Blackstaff

CHAPTER NINETEEN

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

Raegar woke abruptly as the slap tore him from an exhausted slumber. What kept him conscious was the flesh-chilling cold from the lich's touch, the marble floor, and the many other pains across his body. The stunning effect had long worn off, but the beatings and lack of sleep were having a cumulative effect on him. The late afternoon sun lit the upper dome of the Stagsmere entry chamber through its shattered skylight, but the rays were intermittent as clouds still gathered overhead, as they had all through the night and morning.

While Raegar enjoyed the fleeting warmth of it, the afternoon sun in his eyes had lulled him to sleep for a time. Raegar hated feeling helpless, but he could only turn his head from left to right. The night before, the lich had summoned and morphed a trio of skeletons into a bone cage that anchored him spread-eagled on the floor. Turning his head away from the lich, he could see his broken short sword, two of his daggers, and his magical rings in a clump against one wall, tossed aside when the lich's spells overwhelmed and disarmed him. He couldn't see where the lich had taken the Diamondblade, but he was glad he didn't need to dodge any lightning because of it. "I realize you're not genteel, Raegar, but you must stop falling unconscious when I'm talking." The creature's skull loomed close to his face, its soulless features even more disturbing up close. "You're young, but Waterdhavians were made of sterner stuff in my day." Raegar spat a stream of invectives at the lich foul enough to make a Dock Ward sailor blanch. To his chagrin, no sound came from his throat due to a magic placed on him a few hours before. Raegar had been hurt many times by people and circumstances in the past. Never once had he ever felt so helpless. He pushed against the bone cage, but his efforts were less effective than they had been hours before. He was weak from exhaustion, but his hatred for his situation and his captor burned bright. The thief entertained methods of revenge and stored them away for more appropriate times to exact them. "Yes, this is better… much easier with you incapable of interrupting me," the lich gloated.

"Besides, don't you wish to learn more for those little scribes of the Font of Knowledge? Laughable, that they think themselves worthy to take for themselves the secrets wizardry has wrested from the cosmos.

At least this venture has proven fruitful with a number of new pawns and Rhaelnar's Legacy itself within my grasp." The lich paced around the chamber, sprinkling an area with powders and herbs, gesturing mystically at various points, and obviously focusing on a major work of magic while simultaneously torturing the captive Raegar. The lich had spent the past eighteen hours magically building something in this chamber and torturing Raegar for more information on Khelben and modern-day Waterdeep. The creature also lectured on the superiority of southern magic and the gentrific elegance that was the Shoon Imperium and its magical works. One thing the lich did not do was reveal his name to Raegar, which was fine. Raegar had more colorful names for him in his head. I would gladly kill this lich simply to spare anyone else the boredom and pain, Raegar mused to himself. At least he's taken off that skullcap and I'm able to think without him stealing my thoughts.

The thief shuddered when he felt the lich invade his mind and mine every detail of his life, significant or otherwise. His only pleasure came when the lich discovered how many insulting swear-word-filled names Raegar had silently given him. That rattled him enough to shout,

"Boy! You will fear the Fro-No. Very good, Raegar. Very good indeed.

You'd almost wheedled my name from me. No, I want Khelben to go mad wondering who brought his plans down around his ears. Not until I am assured of victory will I face the Blackstaff again." More hours passed, and the only sounds in the chamber were the lich's incantations and the whistle of the wind in the upper chamber around the broken masonry and skylight. The lich's robes stopped directly in front of Raegar, and he continued a particularly complex incantation for a few moments. Raegar turned to look up at the creature, breathing through his mouth so as not to smell the dusty and pungent smell that came off the lich. He almost wished the wizard would reactivate that harness, if only to mask the creature's smell and horrific looks. "Why are you smiling, Raegar?" the lich inquired. "Thinking up petty revenge? Well, you shall soon be free of my skeletrap and back in the City of Splendors. All I need do is temporarily reset my newest portal to link with Kerrigan's Gate that we used earlier. But first, a few preparations." The undead wizard knelt by Raegar's left hand and placed a ring on it-the one that had sparked when close to the Diamondblade. Raegar got a good look at it when the lich walked away.

The crude iron ring had an intricate silver emblem-a rack of antlers framing a tiny sword with a crescent moon for the sword-haft on the hilt. Raegar could not remember where he had seen this symbol in the past. He wondered why the lich would part with such a powerful item.

The lich returned with a pair of chain-mail gloves forged from four different metals. He cast a quick spell and touched Raegar's forehead twice, then stood up. He said one odd syllable, and the bone-cage around Raegar clattered into an inanimate pile. The thief knew better than to leap up, given how cramped and chilled his muscles were from lying on the cold marble all night and day. Raegar shook the bones off of him, never taking his eyes off the lich, and knelt while he stretched his arms and legs. The lich laughed his hollow laugh and tossed the metal-link gloves at him. Raegar let the gloves fall to his feet rather than catch them. "Put them on, puppet," snarled the lich.

Raegar's stomach wrenched when his body obeyed without hesitation, slipping the metal gloves onto his hands. The rogue felt them clench into his skin. Raegar shot the lich a look of fury and hatred and mouthed another silent stream of invectives at him. "Yes, yes, be angry if it helps," the lich said. "You'll still fulfill my direct instructions and be unaware of why you're doing what you're doing. The enchantment preventing your speech will also last a goodly time. Those gloves are yet another Shoon relic-the Gauntlets of the Syl-Vizar Tnarrak. They will remain linked to your hands until your death or until they hold my specified item-another Legacy artifact. Once they do, the gauntlets will come to me along with all they touch. Then you'll be your own man. Of course, more likely you'll also be dead at the hands of Khelben Arunsun." Raegar sidled over to his equipment, taking up his daggers and pocketing his two silver rings. He cast a wary eye at the poor black boots he found with his equipment. His own magical boots were missing. The lich stared at him and pulled his hood back around his fleshless head as he said, "You'll have to do without your boots, as I've another agent who deserves them. Now, stop delaying, Raegar, and walk across the mosaic. Oh, one thing to note-the sharn will detect magic on you from the Legacy artifacts once you use this portal. My suggestion when you arrive back in Waterdeep is to run quickly. We shall not meet again, little thief." Raegar, standing, noticed subtle differences in the chamber. What was once a smooth marble floor had magical runes etched into it by the lich's spellcraft and powders. An intricate knotwork pattern encircled the center of the room. Inside that circle, the floor wavered with tremors of energy. Raegar didn't want to step anywhere near it but found himself a passenger in a body that stepped forward as ordered. As he felt a magical tingle crawl up his legs and the portal enveloped him, he gestured rudely toward the lich, glad to have at least managed that small act of defiance.

Raegar stepped from thin air into the tunnel near New Olamn, and his head ached as it always did from teleporting. The pain wasn't reduced by the scream of a startled horse, rearing up and away from this obstacle suddenly appearing in his path. Raegar dodged out from under the horse's flailing hooves and noticed his body was wreathed in greenish sparkles as his arms came up to guard his face. As Raegar broke into a light jog toward Swords Street, he watched the color of the strange light shift to blue. By the time he broke into a full run, the remaining sparks glowed purple. Raegar had ignored the oaths and yells of passersby objecting to his magical arrival, but he dared a brief look back when the screams began. The rosy color of the setting sun illuminated the tunnel's exits on both ends, but Raegar could still see lingering footprints glowing purple where he'd stepped. The shadows along the walls and ceiling dripped together around those sparkling prints. Familiar four-clawed hands reached from the shadows.

The hapless horse Raegar had startled screamed as a toothy mouth erupted from the wall and savaged its hindquarters while other claws slashed at the horse's rider. Raegar ran as fast as he could from the tunnel and into the streets. He raced east, skirting the back of Shukar's Chandlery, the Preening Peryton Inn, and the collapsed corner of masonry and wood that used to be the Pharraoth Alchymistary. His feet seemed directed toward Zelphar's Walk until they slid out from under him, and he scraped to a halt against the outer wall of Soonymn's Finecrafts. His head screaming with pain, Raegar looked up into the hate-filled eyes of Kemarn Darkthrush of Nesme. Raegar tried to push himself up but found the ground beneath him more slippery than ice. I thought only Damlath used that grease spell effectively, he mused. He grabbed a dagger from his belt and threw it hard at Kemarn.

The dagger hit the man in the arm, and the action as well as his grunt of pain was enough to disrupt the new spell Kemarn had been casting.

Screams closed in behind them as well as the screeching wail Raegar had heard at the Sleeping Dragon. He used the slippery spell to his advantage, spinning on his back then kicking hard against the stone wall to slide quickly across the street and away from Kemarn. When he skidded out of range of the spell, Raegar tucked into a backward somersault and drew his dagger from its sheath, rolling onto his feet in a defensive crouch. The mage growled at him, "I owe you pain, thief!" Raegar barely saw the gestures before four purple pulses of energy rocketed from Kemarn's fingers. He gritted his teeth against the pain of the spell and scurried backward. Kemarn paused for a crucial second. Raegar sheathed his dagger and ran as he saw the sharn looming at the opposite end of the alley. "Coward! The Darkthrush of Nesme wants revenge!" Kemarn shouted, oblivious to the danger behind him. "You can't run fast en-" Kemarn's taunting threats ended with a wet crunch and a muffled scream upon which Raegar had no wish to turn.

He was too busy fighting the impulse that had his feet crossing Swords Street and mounting the stone steps leading up into the Font of Knowledge, Oghma's great Waterdhavian temple. Raegar took the steps two at a time and vaulted through the open doors into the Hall of the Binder, the three-story-high temple entry chamber. Dominating the stone-walled chamber was a massive green marble statue of Oghma as an unclad male with exceedingly long hair and a beard. The god's muscular form was posed as if in flight, his left arm stretched out ahead of him and its fist more than twenty-five feet from the floor below it.

In that fist was a golden scroll, long held by rumor to be either simple gold sheeting or some hidden secrets of the gods. Raegar remembered that Khelben the Blackstaff had donated the statue to the temple during its construction and claimed that it once blessed the grounds of the Binder's temple in Myth Drannor. Behind the statue on either side were the two-stories-tall sets of double doors leading into the Great Library of the Binder, a four-story scriptorium and library that rivaled houses of learning centuries its senior. Raegar's mad rush into the building scared a number of yellow-robed priests and attendants, and his refusal to either stop or speak to them caused many to crowd around him, demanding explanations. Raegar felt ill as his body shoved aside pious monks he knew as friends and punched worshipers who blocked his path. He couldn't stop himself from forcefully making his way to the back of the chamber. Ahead of him were the doors leading into the Great Library, but Raegar halted at the foot of the massive statue set between the doors. Raegar found himself clambering up the statue, shouts of "Blasphemy!" and "Shame!" rising among the faithful below him. Raegar's body knew what to do to climb the unwieldy construct, even if he didn't command it, and he was surprised that the chain mail gauntlets on his hands didn't hinder his sense of touch or his grip. He confidently grasped each handhold and foothold, clambering through Oghma's stone tresses and up his back and shoulders. He thanked Tymora for his luck that not more spellcasting priests were on hand to see him and smite him rightfully from this perch. Then the screams of terror began below. The sharn's massive black form glided into the temple, and what few people resisted its entry paid for their actions with their lives. The sharn retained a simple teardrop shape save for two heads glistening with fangs. Purple shimmers surrounded its form, and purple energy flared on both sides of Raegar as well. He threw himself flat against the statue to avoid four flailing claws launching from the sharn's portals. Raegar climbed, hoping to dodge the sharn's attacks, but the purple shimmers kept flanking his path. Just as he reached the statue's left shoulder, he realized that blue sparks crackled around his left hand-as did the massive scroll in Oghma's left hand. Raegar, still mute, begged forgiveness from his god for his blasphemies as he began to walk out along the stone arm toward the scroll. As he reached the elbow, the claws flashed out again from the left. From the right, a third sharn head roared through the portal, its teeth gnashing at him with savage intensity. Raegar felt his legs collapse beneath him and wondered if the lich's control included unwitting suicide. Instead, his legs looped around the arm, and his body used the momentum to swing forward and grapple the statue at its wrist with his hands. The blue sparks on his hand and the scroll grew into small, stinging lightning bolts, and Raegar wondered what would happen once the magic of the gauntlets came into play when he touched the golden scroll. The only lucky thing at that moment was that the blue energy seemed to be holding the sharn's attacks at bay. Raegar wrapped his legs around the statue's hand. He smiled as he noticed the hand with the Legacy ring held him in his current position, so he couldn't make an immediate grab for the scroll without falling. He clung to the underside of Oghma's wrist and tried to twist his torso forward, straining to reach for even the edge of the golden scroll, which was awash in crackles of blue lightning bolts. Unfortunately, the spot his right hand tried to reach was occupied by an angry, jet-black tressym with its claws and fangs extended. At the same time, Raegar heard a booming voice exclaim,

"That's quite far enough, young man!"