Tsarra, impatient at Krehlan’s long answer, broke in. “We drove you mad because the tower is what should hold twelve centuries of life experiences. That’s why Krehlan merged the gem with the tower—so it could be your advisor, rather than have the Blackstaff be a slave to the copied minds of those who came before her.”
Khelben cleared his throat, silencing all the others, and placed his hands on Vajra’s shoulders. “It is your time now. I see my blood and Gamalon’s blood in you, and I know Waterdeep is safe. Go now and be the Blackstaff. Reach out with your feelings, find your friends, and go forth. You all have work to do this day. We shall be here to help if you need us.”
With that, he disappeared, and the others did as well, filling the room with greenish mist. The last to dissipate was Samark, who embraced and kissed her before dissolving, leaving Vajra with tearful eyes in the chilling mist.
Vajra cleared her throat, and then did as Khelben bid. She realized her companions stood in chambers below, each of them tested by the spirits of the tower. She knew how to manipulate the tower so that all the doors they opened would lead them to where she was. With concentration, she even could listen in on what they were saying. Vajra knew the secret words that locked and unlocked score upon score of mysteries within this tower. She realized she had no new knowledge of magic or spells, but she knew where to find information and hidden lore to do so. She knew the location and nature of every magical item within the walls of the tower, and some made her shudder with their power or what they held at bay.
Vajra could see another tower—N’Vaerymanth—in her mind’s eye, its layout the same as this, but the city over which it looked was far more orderly, far more magical, and she vowed to visit Rhymanthiin, the Hidden City of Hope, when the time came.
All this and more awaited her as the Blackstaff. It was time to let her city know.
CHAPTER 23
The original splendors of Waterdeep were Ahghairon’s secrets, which keep us safe today and always, despite the predations of lesser so-called lords.”
Agnan Crohal, Tales Told Tavernside,
Year of Daystars (1268 DR)
12 NIGHTAL, YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Khondar stood and stretched in the morning sun flooding through his windows. He walked over to the western window. Guards dutifully walked the parapets of the palace, and he could see from this vantage that breakfast had been laid out in his office in the easternmost tower. With a mere thought and a blink of magic on his left index finger, the Khondar became a beam of light and lanced across the distance, reappearing among a gasping group of courtiers, visiting envoys, and various sycophants and servants.
The room proudly displayed the Lords’ Arms and the Seal of Waterdeep in massive tapestries on opposite walls. Marble floors and intricate wood-inlay walls gleamed with the polish of human effort, not magic. The palace no longer catered to outlanders or nonhumans, and the city was richer for it and for the rule of mages. Khondar looked out the window to see many tall ships in the gleaming harbor, wizards from many lands coming to this great city and the rebirth of magic.
All around the table, applause scattered and then grew as people cheered his arrival. Above all, he heard Centiv the Blackstaff sing out in pride, “All hail the Open Lord! Long live Khondar, destroyer of the Shadow Thieves, the Dark Brotherhood, and the Cabal Arcane! All hail the Restorer of an orderly and lawful city! All hail the Open Lord!”
The tall doors leading into the chamber slammed open, and Renaer Neverember led a group of dirty, ragged-clothed halflings into the chamber. The female wizards in the crowd fainted at the sight of the lecherous midgets. Renaer loosed a crossbow quarrel at Khondar, who altered the bolt into a magic missile that returned and slammed into Renaer’s chest. Centiv cowed the rabble that followed him by making the floor seem to fall open into spiked pits. The rebels fell to the ground, insensate, and Khondar reached down to hoist Renaer up by his now-filthy shirt.
“Why do you resist our rightful rule?” Ten-Rings demanded. “Why do you not let the wizards rule?”
Renaer smiled a cat’s grin. “Because the Blackstaff and the Open Lord serve the city, not the other way around.”
Khondar Naomal tossed in his sleep, his dreams of power driving him. He rolled over, pulling his furs and covers closer to him. The small fire in the hearth kept the room above the freezing temperatures outside, though the room could hardly be considered warm.
The spell-fields Ten-Rings established around his new home kept out all magical intrusions but those he desired. Wards protected all the doors and windows, and some of Centiv’s more ingenious illusions cloaked the entire third floor, where Khondar now slept. Those magical protections muted all noise coming through walls and windows, allowing him rest despite the nearby belltower off the Fanebar or the noise and occasional tumult in the street outside the inns and festhalls in the vicinity.
Normally, he would not have heard the voice on the wind in the Crown of the North that frosty morning. The fact that it launched him out of a sound sleep both irritated and frightened him as soon as the message was delivered. He growled, “Blast that woman!”
Khondar threw back the furs with a growl, launching himself out of bed and over to his worktable. With a snap of his fingers, the fire on the hearth blazed up, increasing the heat in the room. He took a quick survey of the table and sighed with relief. All six keys were in place—Ahghairon’s Amulet, Key, and Ring; the sheathed dagger his research told him was Anthaorl’s Fang, a gift to a long-since-dead loyal watchman from Ahghairon; and the two wands he’d plucked from the clutches of Blackstaff Tower. He breathed a sigh of relief and reached for a ceramic dome on the corner of his desk.
He lifted the cracked blue cover to expose a crystal ball the size of his fist. “Show me my defenses,” he said.
Mists filled the center of the globe and showed swirling images of various rooms and doors, each aglow in shades of pink, ochre, and ash. Khondar exhaled in relief as his survey showed no spells had been disrupted, but he vented his fury. “That bitch bypassed my wards without disrupting them!” He muttered in harsh whispers to himself. “Bah—it matters not! Blackstaff or no, I’ll soon have power over her and the entire city!”
Khondar settled on to a cushion next to the hearth, his spell-book on a low stand before it. Time was of the essence, and he needed every spell prepared for the coming battle for Ahghairon’s Tower—and control of Waterdeep.
CHAPTER 24
With Open Lord Caladorn at her side, Kyriani’s proclamation from atop Blackstaff Tower was necessary to acknowledge her legitimacy in the role of the city’s archmage. The Blackstaffs proclamation became tradition when the son of Khelben took up the mantle in the Year of Lost Ships and as his long-time friend Ashemmon did in Ches of this year.
Paerl Nhesch,
Architects Arcane: Waterdeep and the Sword Coast North,
Year of the Dog-Eared Journal (1424 DR)
12 NIGHTAL, YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
The Crown of the North awoke at dawn with a woman’s voice carried on the snow-laden winds. Her voice echoed through every alley, every privy, every bedchamber, every hearth house, and every nook and cranny within the walls of Waterdeep. Even those places guarded by spells and prayers heard this proclamation. Few folk recognized her voice, but more than a few had heard this oath, or versions quite similar, more than a few times in the past decades—each time a new Blackstaff stood atop the tower to declare the assumption of power.
“Know this, now and hereafter, the Blacks taff has fallen in service to the City. Mourn Samark Dhanzscul and honor his memory. Yet the Blackstaff has been taken up once more. I am Vajra Safahr, and I am the seventh Blackstaff of Waterdeep. Hear my solemn vow—I shall protect the city, its citizens, and its future from all those who would see it harmed. I act as Magic’s eye, hand, and heart for the Lords and for the good residents of the city. My predecessor Samark Dhanzscul died due to the predations of power-hungry men. I and my friends sha
ll avenge him, and I shall strive to be worthy of Waterdeep’s friendship and respect. Know you that she already has my protection and my loyalty.”
As expected, those in the immediate vicinity around Swords Street and upper Castle Ward threw open their shutters to glimpse this event personally. Those farthest off with a high vantage point saw five figures at the top of Blackstaff Tower, four standing in an arc around a solitary figure holding a massive staff almost half-again as tall as she was. The tower gleamed and pulsed with silvery energy in every mortar crack in the tower and its curtain wall. Folk nodded, remembering this happened each time the tower found a new master. Talk flitted about the gathering crowds that the tower had never accepted anyone unworthy of being the Blackstaff—even if she were “but a slip of a girl.”
Atop BlackstaffTower, Vajra turned back to the group assembled around her. “I am very glad to see all of you survived. I know now, moreso than I did before, that you are worthy allies and friends to the Blackstaff. And I’m sorry for all you’ve suffered and lost in my and Samark’s name. Now, I can do more to help us all—and hurt those who so richly deserve it.” Vajra stepped forward, and stamped her foot once on the roof.
A flash of light and the five of them stood in a library, surrounded by walls of books save one wall with a massive fireplace. The ceiling rose higher than three men’s heights, and book-laden shelves covered every span of the walls, some even floating without floors to support them. Globes of light shimmered brightly and zipped around the books and shelves to put lights over every person’s head.
“There’s quite a crowd growing outside right now,” Vajra said. “More than a few have dozens of questions, not the least of which have to do with my being declared dead and Renaer accused of my murder.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Renaer said, “given how Ten-Rings managed to pin every ill he’s done on others. Shouldn’t your announcement take the wind out of the Watch’s sails? Keep them from bothering to capture us?”
Vajra chuckled and said, “And did your obvious innocence ever stop some less-than-objective officers from chasing you?”
“Fair point.”
“I’m all for a little banter to lighten the mood,” Osco said, “but don’t we have an over-accessorized guildmaster to stop from conquering the city?”
“Listen to you, little halfling,” Laraelra said, “talking like a hero. I thought you only got involved in things with profit.”
“If that one takes power, there won’t be much profit to be had in a city run by magic-users. All that energy goes to their heads, makes ’em crazy.” When Laraelra and Vajra shot him hard looks, he stammered, “Yourselves excluded, goes without saying.”
“He’s right, though,” Meloon added, smacking Azuredge’s haft into his palm. “Ten-Rings must be stopped.”
Vajra reached up and touched him lightly on the arm, her head not even reaching his shoulder. “We will, Meloon. But first we must marshall our energy. To do that, I’ll need Elra’s help.”
“How do you know that nickname?” Laraelra asked.
“I wasn’t completely unaware of what was going on around me, and I hope I can call you that and more. I have a favor to ask, and it’s not one I ask lightly. I would have you be my heir.”
Laraelra stared at Vajra, awestruck by the suggestion.
“You can do this, Elra,” Vajra said, leaving the true Blackstaff to hover next to Meloon. She placed her dark hands around Laraelra’s lighter, trembling hands, and looked deep into her eyes. “I wouldn’t ask this if I didn’t sense you could handle the responsibility. I need someone I know and trust. Someone with a good head for intrigues.” And no romantic inclinations toward me, she added to herself. “We don’t have much time. There are very few spellcasters I can trust in this city, and you are one of them. Please help me so we can all help Waterdeep.”
“But I’m no wizard,” Laraelra whispered. “I’m barely even a sorcerer!”
“Neither Tsarra nor Ashemmon were wizards, and they served nobly,” Vajra said, “and I need one touched by magic to be able to carry one of these against Khondar.” She snapped her fingers and a smooth Blackstaff shod with silver on both ends shimmered into her grip.
“You can’t expect us to face him directly,” Meloon said. “He’s ten times more powerful than any of us. I’m not afraid of him, but I’m not stupid either!”
“That’s another reason why it’s important for her to become the Blackstaff’s heir. You all know the stakes and the location of our foe. I’ll best help you by remaining here in my place of power, sending power and aid through my heir. I cannot do any of this without your help, Elra. Without you, Ten-Rings may get away with it all, and we’ll have to fight from the shadows to take back our city.”
“Sounds good to me,” Osco muttered, and Renaer smacked him lightly on the head.
“Will you shoulder this burden, Elra?”
Laraelra gulped, her palms sweating profusely. Thoughts of her parents raced through her head, urging her not to be seduced by the promises of power. She also hesitated as she recalled Vajra’s instability over the past few days. The two women locked eyes. Despite having been nearly comatose for the past three days, Vajra’s eyes held no hesitation, no doubts, only confidence and power. Laraelra heard her father’s voice in her head, complaining that she was a traitor for allying with those in power, but she knew in her heart that Vajra and the power she promised needed to be held by those who wanted and needed Waterdeep to be a better place, not just a more prosperous one.
“What do I need to do?” Laraelra said.
Vajra waved her left hand, and a rune-inscribed circle appeared on the floor around them. The three men backed away, leaving the women inside the circle alone. “Sit. Calm yourself. When you’re ready, all you’ll need to do is take my hand in one hand and the staff in the other. I’ll do the rest.”
Laraelra and Vajra settled cross-legged within the magic circle, the Blackstaff floating horizontally above the floor between them. One intoned syllable from Vajra and the runes flashed green. A translucent emerald dome enclosed them. Laraelra heard only her own nervous heartbeat.
Vajra spoke in low tones, facing down at the staff and the circle, and her voice was a chorus again of male and female voices. Laraelra would later swear she saw eyes and partial faces within the dome’s energy as she listened. She didn’t understand what Vajra said, but she knew she spoke Elvish. When Vajra faced her again, her eyes shimmered and shifted, the colors swimming from blue to purple to gray, brown, hazel, and green. The Blackstaff held out her right hand and placed her left hand atop the floating staff. Laraelra exhaled, shook her shoulders, and let go of her fears.
With a silent prayer to Tymora, Laraelra gripped Vajra’s right hand with her left and closed her right hand over the Blackstaff. She winced, but she merely felt a buzz in her head and a warmth in her palm, as if the staff were a living thing. Vajra’s palm was just as sweaty as her own, but her tiny hand held power—as did her eyes. Laraelra felt rather than saw three pulses of magic pass from Vajra’s eyes into her own. After the third pulse, Laraelra found she gripped the Blackstaff alone, and she felt its power simmering just inside the duskwood staff’s surface.
Vajra cast a final spell, dissipating the energy dome over them, and said, “For as long as you and I concur, you are an heir to the power of the Blackstaff. That won’t provide you with any more power at the present time, other than the ability to safely carry and wield a Blackstaff. In days to come, we’ll talk more of you learning from me and from the tower.”
Laraelra gulped, realizing this meant more time with the ghosts inhabiting the most formidable fortress on the Sword Coast. She started to ask, then coughed nervously, swallowed, and tried again. “How can we stand against Ten-Rings? He’s powerful enough to destroy all of us with one spell.”
“Once you get to Roarke House, simply say the word gehrallen, and my power will be added to the battle,” Vajra said. Laraelra smiled, realizing she understood
what was to come without having to utter it aloud. She nodded and shifted the Blackstaff to her left hand, resting one end on the ground. “So what next?” she asked.
Vajra seemed distracted for a moment, as if she were listening to something no one else could hear. When her attention snapped back to the group assembled around her, she said, “Forgive me. That’s going to take some getting used to. I can hear and see what folk are doing anywhere inside or within a step or two from the walls around the tower. Watch commander Delnar Kleeandur just demanded the surrender of all of you. He wants you to come to the palace for questioning and a possible trial. At least he has the sense to be courteous.”
“I’ll go,” Renaer said.
“What?” Meloon said. “They’ll hang you!”
“Doubtful,” he said. “The main charge is for the murder of Vajra, who’s very much alive. I want to clear all our names. Also, if I’m keeping the Watch busy, they can’t get in the way of what the rest of you have to do. I’m less use in a fight than the rest of you, but I can talk our way out of the false charges Ten-Rings dumped on us.”
“A sound plan,” Vajra said. “Say the word traeloth when you step onto the stairs, and they will deposit you at the entry chamber. When you exit the tower, the gates will wrap around you, but not let anyone else enter. Advise anyone trying to do otherwise to desist, as the Blackstaff is not receiving any more visitors today.” Vajra hugged Renaer and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you again, friend, for all your help. We’ll discuss things at length later at your home—matters of days past and the future.”
Renaer sketched a salute at the rest of the group and headed for the stairs.
Vajra gestured, and a trio of rings appeared in mid-air in front of Meloon, Osco, and Laraelra. “Those should help you all survive the coming battle with Khondar. Consider the rings my thanks. Now, here’s the rest of the plan …”
Blackstaff Tower Page 26