Blackstaff

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Tsarra fumed as she and Khelben waited in the antechamber outside of the private office of Lord Maskar Wands. Despite her sendings and verbal pleadings, Khelben refused to divulge any more information since they'd left the tower.

For the last time, Tsarra, it was hardly safe for me to divulge what I did inside the walls of Blackstaff Tower. To utter it outside invites foolishness at the very least. Khelben's sending carried a grim resolve. You will know everything soon enough. Mystra demands my silence for now, but I can tell you one thing. The weight of these secrets can adversely effect events in the interim, so for now they remain unsaid. Now, comport yourself a little better than your tressym. I saw him chase Olanhar's familiar into one of the outbuildings.

The pair of them had come to the Wands villa on Shando Street by a public carriage at Khelben's insistence, "To give the gossip-mongers something on which to chew." The manor and grounds were awhirl with activity, as the staff and family prepared for Lord Maskar Wands's one hundred and thirtieth birthday the following day. Two stewards immediately led Khelben and Tsarra to the chamber, in which they had been standing for only a short while when a spiral mosaic on the floor began to glow. Rising from the spiral as if he merely walked up a staircase, Lord Maskar Wands appeared before them. Or at least, his head and shoulders did. The magically embedded noble turned and beamed at them.

Lord Maskar's voice was a pleasant baritone that sounded far younger than his appearance. He spoke at a rapid-fire staccato pace, but Tsarra couldn't tell if he was particularly excited or if that was his normal behavior.

"A surprise, this is, Blackstaff. You're not one to advertise your comings and goings, so you startled me when your mark appeared on my glass." His voice dropped to a whisper when he asked, "A new blackstaff, Khelben?"

"Aye, 'tis new, milord Wands." Khelben replied.

Tsarra realized she had not noticed the change in his staff, nor that he had not carried one since the accident. It was not the gnarled and ragged, blackened wood staff she saw then. The polished blackstaff was shod on the ends with golden metal that entwined the staff like veins. In fact, it looked as if it were black stone with marble-like veins of gold, the metal protecting the ends of the staff.

Another secret you've neglected to share with me, Khelben? she inquired silently.

Lord Wands beckoned, his arm coming free from beneath the floor.

"I want to see that, then. Come down to my workshop, will you? We won't be disturbed by servants or exasperating relatives. You remember the passwords to my study doors, of course." With that, he turned in his place and disappeared into the floor.

"Shall we astonish him yet again?" Khelben asked, mischief in his voice and eyes.

Tsarra was constantly surprised by the Blackstaff. The dour and serious man she had known for years was, like the Lord Wands, acting like a child at a game he was rarely permitted to play. Khelben touched the spiral mosaic with his right foot three times, recited a short incantation, and grasped Tsarra's hand firmly. He began walking downward, and Tsarra realized that, even though it was still a mosaic, the staircase felt as if it descended naturally after the first step.

The two of them entered Maskar's workshop, where they were greeted by a hearty laugh.

"And here I thought only Olanhar and I knew the charm to use that stair! I'm going to have to unearth some of your home's secrets as well, Lord Arunsun."

Tsarra had only been to the Wands villa twice in twenty years, and neither time had she actually been introduced to Lord Wands. Khelben stood over him by nearly a foot. The man's reputation stood far taller than he did in life with his pronounced stoop and slight hunchback.

She knew he was older than most humans, but unlike Khelben, he chose to keep an aged and wizened face and body. He had recently cut his beard to closely trimmed muttonchop sideburns and cut his white hair very short. His ginger-colored eyes practically laughed for him as he clasped forearms with Khelben wordlessly. Tsarra noted Khelben had set the blackstaff aside, and it stood on end, perfectly balanced and without any apparent support.

"Well met, milord Wands, and a premature wish for the happiest of birthdays to you." Khelben said. "Your staircase charm remains a close family secret, for who do you think helped your father build it, and the others?"

Maskar's bushy white eyebrows rose, and he grinned, revealing a broad row of white teeth. "Well then, you'll have to reacquaint me with one or two of them that have been lost over the years, if only to get us into forgotten cellars." Maskar smacked Khelben on the back between the shoulders and laughed. A small chime sounded on the table behind him, and Maskar stopped, his face immediately serious.

"Excuse me a moment, would you? This brew is temperamental and has to be taken almost immediately." He turned his back on them and levitated a bubbling beaker off a flame, setting the glass bottle down in an ice-filled cauldron. He counted out to thirty on his fingers then grabbed the bottle and drank down its contents. If his stamping foot and shuddering didn't communicate his dislike of the potion, the gagging sound and heavy breathing of Lord Wands told Tsarra enough.

The old man turned back to them, and Tsarra watched his hair shift from white to a dark salt-and-pepper gray. His back straightened, his hunchback disappearing, and his face bore many less wrinkles.

"If anyone ever asks, child, why wizards don't all drink life-extending potions, tell them this: Each and every one of them smells like otyugh scat and blood, tastes like rancid milk mixed with sawdust and grass trimmings, and feels like you're imbibing razors and glass shards." Before Tsarra could ask, he smiled weakly at her and continued, "So why do I drink them, you wonder? Since my fiftieth birthday, I have traditionally drunk one of these every twentieth year. I don't trust most of my heirs to do right by the family, as happened at my brothers' passing. And perhaps a little because I'm just arrogant enough to want to finish a few more spells with my name on them as legacies for my children and for this city."

"Well, you're only a third into your second century. Give it time," Khelben said.

Maskar's eyes narrowed. "You're being cavalier with your secrets today, Blackstaff."

"To be honest, it is refreshing to let down one's guard among trusted companions, a luxury none of us gets to enjoy very often and never too long," Khelben replied. "As for the taste of your potions, I've always said you were a bad cook."

Maskar's face went through contortions, both from the potion's age-reducing effects and his mixed emotions of surprise, concern, confusion, and finally amusement. The man began laughing and slapped Khelben on the back again.

Tsarra couldn't believe what she saw. Common knowledge said the Blackstaff and Lord Wands held a mutual respect, but distrust and wariness for each other. She realized that, like Khelben's personal behavior, Lord Wands apparently kept up appearances in public as well.

When Lord Wands turned back to her again, she bowed deeply, aware of the awkwardness of her shouldered bow.

"I'm glad to finally meet you again, Tsarra Chaadren nee Autumnfire. Your father was a kind man and far nobler than most who carry such title. You appear much changed, girl, from our first meeting. Those tattoos are bold statements that suit you. Welcome once again to my home."

Tsarra smiled nervously.

"My apprentice wonders how you know her secrets, Lord Wands,"

Khelben said. "She doesn't believe anyone outside of her choice confidants knew the nickname her mother put to her."

Maskar winked at Tsarra. "You have your mother's beauty with your father's eyes and bearing. It has been many years and I meet many folk, but I shall always treasure having known Taalmuth and Malruthiia Chaadren."

"Thank you, milord. I wasn't aware we had met or that you knew my parents," Tsarra said.

"Of course you don't remember our first meeting. You were not yet three at the time. You left quite an impression on me and my daughter, at least." Maskar chuckled. "You played with Olanhar's first tressym familiar and turned him a bright purple! My daughter was just beginning her wizardly studies and was jealous of the sorcery you used when you napped with the creature. It took her a month to change his coloring back to normal. Tressyms, however, were one of the reasons I expected to meet you today."

"Sir?" Tsarra asked.

Lord Wands motioned both of them toward a wide table, its surface a smooth dark mirror. He rested his hand on the glass, and the ring he wore-a gold signet stamped with his House seal in silver-twinkled with magic. Instantly, the tabletop became an overhead view of the manor's grounds. Glowing wizard marks moved about on its surface in various colors, and Maskar whispered another command word. The illusion expanded upward, becoming a translucent model of the building and the ground beneath it. Tsarra saw Khelben's wizard mark glow gold in a deep sub-basement, alongside the mark she guessed was Lord Wands's sigil-and her own.

Maskar waved his hand to get Tsarra's attention and pointed upward. In the attic of one of the outbuildings on the grounds, Tsarra's wizard mark glowed a bluish-silver atop another steel-colored wizard mark.

"The silver sigils are familiars or anyone enspelled by a particular wizard. Gold ones are the wizards themselves. It serves to know exactly where any trained in the Art are at any time on my property." Lord Maskar stood back from the holographic illusion, his arms crossed. "Your familiar arrived about an hour ago, and Olanhar and Snowhunter recognized him immediately. While Olanhar isn't pleased by the inconvenience of his "gifts", the last litter of tressym kittens greatly excited my grandchildren. I will be as well, provided they don't shred more Phalorman tapestries." Maskar winked at her again, and Tsarra felt a blush creep up her neck as she realized Nameless's trespass.

"Speaking of gifts, Lord Wands," Khelben interrupted the old man's teasing, "this blackstaff you admired is my birthday gift to you. I regret we won't have time for you to deduce all its powers for our amusement at present."

"A blackstaff to call my own-a princely gift, Khelben, thank you."

Maskar nodded to Khelben then turned to Tsarra. "You do know this is how your master hoodwinks people into doing him favors, don't you?

This is only the seventh time in ninety-eight years of knowing him that Khelben has gifted me on my birthday. So what favor does he need of me now?"

"Three things, milord. First, I need to see the Weeping Blade of Rholaris Wands, and mayhaps borrow it," Khelben said.

"Easily enough done."

Maskar walked to the far side of the room. Tsarra realized she'd not even taken a look around. She fully believed people's tales of the magnetic personality of Lord Maskar Wands. Two massive bookshelves stood behind that staircase, and seven more sets of shelves continued along the left-hand wall, interrupted twice by large work tables, one covered in books and scrolls, the other with bubbling beakers, potion flasks, and component jars. The center of the room held the large table, its illusionary tracking of the wizards on Wands property still glowing. The far end of the room held a circle of over-stuffed chairs and small tables, and a few of them were turned to face the right-hand wall, which was covered with paintings and maps of Waterdeep, the Sword Coast, the Savage North, and much of the rest of Faerun. Lord Wands motioned them toward the farther wall, on which were three doors. He approached the second one, pulled a key from his pocket, and opened it. He went through, and Khelben made sure to hold Tsarra by the arm as they stepped through the door simultaneously.

Tsarra felt a slight tingle as she was shifted spatially to Maskar's study on the third floor of the manor house. The room was more richly appointed than the lord's workshop. Rich walnut panels lined the ceiling and walls of the study. A massive duskwood table with eight formal chairs dominated one side of the room. There were two bookshelves there, both with glass-paneled doors protecting their contents. They seemed to hold only bric-a-brac and trinkets undisturbed for many years. The carpets under foot came from far-off Zakhara, and Tsarra had little doubt that at least one of them might fly if so commanded by the lord of the manor.

The trio approached the western wall, and Tsarra shielded her eyes slightly as they crossed a strong sunbeam coming through the tall windows. The wall held a display of weapons: an arc of seven swords atop a quartet of shields and a row of nine daggers.

Khelben said, "My Lord Wands, I believe we can test my student's knowledge to find the item that we seek."

Tsarra took her time, looking the weapons over from top to bottom then she said, "It's the third sword among the seven-the silver pommel with the sapphire tang button, two more sapphires on its steel-banded scabbard."

Maskar's eyebrows rose, and he chuckled. "Very good, girl. How did you know that?"

The old man muttered a command word before he magically floated the sword off the wall and into Khelben's waiting hands.

Tsarra whirled when Khelben smacked his palm on the nearby table and cursed, "Hrast!"

Tsarra silently asked, What is it? What's the matter? Didn't you need this sword?

No-the scabbard was actually more important in this case, Khelben replied then spoke aloud. "Lord Maskar, when was the last time someone removed this sword from its perch?"

"My sons and nephews made use of all of those weapons to fend off Myrkul's Horde sixteen years ago. Other than that, it has stayed there. Only three of us can remove the weapons from their places."

"Well, Lord Wands, someone tampered with this regardless. I don't have time to check the sword's authenticity, but the scabbard is a forgery. Were it true, we would have seen blue sparks the moment we entered this room." Khelben fumed, smacking his fist into his other palm as he paced.

"What?" Tsarra yelled. "You risked the lightning again without warning me?"

Khelben stared out the window. "No. The lightning only occurs when three of them are within a certain proximity. Two together only spit out sparks to cue the seeker as to their connections."

Tsarra lashed out at Khelben. "I can't believe you! With all that's gone wrong, you don't even warn me?"

Khelben said, "You are more than capable, Tsarra. I also knew there was no danger of the lightning today."

"Like you knew at the tower?" Tsarra snapped. "Danthra's dead, Khelben. Dead! Do you need the tower to collapse before you part with another secret? Are the secrets more important than people?"

Khelben's shoulders sagged then he stiffened his back and replied,

"No, that was never my choice. That happened because Mystra willed Danthra's fate. Even if I had tried to prevent it, the results would have been the same for all of us, perhaps with greater costs. You must believe that, Tsarra, if nothing else."

"Why should I trust you?" Tsarra screamed, pent-up frustration fueling her rage. "How many more of us will die for your precious secrets?"

"Tsarra, that's enough. We need to move on to our next errand."

Khelben said, his voice gaining an edge of exasperation.

"Tish-tosh, child," Maskar said, putting a kindly hand on her shoulder. "Khelben loves his secrets, but you must know he loves good people more, even if he hides it." His merry eyes helped Tsarra calm down, and he nodded as he moved closer to Khelben by the window. "I heard something had blown a hole through the tower. That's not happened since my father's day and the Harpstar Wars."

Taking the sword from Khelben's hands, the old man set it on the table and pressed his palm on the surface beside it. Hands morphed from the table's surface to hold the sword and scabbard fast.

Khelben said, "It's obvious someone stole the scabbard long ago-it may have happened during Epira's collusion with the Guildmasters a century back. We cannot spare the time to look for it, but we'll hope to find the remainder of the items before our foe claims the true legacy."

Tsarra sat down on a chair, clenching her fists. She tried to listen in to the archmages across the room, but the ringing in her ears made that difficult. "Good. A second favor, milord, is to see Belkram's Fall. Using the Yawning Portal right now would draw untoward attention." "Young lady, we'll need you over here, please," Maskar called, and Tsarra rose from her chair. She felt slightly dizzy and no less angry, but she approached and the wizards each took one of her hands. Maskar spoke an incantation, and instantly they went from the sun-flooded study to a dark stone room with no light. Torches flared to life around them, blue flames dismissing the darkness and revealing a small chamber with a massive sealed doorway. Khelben and Maskar had their backs to the door but dropped their hands and turned to it. They intoned together, "Ahrakelsharith Hilathrellas Orekarla Belkrammath."

The stone door split down its middle and opened like wardrobe doors.

The scraping of stone was loud in the small chamber. Bile rose in Tsarra's throat, as she smelled decay and death on the chilling draft of air that rushed out the doors. Khelben stepped to the edge, and Tsarra followed, more curious than invited. She looked past the doorway to see only darkness, and looking down, she perceived a massive shaft disappearing beyond the edge of the light. She heard distant sounds and saw some flickers of light far below, but she couldn't identify what they were. Tsarra gulped, her dizziness and nausea not abating at all. "How far down does this go?" "We've never measured it properly, dear," Maskar chuckled. "We only know we've never heard anyone hit bottom." "Belkram's Fall is perhaps thrice the length of the City of Splendors, give or take a ward." Khelben remarked flatly. "It was once a major mining shaft for the Melairkyn dwarves when they worked the Underhalls. We're not descending, though.

Merely sending a message." "Into Undermountain?" Tsarra gasped. "Why would you want to get the attention of the Mad Mage?" Khelben produced a small carved stone swallow from his pocket. He cast a number of spells on the bird too quickly for Tsarra to follow then tapped the bird's head three times. It woke in his palm, twittered a gleeful greeting, and took flight down the tunnel. In its wake glittered five different colors of magical sparkles, but within moments even those sparkles had vanished. Khelben said, "Those defenses should allow it to pass through the antimagical fields that span the shaft and get my message through. As to your question, sorcerers and wizards both must attend to some courtesies, regardless of power-or perhaps because of it." As Tsarra looked down, her dizziness increased, as did the smell of decay. The ringing in her ears became the patter of rain on stone, as the vision overwhelmed her. Tsarra collapsed, and as she pitched forward a small part of her brain wondered what would happen next.