Silence filled the rest of the descent, as the party watched the shaft become a bricked construction, not just a spell-slick hole bored through the mountain. Renaer realized this shaft—or at least some of it—had been built long ago. Vajra—or one of the Blackstaffs in her head—had known about it and used that to escape.
The party settled to the ground, and Meloon and Osco rushed over to help Elra with Vharem’s body. Renaer shrugged Vajra out of his arms, since she seemed conscious and lucid. Once her feet stepped onto the stones of the tunnel, Vajra’s entire body pulsed with silver light. She grimaced, groaned, then sighed in relief. She opened her eyes again, and almond-shaped mahogany eyes looked into Renaer’s. He nodded, then rushed to help the slowly falling Meloon settle Vharem’s body lightly on the ground. Renaer fell to his knees and silently prayed while clutching his friend’s lifeless hand. Kelemvor, god of death, if you be kind at all, welcome him to rewards unendingfor his sacrifice. Welcome and honor him, as I know we must let him pass from this life.
Vajra hugged each and every person as they surrounded Vharem’s prone form. She then knelt down to whisper a prayer over Vharem’s body. “We shall always remember and honor your sacrifice, noble rogue.” She wove a spell that cocooned Vharem’s body in magical blue-gray energy. “That’s the best I can do for you now, but we’ll pay homage to you soon.”
She rose, brushed off her robes, and said, “It’s easier for me to maintain control the closer we get to Blackstaff Tower and the things in which our power flows—like these tunnels. No enemies block our path any longer. These tunnels haven’t been traveled by other than spiders and rats in many moons. Most folk forgot about these tunnels once the Blackstaff and the Lords stopped being the most congenial of friends. That’s what Khelben used them for—secret meetings with the Lords so they could travel unseen and unmolested.” She gestured and the floating eye-lights now merged into the stonework, placing their glows into the mortar.
Vajra headed down the dusty and webbed tunnel, its mortar seams glistening just enough to provide lighting for the path outside of Azuredge’s blue light. Renaer remained frozen, his face impassive in the glow of the magical coffin around his lifelong friend. The others paused, and Renaer could feel their indecision and conflict of staying with Renaer or going with her. In silent answer, a grim-faced Renaer picked up the cocoon and wordlessly walked after Vajra. The three others followed in silence.
The group walked a while before Vajra stopped, reached over, and traced her fingers on the mortared wall. Her finger left a brighter trail of white behind it, and she drew an odd rune along the bricks. Without even a protesting groan or scrape, the wall parted. Vajra stepped through the doorway and torches erupted into life on every wall, their flames flaring wide as they burned up the huge clumps of spiderwebs atop and around them. Renaer and the others followed and they entered a small antechamber with a small desk and chair set into the rock wall. To their left, two tunnels yawned before them, inside of which no torches flickered. Across the room lay a small set of steps leading directly into a blank brick wall.
Vajra stood in the room, confused a moment by the three directions. A brief flash of silver in her eyes, then she nodded. She turned back and said, “Come, friends. All you have to do is step on the stairs, say the word nhurlaen, and you’ll be brought to my study, safely.”
“You sure we’re safe?” Osco asked.
“Doesn’t matter, Osco,” Meloon chuckled. “Better to be in the home of a friend than at the blade of an enemy, right? Besides, who wants to stay down here in the dark?”
“Are we?” Renaer asked. “Friends, I mean?” His tone was cold and distant, tinged with regret. The ache he’d fought against now filled his chest. Both of his oldest friends lay dead, and all to help this stranger get to this place. Renaer could keep the anger out of his voice no longer. “Are you friend enough to me to be worth the costs? Worth the friends lost?”
Vajra sighed, walked over, and placed one hand on Renaer’s cheek, the other over her heart. “I’ve been nigh-incoherent the past few months because the power granted to me was not properly assimilated. Two others paid with their lives—two debts I can never fully repay, save with lifelong amity to surviving comrades. I cannot replace your lost friends. Nothing can, Renaer Neverember. Even if you’d not done all you have, ending my torture and saving my life would have made us lifelong comrades.”
“Are you sure Ten-Rings ain’t already the Blackstaff?” Osco said. “We been one step behind him all the time.”
Vajra looked down at the halfling and said, “Blackstaff he is not, little man. The tower would tell me, as it has told me things during our walk here. It guards itself well, even from those with power enough to breach its outer defenses. However, he may yet be a danger to us and the city, given the power that he stole from here.”
“Ten-Rings got in here?” Meloon asked. “Or was it the imposter Black staff?”
“Aye, both,” Vajra said, “but Blackstaff Tower conquered them, rather than the opposite. We shall discuss and attend to their fates later. But for now, please, come—help me to become the Blackstaff for certain, so we may all find our true paths.”
Vajra stepped onto the stone platform. Her eyes flashed with energy. The brick wall ahead of her receded. The stones formed a spiral stair ahead of her, and all could see and hear the magical torches flaring to life further up the stairs. Vajra took three steps up and said the word, “Nhurlaen,” and vanished.
After a pause and a shared look among themselves, Renaer set Vharem’s coffin on the chamber’s desk, rested his hand on it in silent salute, and said, “Good luck, friends.” He then followed Vajra and disappeared. Within a few breaths, Laraelra, Osco, and Meloon repeated the procedure, leaving the chamber empty only with the glow of Vharem’s coffin and the torchlight.
The torch flames flickered and sputtered, the only sound until a thin, reedy voice called out, “Father? Have you come for me? The ghosts … they left me in the dark. Help me. I did it all for you. I did it all for you …” The voice fell to sobs as the torches flickered out, restoring the all-encompassing darkness.
CHAPTER 17
Khelben the Elder built that tower like he carried himself——rod-straight like his back, stone as black as his scowl, and bristling with magics unguessed. Only the most foolish would ever attempt to steal into the forbidding tower, let along steal from it.
Drellan Argnarl, My Walks through the City of Splendors,
Year of the Lost Lady (1241 DR)
11 NIGHTAL, YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Osco stepped off the stairwell and gaped. Whatever he’d expected to find inside Blackstaff Tower, it wasn’t this. He stood at the top of a staircase opening into a large ten-sided antechamber, corridors leading off in eight different directions, magical green torches flickering every twenty paces or so. The only other feature was a stone statue of a rearing griffon directly opposite the stairwell against a blank wall. At the center of the room stood Vajra, her back to him.
“Vajra?” Osco asked. “Where’d everybody go?”
Vajra turned to him, a lone tear running down her cheek. While she looked in his general direction, Osco knew her eyes didn’t focus on him. “I’m sorry, friends, for what we now must endure. I thought it safe, but the tower seeks to prove us worthy to walk its halls.” Her form shimmered as she sobbed. “I’m sorry … and may Tymora bless you with good luck.” As her voice wavered, she faded into a wispy miasma of green mists, leaving Osco alone to contemplate which direction to follow.
“Parharding wizards,” Osco swore under his breath. “So … we do this by the numbers, as if it’s any other place we’re casing.” Osco started on the first corridor on his left, scanning carefully for any traps or hidden dangers. After he’d gone thirty paces, he discovered doors on alternating sides of the corridor every six paces beyond the first green torch. Scanning down the seemingly endless corridor, he noted seventeen doors before he stopped counting.
Shak
ing his head, Osco returned to the original antechamber. He chose the next corridor that arced off in a slightly different direction, and repeated the whole process. His eyebrows rose when he found the exact same dimensions and features in that corridor. He looked, but did not spot any of his own footprints, as these corridors were suspiciously devoid of dust. “Hmph. So much for the easy way of tracking.”
Curious, Osco took out a small hunk of chalk and marked the first door on his left with an O beneath the lock. He retraced his steps back to the antechamber and chose the third corridor. All the details remained the same as the first two, though Osco growled when he approached the first door to find no mark on it. Scratching his head and scanning further down the corridor, he spotted his mark on the third door on the right. “So, you want to play games with me, wizard? Send me down the same corridor and shuffle the doors? Fine.” Osco rubbed his hands together, then unbuckled his lock picks from the back of his belt, and said, “Let’s see what’s behind our marked door, then.”
The lock appeared clean, unlocked, and without any traps, so Osco opened the door to find himself in a small room, a cot against one wall, a rug at the room’s center, and a set of shelves holding a handful of books. Atop the shelves was a statue of a cat made of ivory with sapphires for eyes. Osco’s own eyes widened, and he carefully scanned for traps around it before picking it up and slipping it into his backpack. He muttered, “Well, after all, the biglings always take from the hin, so we’re due a donation on our parts.”
Osco walked around the room, tapping the stones in the corners. He found no hidden doors there. He flipped up the edge of the carpet to expose the trapdoor he assumed would be there. It was.
Osco opened the trapdoor, only to find his view blocked by a cloud of greenish mist. He poked a dagger through and stirred it around, making the mists swirl but not dissipate. He dipped the dagger lower and lower, and his hand felt no shift in temperature or other danger. He leaned his head in, but mists blocked his sight. He whistled low. From the sound he could tell he was in a larger room than before, but could not tell how big. He whispered a prayer to Brandobaris, the halfling god and Master of Stealth, and dropped a copper, counting the ticks before he heard it stop. When it hit a solid surface, Osco knew it had struck stone and it wasn’t more than a typical corridor’s height. He rolled himself through the trapdoor, holding onto the edge and dangling uncertainly within the mists. Another whispered prayer of, “Brandobaris, may the risks I undertake in your name lead only to great rewards,” and Osco let go. He dropped into the mist, and his stomach lurched when he realized he’d dropped farther than expected. Just as he started to shout in surprise, he landed outside the mists—
Back in the original antechamber.
“Parharding wizards,” Osco grumbled, and he stalked into the fourth corridor.
Osco wiped the sweat from his face, then rubbed his hands dry again on his cloak. This lock was tricky, and it was his third attempt at picking it. He’d spent what he thought was at least two bells opening doors, finding hidden doors, and picking the locks on chests. The locks were getting more and more difficult, but Osco liked the challenge almost as much as he liked what he’d filched so far from those locked chests and secret rooms. His pockets, pouches, and bag all bulged with easily fenced goods and gems he’d found along the way. What drove him to distraction was his constant return to that ten-sided room.
Osco had found this room through a series of six locked and hidden doors, though they all shared similar locks, which made them progressively easier to pick. In fact, he actually found that when he looked closely, the lock itself started showing scratches from his own picks before he even started working on the locks.
“Hmph.” Osco smiled. “Any advantage given is one step up a hin needs to get eye-to-eye with the biglings, who take advantage of us.” With the latest lock picked, Osco pushed the door open into the largest chamber he’d yet found.
Green flames flared from the tops of crystalline pillars almost twice his height, six of them placed around the octagonal room in front of each wall save the one through which he came and the wall opposite that entry. The chamber held two statues, and Osco smiled when he realized this seemed to be a chamber honoring two halflings, rather than the usual human-scaled statuary. The bases were at least as tall as the statues themselves, their plaques identifying the statues. He walked up to the marble statue on the right and gasped. The figure was clad in wizard’s robes cut for a slender halfling, and he held a staff also cut to his size, the staff crowned by the carving of a lion’s head. He’d seen paintings and drawings of this broadly smiling hin, but never such a lifelike representation, complete down to a dimpled chin still carried by his familial line. Osco’s hand rubbed his own dimple as he read the tall base of the statue: Pikar Salibuck. Friend of Two Blackstaff. Tamer of the Three Fires of Harlard. Vanquisher of Huillethar the Devourer. He Stood Tall in Art and Life.
“Thank the gods the Blackstaff remembered to honor me great-grandfather,” Osco said. “Too bad we only get some backwater chamber buried deep away from everything else. No respect, really.”
He turned on his heel and gasped as he saw movement. The marble statue he now faced was far less friendly. A dark scowling grimace seemed to darken the marble from which it was carved. Here was a halfling with long hair bound behind his head and an eye patch over his left eye. He wore older-cut leathers and a cloak and a hin-sized scimitar at his belt. Osco’s eyes widened when he realized the statue’s details even included the bulges and hints of daggers in both boots and sleeves. Around the statue’s feet were bulging stone bags of carved coins, a pile of gems, and, oddly, a penguin. The living Osco read the inscribed plaque as the first line recarved itself anew with two words added to the end of that line. It now read: Osco Salibuck the Elder. Agent of Khelben. Ampratines’ Friend. Infiltrator Extraordinaire. No Fear Hindered Hin.
Osco groaned at the pun on the plaque, but smiled as he liked the idea that two members of his family—including the man after whom he was named—were remembered by the bigling wizard everyone remembered. As he stared up at the statue’s dimple, his hands fell against the bulging pouches on his belt, and he paused. He looked at both statues and how they had been remembered.
“Stlaern it!” Osco yelled, and he began pulling all his treasures out of his bags, pockets, and pouches. He threw them on the ground in front of the one-eyed halfling’s statue, which made the honor plate glow green. From out of the plaque stepped an identical phantom image from its statue. The ghost of Osco Salibuck the Elder dusted its arms off and smiled at the very startled Osco, exposing three missing teeth with his grin.
Osco fell back in shock, and then scrabbled backward on all fours like a crab, his breath caught in his throat. He didn’t mind ghosts, when he didn’t know who they were, but family was another story.
The grizzled and much-scarred face chuckled, “Heh. You done better than I did, lad, the first time I darkened Khelben’s door and helped meself to some of his things.”
Osco felt more weight in the few pouches in his cloak, and he fished out four small cat’s heads carved out of onyx. He tossed them at the ghost, as if to ward him off, and the ghost held his distance. The one-eyed halfling stalked over to the opposite statue and stepped through it, saying, “Wake up, son. Family’s come a-visitin’.”
The ghost trailed greenish smoke, but it drew out more smoke that soon collected into the visage of Pikar. While Osco still hated the fact that he was trapped in a room with two ghosts, Pikar’s smile comforted him a little.
“Great,” Osco said as he stood. “I realized that the test is in not stealing from a friend, rather than taking what’s owed me. That’s not going to have me haunted now, is it? You’ll back off, now that I’ve thrown all that away.”
The one-eyed ghost crouched down by the ivory cat statue and raised his eyebrow over his eyepatch. “Ye sure ye want to just toss this away?”
Osco the Younger nodded vigorously, and the elder ghost
let out a low whistle. “Worth a fair piece, all this stuff.”
“So’re friends, and I lost one already today.” Osco sighed. “Don’t need to lose another. And I sure as sunrise don’t want to be a ghost down here the rest of my days.”
Pikar’s ghost floated closer and put an ephemeral arm around Osco, saying, “We’re proud of you, great-grandson. It is tough being friend to the Blackstaff, but the road’s an exciting one, and one filled with treasures vastly more valuable than gems.”
“Oh joy,” Osco muttered. “Lessons from me family what died helping the Blackstaff. That’ll motivate me to keep helping Vajra. What’ll it get me at best but a statue down here with you ancestors?”
“What makes ye think we’re family, boyo?” Osco the Elder’s ghost chuckled, and it began to morph, his features and clothes shifting to greenish hues and growing. He grew to twice his original height and the eyepatch dropped away. His long hair unfurled, and his hair grew slightly longer and darker, a widow’s peak forming at the top of his forehead. His mustache and sideburns grew together to a full beard with a recognizable lighter patch at the chin. Osco saw the similarities between the Nameless Haunt and this ghost and nodded.
“S’pose I’m to be honored that the oldest Blackstaff chose to test me?” Osco said, placing his fists defiantly on his hips and looking up at the phantom’s impassive face.
His only answer was one slightly cocked eyebrow as the wizard-ghost conjured up a pipe shaped like a loredragon, placing it in his mouth and lighting it with a jet of flame from one finger.
“So are you wondering how I knew?” Osco said, nervously pacing about the chamber, kicking now errant-gems into the corners. “Simple. Nobody but nobody puts gems in chests where you can find them. They hide them in plain sight if they’ve loose gems. Seen some in vases with dried flowers, others in a fish tank. Best place I ever saw were emeralds slipped into tubes set into the legs of a table—those were tricky to find.”
Blackstaff Tower Page 21