Blackstaff Tower

CHAPTER 21

11 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

Laraelra found herself at the top of a stairway. Behind her, a chamberlain announced in a loud voice, "The Honorable Guild Master Malaerigo Harsard and retinue."

Laraelra was shocked to note her friends were gone, and she was on the right arm of her father, his other arm attached to Yrhyra, his latest companion, a giggly and short but buxom auburn-haired lass several years younger than her. Malaerigo held tightly to Laraelra's arm, leading her into one of her most hated arenas-a noble's feast. She recognized the green-marbled setting as the Ralnarth noble manse off of Vhezoar Street.

Laraelra found herself wearing a summer-weight gown of deep purple with black and red highlights, her boots replaced by heeled shoes of crimson that made her ankles ache in three steps. Her long black hair no longer hung loose and straight down her back, but was up high above her head in an elaborate Mulhorandi headdress. Her dress was immodestly cut and tight, its front dipping far lower than Laraelra liked, as she normally disguised her slender-to-gaunt figure in layers of clothes. Yrhyra in contrast reveled in the attention her nearly exposed and more curvaceous front garnered her.

Malaerigo also had dressed up beyond his usual attire, slicking his normally unkempt brown hair back on his head and shaving, which exposed the line of moles down his right cheek. Laraelra knew this was an illusion, despite all the evidence-including the proper smells and sounds-merely because her father had always been too cheap to own such well-tailored clothing of red silk and black leather.

Laraelra looked around the crowd surrounding them, not resisting the hold her father had for now. She searched for familiar faces-specifically those with whom she had come to Blackstaff Tower. Perhaps they might have answers. While Malaerigo whispered this or that wrong someone in the crowd had done to him, Laraelra spotted Vajra off to one side.

When she made as if to close with Vajra, Malaerigo held her wrist. He continued smiling broadly and nodding at passersby, but his harsh whisper chilled her. "Child, don't shame me in front of these folk. You'll go where /direct, not where you will."

Even for an illusory duplicate, Laraelra felt the all-too-familiar anger at her father's intransigence. She considered exposing the illusion for what it was, but decided to manipulate it to uncover its true purpose.

"Fathet, I merely sought to steet us away from another dreadful encountei with that coin-sucking Amnian harpy, Lady Kastarra Hunabar."

As expected, her father's face paled to an ashen gray as he scanned the crowd and spotted the large olive-skinned woman with blond hair heading their way. Laraelra managed to steer them behind another crowd of folk behind Vajra.

"Vajra?" Laraelra said. "Milady Safahr?"

Vajra turned to her, a lone tear running down her cheek as she looked straight into Laraelra's eyes. "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 puff of green vapor, leaving Laraelra adrift in a sea of politics, people, and pageantry-three things she avoided as much as possible.

"What are you doing talking to the Blackstaff s heir, Daughter?" Malaerigo said. "Like every wizard, she tries to pry secrets out of evety honest man's brain. Never trust anyone touched by magic, especially those in power."

Laraelra stopped and stared at her father, wondering how he had forgotten her own abilities.

"Wizards are icky, Mally," Yrhyra cooed at him. "I don't let them use their wands on me now that I got you."

"Hush, Hyra." The guild master's grip on his daughter's arm tightened. "What does that Tethyrian bitch know about you or about our guild? Is that why she was talking to you-trying to muscle in on my control through you? That's exactly how our oppressors operate, you know… stealing secrets and-" In a heattbeat, Malaerigo's visage and voice shifted from angry diatribe to pleasing sycophancy. When Laraelra responded to his turning her around, she saw to whom his smiles went. "Why, Lord Gralleth, how marvelous to see you! I hope you're happy with the solution we came up with for your property on River Street. Here, my lovely daughter will keep your son from getting boted while we talk business."

Malaerigo nearly shoved Laraelra into the arms of the younger Lord Gralleth. While she was relieved to be away from her fathet, Laraelra now despaired as the adolescent and far-shorter Rharlek Gralleth boldly placed his cheek against her exposed cleavage, smiling lecherously as he lisped, "A pleathure to meet you, lovely lady. Let uth danth and you may tell me all about yourthelf."

Unlike most other women in the party, Laraelra did not find Rharlek fascinating ot atttactive, despite his social and financial prominence. She saw him as he was-a squat, poor-complexioned boor with bad teeth, worse manners, two left feet, and a wasted education. Still, she had something to learn here, so she continued to play along.

"Milord Rharlek, I hope nothing is amiss at your mansion on River Street. It's such a marvelous example of modern Tethyrian architecture-definitely something to gentrify Trades Ward, if I may say so."

"You may, my dear," he replied, readjusting his too-tight grip on her hip. It took some work for Laraelra to keep them even barely in step with the dance, not that Rharlek noticed either the beat or the other dancers. "No, there'th nothing wrong, unleth you count thievth coming up through the thewerth."

Laraelra kept her interest from her face. "Surely my father has put the guild to work to prevent any such incursions ever again."

Rharlek nodded. "Yeth, but we're more interethted in where they came from, becauth they theemed to have Jceyth to many lockth in my houth."

Laraelra gasped, "Oh my goodness!" both to this and to Rharlek's exuberant entry into the next dance atop her right foot. She knew the younger man wanted her to ask what was stolen so he could brag about his family riches, but she took another tactic. "I'm glad no one was hurt by the intruders. Isn't it awful, the lawlessness in the city? You'd think the Blackstaff or someone could do something about that."

With musicians playing an exuberant dance, the pair whirled about the room. Laraelra nodded at a number of other women, all of whom would gladly be in her shoes, no matter how often their feet were trod upon. Her smiles were met with scowls or outright fury, and one woman even stormed across the floor toward them. Laraelra carefully timed her minor magic and prestidigitated the front of the woman's dress beneath her left foot. The youngest Lady Korthornt sprawled forward with a scream, her sliding fall knocking four other dancers down with her.

Rharlek did not even see the woman tumble on the dance floor, but with unexpected deftness, he maneuvered Laraelra into a double-whirl off the floor and through a side door from the hall. With a flick of his wrist, he spun Laraelra onto a divan, and he closed the doors behind them. Before he turned around, his hair lightened to golden blond and lengthened until it nearly reached the floor. His back remained slender but grew taller, and his garish purple velvet outfit became a wide-necked robe of scarlet. The man turned around, and Laraelra saw a variety of sigils and designs tattooed in black and blue across his chest, shoulders and neck, as his torso was exposed down to his lightly haired navel. The man's face was clean-shaven with hawklike features, and while she imagined he could be severe, she found his smile kindly and pleasant.

"You're good, but you overreached there. Do you know where?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What did you do wrong back there? Loved your very deft use of magic on that silly woman. Unless someone specifically watched your hands, no one would think anything other than the clumsiness of an angry, over-wined young woman. Brilliant, really, save for those who watch and truly see."

Laraelra reviewed the last few moments of the encounter and sighed. "I should not have mentioned the Blackstaff. That tells him what I'm more interested in, rather than having him lead me to what he's wishing to tell me."

"Exactly," the man said, as he settled down next to her. "And the rest?"

Laraelra shook her head, stiffened her back, and put her hand out. "I am Laraelra Harsard, and I would know what you are called, master."

"Heavy-handed, lass, but fair," the man said. "And correct in asking what I'm called. We of the Art should never give out names if we do not need to. I have been called Blackstaff in my day. What would you call me?"

Laraelra paused, looking the man over, and said, "You answer also to Ashemmon, don't you? The only unbearded male Blackstaff other than Samark. You look remarkably well, given that you died fifteen years ago."

"Insightful, yet not intrusively so. You shall go far, once you get past your fears."

"Oh? Which fears?"

"Your father's disapproval. The disdain and jealousies of others." "But I don't-"

Ashemmon held up his hand and said, "Each of you is being tested to see what kind of folk you are, and if you are worthy comrades or agents or merely acquaintances of our dear, damaged Vajra. Your patience and adaptability were found adequate, my dear. However, you failed to confront your father's comments, nor did you face your rivals fairly in there."

"I see rather deeper than that, master. You were known as a political being, Ashemmon, so you know that public arena was not the place for any confrontation with my father. His temper is explosive, regardless of context, and it was more politic for me to swallow my confusion and deal with him when it would not disrupt either his or my plans. As for the jealous women, what I did was the least of what I could have tried-and certainly far better than she treated me at my first noble feast years back."

Ashemmon smiled and nodded. "True, very true. You've my admiration for recognizing when to confront and when to prevaricate. You'll be a splendid help in teaching Vajra to be more politic. I doubt she'll listen much to me. Or Khelben. She's too much like Kyri."

"This was all a test to see if I could help Vajra?" Laraelra asked.

"We know you can do that. We've been watching. We want to know how you might help her in the future. I think you will be a good friend to the Blackstaff."

Laraelra flinched as she realized the colors of her surroundings had been bleaching away, the blond and scarlet on Ashemmon's image slowly shifting to greens.

"I don't know if I'm worthy of such attention," she said. "Besides, my father would explode if he thought I was to work directly with the city's oppressors, as he's always called those in and of power."

"He's aware of your talents, is he not?"

"He must be, as I'd inadvertently cast spells on him before 1 understood what I could do. Most days, I think he chooses to ignore what he knows and operate as if I'm just a tool for him to manipulate for his political games. I don't know if I deserve to-"

"Poor child." Ashemmon's shade became more and more translucent as he spoke, fading almost to invisibility. "Like me, you were so often told your limits-what you could not be-that you fail to see what you can be. I see a future unimaginable for you right now-power and privilege with a price, but honor throughout. You and your friends share a noble goal. Do not despair. Do not abandon that dream. We shall not judge. But we shall be watching."

By the time Ashemmon's form became transparent, so too did the Ralnarth manse. Laraelra felt an icy cold draft whipping around her, and she shivered, thinking of her low-necked gown. She hugged herself, and found she was again clad in her heavy wool cloak and her usual beltarma and robes. Her hazy surroundings whipped around with another blast of wind, and where she found herself was as unexpected as her first location inside Blackstaff Tower.