty sellswords. From above and below, wizards flew in their direction.

  “What do you think we should do?” Vharem said. When he turned and looked up at Meloon, he saw the axe’s blue flames filling the man’s eyes. Meloon didn’t respond other than to swing his axe with both arms, his actions forcing Vharem to fall back onto Osco. Meloon swung the axe in a wide circular arc, twisting his body as he did so, and the blue flames became a pulse of magic that flashed out in all directions. The four wizards flying up from the city and the pair flying down the mountain all dropped out of the sky, trailing light blue flames as they fell.

  Lying atop the Northspur, Vharem looked down at his oldest friend and knew he had to help him.

  “Vajra!” Vharem yelled, and she stirred, her eyes a blur of shifting color and energy. “Blackstaff, we need you!”

  She glowered at him, her eyes focused points of cobalt blue. Her head scanned around and she growled as she got her bearings. “Northspur, good,” she said. She began a complicated spell, her voice a low whisper, but her hands never stopped moving. The ground beneath the four of them began to glow.

  Renaer whispered, “Everyone get close and ready. I don’t know what she’s doing, but that glow’s staying tight around us. Vharem, get ready to join us or head out. You know where to meet us.”

  Osco whipped a sap down at a half-blinded cutthroat who moved toward Vajra, and the man crumpled, falling atop another blinded sellsword. Vharem saw a bull of a man shake his head to clear his vision, and then raise a rusty battleaxe, aiming at Laraelra. Vharem pierced the man’s arm with a thrown dagger, forcing him to drop the axe. Laraelra’s quicksilver bolts hit him in the chest and head, and he died before he hit the ground. Eiruk Weskur reached past Renaer and cast his spell, entangling the other dozen or more sellswords to the southwest in thick, gray strands of spiderwebbing. The gray tangles blocked off that escape, but it also hindered the sellswords. Curses, swear words, and the futile struggles of the sellswords shook the webs from within.

  Meloon drew up to his full height with Azuredge, then he chopped the Northspur rock. The boulder shot blue flames at the eight sellswords on the northeast approach. Those eight flew out of the way like a shipwreck thrown by a wave.

  Vajra continued her spell, and Vharem watched the ground beneath them, while still solid enough to stand on, grow transparent. Renaer gulped as he saw a huge pit yawning beneath them, even though it remained solid ground beneath his feet. Vajra’s eyes darted up at Vharem, then back at Renaer, without halting her spell.

  “Osco, get ready,” Vharem said, “and …”

  Renaer yelled with Vharem “Jump!” as Vajra said, “Sruahiil!” and those inside the circle of transparent rock began to slowly sink through it.

  Osco stood atop Northspur and said, “You are mad if you thi—hey!”

  Vharem grabbed Osco by the belt and yelled, “Elra, catch!” He flung the hin to her in the glowing circle. The halfling nearly collided with Laraelra, closing his eyes at the expected impact, but his plummet became a slow fall in unison with her.

  Osco laughed when he opened his eyes, hanging upside-down above the flinching sorceress. He yelled, “Come, V!”

  Eiruk sank alongside Renaer, and he grabbed Vajra’s face with both hands and kissed her gently. He said, “Stay alive and stay safe, Vajra,” then jumped outside of the glowing effect. “I’ll remain behind to explain the situation—hopefully, I can at least keep the Watchful Order off your backs. Speed of gods to you, friends.”

  Vharem noticed that Vajra’s face contorted in shock and surprise, but the stone-face returned almost instantly.

  Meloon shook his head as the flames snuffed out on Azuredge and in his eyes. “What happened?” he said.

  “Later!” Vharem said. “Jump!”

  Meloon looked down at the others, all of whom were nodding or gesturing him forward. He leaped off the Northspur and laughed as he entered the spell’s effect, sinking slowly just above shrieking Osco.

  Vharem braced himself to follow suit, but his last glance around showed him a young wizard with hateful eyes casting a spell from the steps. The wizard’s attention focused on Vajra, and Vharem saw lightning crackling in his palms. Too far for a dagger throw, Vharem thought, and no time. Just do it. He’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.

  “Renaer, Vajra!” Vharem yelled. “Down!” He leaped directly into the path of a lightning bolt. Vharem spread his arms and legs wide, and his world went white and silent as the lightning overwhelmed his senses. He could not breathe, but he felt his body seize from the energy. He hoped his spread limbs would deflect any extra energy into the Northspur or the mountain rather than his friends.

  Vharem could tell he was floating down slowly, and someone grabbed hi
m beneath his arms to pull him close—Meloon, judging from his grip and the size of his hands. His hearing returned, and he heard Meloon shouting, “Vharem? Vharem?”

  Vharem tried to whisper, “Stop yelling, big man,” but he couldn’t catch his breath. His sense of smell returned and he could smell acrid smoke surrounding him. Haze still covered his eyes, and it went pitch black. He gasped, jerked his arm, and his body exploded with pain.

  As Vharem groaned against the pain, Meloon said, “Vajra just closed the shaft above us, Vharem. You’re not blind.”

  Vharem tried to speak, wheezing for breath. The effort it took to choke out words, and a lightening feeling in his chest told Vharem to hurry. “We made it?” Those words alone forced him to cough, and the tightness in his chest and head faded.

  “We’re all right,” Meloon said. “You saved us all.”

  Near Vharem’s head, blue light flashed, and he could just barely discern the shape of Azuredge casting light all around him. He tried to wheeze a response, but he couldn’t breathe, so he just gripped his friend’s hand. He smiled, and the light in his eyes grew brighter as the pain disappeared. He shuddered, and then relaxed into death, his hand falling from Meloon’s while they drifted down deeper through the mountain.

  Renaer could not shake the image out of his head—his oldest friend, yelling at him with resolve in his eye, his body crackling with lightning. He held onto Vajra and sank slowly, silently. He could hear Meloon talking above. Vajra conjured up six pairs of glowing eyes, each surrounded by seven stars, to add to Azuredge’s light. Renaer tried to speak, but only coughed, and he could now see Laraelra’s tear-slick face, which told him what he dreaded.

  “I had to open the shaft to save us all, not just the one,” Vajra whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Renaer looked away and set his jaw, clenching his fists to fight for control of his emotions. His face quivered only slightly when Osco whispered, “Oh stlaern it. Not V …” The halfling punched fist to palm numerous times.