Realms of the Arcane a-5

by Brian M. Thomsen

  The worst part is that I carelessly mentioned my research into Greenwinter's staff, and now he has become convinced that it is the tool that will make his destiny. His demands have become nearly intolerable, and so I turn to you in desperation. I assure you, knowing your feelings about helping me, that you are my last chance.

  We were not close during your Academy time; indeed in many things we were rivals. But I see no cause for bitterness between us now. You must look instead to all that went to your credit between us-Marriana, 1st initiate, even the master's wand-all these things went to you, not me. Try as I might, I could never top you..

  To hold me in reproach for the injustice that fell on you is unwarranted. You know full well that when the others called you a cheat and a plagiarizer, I did not join their chorus. Having tried and failed to beat you in so many areas, I knew your talent was genuine.

  There is no doubt for me that you were framed. I suspected it then, but I am certain of it now. Whoever stole the Theurge's spellbook went to great pains to cast the blame on you. No doubt the perpetrator was jealous of your success-a frontier lad besting the sons of the noblest wizard clans in the empire-and maybe even a little afraid. Unable to match you fairly, they resorted to tricks and deceit to bring about your fall.

  So now, you can gain satisfaction, for I implore your assistance once more. Your sketch of the pattern was invaluable, but there are many things unanswered. What direction do the tails point? Which mouth is open? Are your certain of the script around the edge? These details are vitally important, as I'm sure you can well understand.

  I confess discovering the answers has proven to be just beyond my skills. Perhaps knowing that will dispose you to be merciful toward me. If you would only provide me with a more complete description of Green-winter's pattern, I am certain to locate the device. Think of it! You and 1 shall be known throughout the wizardry societies as the masters who solved the unsolvable!

  Now please, don't consider the present I've sent as some sort of tasteless attempt to buy your aid. As I wrote, I have been very busy between this twit of a governor and the hours I've spent locked in my meager library, poring over what scrolls I can get from the capital. As a result, I've managed to miss your birthing day again. It seems it's become a custom for us to exchange presents with each post. I do hope you enjoy this present, perhaps a little bit less volatile than the last I sent you. Of course, you were correct about its formula. Even out there on the frontier your perception outshines mine.

  I must note, though, that the gift you sent, while charming, did cause a little difficulty. The magical bird sang most marvelously by the command you described, but could not be silenced the same way! It chirped and twittered for weeks before I was able to conjure up the true command. It was actually rather comical. I confess that by the end, I had to banish it to a shelf on the outdoor privy for the sake of household sanity.

  Still it is the intention that matters, after all.

  Perfect amp; etc., Magister Pavish

  P.S. I saw Marriana's father, Minister Dalton, at the privy council chambers. Imagine my surprise to learn he disowned her upon your marriage. To think that she had to suffer such a price!

  Posted from Pine Shadow Wood

  Magister Pavish,

  First, I must let you know I received your letter many months past, and against my first inclination, I did not cast it upon the fire. I cannot say why.

  It is admirable that you now say I was wronged, especially given that speaking out before would have required courage. You present me with the virtue of nothing-having done nothing against me nor anything for me, you consider me indebted to you. What little you could claim I discharged with my previous dispatch.

  Then you chide me for being bitter. Could you be glib if our lives were reversed? You know as well as I who was innocent. I had no need of the Theurge's spellbook to pass a conjuration examination. As you wrote, someone chose me to take the blame. Some say it might even have been you. After all, we were rivals in so many things. What better way to overcome an obstacle? You always favored the quick and easy; perhaps you favored it more than I suspected. I have spent these years wondering who and why, and now you complain about my ingratitude.

  No doubt you expect me to honor your request for aid, and I will not be so ignoble as to spurn you completely. Nonetheless, my aid comes with a caution. In your pursuit for this lost artifact, I think you reach for something more dangerous than you realize. With no library up here, I can only say from memory, but in the Duel of Tromdarl and Greenwinter it all comes to an end when Greenwinter triggers his master creation and destroys Tromdarl with it. Every apprentice worth his salt knows that much, and that's what Master Feur-gond taught.

  What apprentices don't realize is there's a final canto to the work, one that gets lopped off in a fair number of readings. Master Feurgond laid out the scroll one time after lecture. It's a lament from Greenwinter's consort, crying for his absence-something about how a storm of fire and thunder carried him and his artifact away, much more than just wandering off into history. The master said it was only an allegory-and a bad one at that-for Greenwinter's victory and the later disappearance of the artifact, but I am not so sure.

  I worry, too, about this ultimate power. To what ends will you use it? You would not be my first choice as its wielder. At the Academy, you always struck me as a touch arrogant and a little petty. I suppose you could have changed since then; time will do that, but perhaps the staff is better off in more responsible hands, or not found at all.

  This then is my price: before I render more details to you, I intend to go up and study the whole thing more closely for myself. If I am satisfied with what I find, you will hear more.

  In a week, I will be off to the mountains to see what I can learn from the pattern. Then we shall see.

  Magister Torreb

  P.S. So sorry about the mechanical bird. I thought it was a rather clever device myself, and certainly not that taxing on one's talents to decipher.

  I admit the creature you sent is a clever choice. I am guessing it's something you created from your own blood-something like a homonculous. It positively adores Marriana and she it. However, the beast has an unnaturally nasty dislike of me. I hope this is not some product of your own feelings.

  You have sent me a challenge I must rise to. I trust you'll find my gift worthy of your sensibilities.

  Most Perfect and Absolute Magister Pavish His manor in Tilvum

  Torreb,

  If this reaches you before you depart, so be it, but I am aware of your scheme. You accuse me of plotting against you so many years ago, only to justify your trickery today. Just as before, you are determined to deprive me of the glory and rewards I justly deserve. I suffered through years of that at the Academy before I finally was able to cast you out.

  There's no point in my denying it anymore. Of course your suspicions are correct. Your instincts were always keen. It was a good plan-I became 1st initiate, I rose to the master's wand, and now I serve the court. Only Marriana escaped my grasp, and that, most of all, I will not forgive you for.

  There is no point in waving this letter as proof to anyone. I will deny it all, and who would believe you-a cheat and outcast who was not content to destroy himself but also had to drag down the name of a fine woman of a noble house.

  Of course I want the staff for myself. The governor's desires are meaningless once I have the artifact. Already I know much of its operations-words and commands gleaned from Greenwinter's notes. Even if you do find it before me, it would be useless in your hands. Only I understand the power it contains and the secrets of wielding it.

  What will I do with it? I haven't decided. There are so many choices-enemies who've stood in my way, wrongs to right, titles to claim. Why, I might even assume the imperial mantle, if Greenwinter's artifact is as powerful as I believe.

  Did you really think your little parable about lost cantos and strange disappearances would put me off, that I would be so easily out
flanked? You are not the only one who saw that scroll. Some of us, however, do not leap to rash conclusions. It was clearly an amateur's hand, no more than a poor attempt by some scribe to immortalize himself in the pages of a great work and quite rightfully excised from future transcriptions. Do not take me for such a fool. I did not become a perfect master of the imperial court without learning the duplicitous ways of others.

  It is you who have been the fool, all this time answering my letters, helping my research, aiding me-the one who destroyed you. I know you head for the mountains hoping to beat me to the prize, but what good will one piece of the puzzle do you? You do not know how to interpret the snake-bound pattern or read the map it hides. I do. Because of your careless clues, I am confident I will find the pattern myself.

  I no longer need you, Torreb. I will be in the mountains before you, and I will find the staff. There is no prayer that will protect you if we meet.

  Your Nemesis,

  Perfect and Absolute Magister Pavish

  PS. Your last gift reveals your true treachery and your lack of imagination. A bottled and spiteful imp would hardly defeat me, even if it was a nuisance to destroy.

  My gift to you this time is more than apt. Do not worry about collecting it. It will find you.

  Silverpeak Mountains, entrusted to shepherd

  My loving Marriana,

  I do not know if this letter will reach you, just as I never know when I post these on my travels. I have given this to a local boy with a promise of payment if it should reach you, so be generous if you read this.

  First I must tell you the gods guided Pavish's letter to me up here. From it you know now I did not come to hunt wolves, at least those with four legs. You had foresight to send it on to me, and I had luck that it found me. While it told me little I did not suspect, it has confirmed my fears and warned me of his coming.

  Things are as I feared but did not tell you. I did not want you to worry. Pavish, I think, has gone completely mad. Either that or his soul is more corrupt than any ever suspected. He was always arrogant and false-you said once he made women glad they were not men- but now it is clear it was only the mask for a darker immorality. That is why I had to come up here.

  I fear what will happen if he lays his hands on Green-winter's artifact. I am not certain why, my love, but I feel it is my duty to stop him. Ever since the Academy, the gods have woven our fates together. Perhaps it was their plan to see me ruined so that I would be here now.

  I am well, though hard-pressed. Last night, Pavish's gift arrived-an invisible stalker. Fortunately, I expected something like it and was prepared. He always rates himself more clever than he actually is. The damned thing gave a good fight, though, and tore me up a bit, but it is a threat no more. I am relieved that it came after me here and not to our home. I could not bear it if harm were to befall you. The shepherds have a wood priest among them, so you should not worry. I am not so hurt that he cannot patch me up when this is all done.

  This morning, I reached the carving. From the tracks, I am fairly certain Pavish was already here. I may not be a woodsman, but I've spent enough time in the wild to spot something as obvious as his stomping around. I cannot follow the tracks, but I know where he went.

  Do you remember the bottled imp I sent him? He mentioned it in the letter. I needed to know what Pavish knew and was certain he wouldn't share the information with me, so I sent him the imp. The little creature was more than a nuisance; it was my eyes and ears. I got a good look at his notes before he killed the thing. It was the night I came to bed bleeding and told you I'd fallen on the stairs. The pain was worth it because now I know where he's going. As soon as I finish writing this, I will go after him.

  Dearest, now comes the part that's hard to write. I would tell you not to fear for me, but I have no skill to lie to you. Already you know Pavish's intentions, so you also know there is a chance that from this adventure I may not return. I don't know exactly what Green-winter's staff does, but I know it is powerful. If the artifact falls into Pavish's hands, I've decided I must provoke him to use it.

  This is not suicidal folly, my love, for I have a theory, though it is based on only the thinnest of suppositions. I think each time the staff is used, it vanishes-which is why Greenwinter enchanted the snake-bound pattern to find it again.

  Whether I am right or wrong hardly matters. Pavish will almost certainly come looking for me. Perhaps that is why I choose to face him here, where the battle will be far from you, our home, and our friends. If I my theory is wrong, remember that I tried.

  If I don't return, Marriana, please know that my last thoughts will be of you.

  Your foolishly noble husband, Torreb

  PS. In my study are all the letters Pavish sent me, along with copies of my own. If you do not hear from me within a month, bundle them up and send them to your father. He has no love for me, but he is wise. I think he will know what to do with them.

  Glade Temple, Silverpeak Mountains

  Lady Marriana,

  Noble lady, I am Garrel, priest of Our Mother, Chaun-tea, in the village of Morpeth-by-the-Stream. Yesterday

  Yard-Mas, the son of Vard-Ren the shepherd, came with news for you. Mas cannot write, so I have taken down his words for him.

  It is sad news. Your husband, the wizard Torreb, is dead. Mas and his father Vard-Ren are both honest men and would not tell this tale if it were not true. This is how it happened.

  Mas had been hired by your husband as a guide to a cave in a valley north of here. It is an evil place the villagers shun, so Mas agreed to point out its mouth but go no farther. Do not blame him for this. It took courage to guide your husband that far. He waited at a safe distance for your husband to come back.

  At the cave, another man emerged. He was carrying a staff that Mas swears glowed with green flame. The two argued at the entrance. Then the second man pointed his staff at your husband and the green fire wrapped around him. I will not tell you all Mas says, but the fire burned your husband to ash.

  This morning I persuaded some men to go to the cave, and I think the story is true. There was a great scorched patch in front of it. The ground was still hot after a full day, and the stone underfoot was as smooth as melted wax. The remains were utterly destroyed. I am greatly sorry to tell you this.

  There is one thing Mas adds that I do not understand. He says that after the other man did this thing, the staff started to glow brighter, and the other man seemed surprised. Finally, Mas had to shield his eyes from the light. It was as bright as the sun, he says, and then he heard a cry. When the light finally faded, the man and the staff were both gone. No one in the valley has seen this man come or go, but I believe Mas. I know he is an honest man.

  It grieves me to send you this news. May Our Mother grant you peace in your sorrow.

  Watchful Brother of the Earth,

  Garrel of the Glade Temple

  Secrets Of Blood, Spirits Of The Sea

  Elaine Cunningham

  You, there! You, the elf with ink-stained fingers and eyes the color of rain. Come closer. I could not harm you even if I had wish to do so. Your nets are strong.

  You are chieftain of this hunting party, are you not? Yes, so I thought. It is even so with my people. Loretellers and spirit-talkers are leaders among the wemic.

  This surprises you, elf? We lion-folk are not the savages of common-told tales. Oh, hunters we are, and warriors, too-make no mistake about that- but wemics know much of music and magic, tales and legends.

  Do not doubt me: I am Shonasso Kin Taree, second O (or "grandson," as you two-legged folk reckon kinship) of the great Kanjir, and I am loreteller of the wemic tribe Taree. Loose me from this net, elf, and I will tell you a tale long hidden, a story of dire magic and of fearsome creatures that no living wemic on this savannah has ever seen-except in night-visions sent as evil portents.

  Yes, I thought this offer might interest you! Of all the two-legged folk, elves have the sharpest curiosity. I see you have parchment an
d quill at the ready. Before we begin, tell your kindred to put up their spears. You have my word that I will bring neither claw nor blade against any of you until the telling is done. And then, I will fight only if forced to defend myself against your displeasure.

  Oh, so you would never attack a bard whose tale displeased you? Hmmph! As my grandsire would say, "Leave that tale untold 'til the deed is done." But since you're so eager to give pledge, promise me this: Swear to write down my words just as I speak them, and to put the scroll in a place where many might read this tale and remember.

  Good. I have your oath and you have mine. And now you shall have the story, as it was told to me.

  In a time long past, when elves and dragons battled for supremacy in a world still young, there lived a dark-elven wizard whose powers were unmatched, except perhaps by his enormous pride.

  Ka'Narlist was archmage of Atorrnash, a once-mighty city whose secrets have slept for centuries in the deep jungles of a faraway land-secrets that are whispered still beneath a hundred seas.

  The dark elf's lair was a great fortress of black stone that stood high and proud atop a seaside cliff. From his keep, Ka'Narlist could look out over the Bay of the Banshee, a vast spear of seawater that thrust deep into southern Faerun. Far below his castle, the sea thundered and sang and shrieked-mournful, ceaseless music that darkened the wizard's thoughts by day and haunted his reverie by night.

  Put away your maps, elf. That bay is long gone- lost when the One Land was sundered and scattered by best-forgotten magic. Do not be surprised that I know of such things. Our legends are as ancient as your own, and more honest.