Blackstaff Tower

CHAPTER 25

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

Renaer's steps and those of his Watch escorts echoed from the marble of the floor to the peak of the dome that loomed over the Lords' Court. He held his head high, neither flinching his eyes away from those who met his nor looking at any beyond those in his path. After the trial at Blackstaff Tower, this held little fear for him.

He stood at the center of a semicircular table's arc, his father straight ahead of him and in full regalia as the city's Open Lord. To see his father reminded Renaer that father and son shared much in looks and manners. Long brown manes tumbled past both their sets of muscular shoulders, though Dagult's hair tended more toward pumpkin while Renaer's locks were almost a chestnut brown. Both men preferred to remain clean-shaven, though Renaer's stubbly chin bespoke his past few days of hard pursuit and toil. They both wore clothes of good solid workmanship and tailoring, but while Renaer's clothes were subtle and simply better-made than many of those around him, Dagult stood out, a blazon of color and sartorial excess in his black velvet cloak, ermine-lined vest, red Shou-silk shirt, and the Aglarondan hip boots of deep crimson leather. Dagult's face wore an expression of deep disgust and impatience.

To each side of Dagult sat thtee gray-robed and gray-helmed Lords. As usual, they appeared identical in form and stature, regardless of whomever wore the helm and robes. No details of gender, girth, or infirmities could be discerned through the robes, as the Open Lotd Ahghairon had designed them long ago.

Behind the Lords loomed a giant bulldog of a man, Lord's Champion Vorgan Drulth, looking uncomfortable in his fotmal uniform as the Open Lord's personal bodyguard. Renaer noted he wore metal sleeves over each of his index fingers, both sharp as claws, and other weapons bulged conspicuously from his boots, sleeves, and belt.

Dagult opened the proceedings by unfurling a scroll and reading it to the court. From the comer of his eye Renaer noticed a quill untouched by any hand, scribbling away the transcript onto a thick tome at a stand in a side alcove.

"Let this Lords' Court be convened on the mattet of the death of Samark Dhanzscul, the Blackstaff; the murder of Vajra Safahr, heir of the Blackstaff; and the deaths of Ramok of Red Larch, Jarlan of Waterdeep, andBaentham of Luskan," Dagult said. "Given that the accused is my own son, I have an obvious conflict of interest here. I therefore recuse myself from this proceeding's judgement, but stay in accotd with the traditions of the Lords' Court."

Dagult stepped back, handing the scroll off to a masked Lord who had entered the chamber behind him. The same dark robes and helm enshrouded this Lotd as they did the other six. The seventh masked Lord stepped into Dagult's place, sat down, and intoned in a hollow, toneless voice, "The accused stands before us. How does he plead to his Lords?"

"Innocent of all charges, milords," Renaer said. Gasps erupted among his guards, the packed gallery of observers, and also from a few of the Lords themselves. Renaer continued, "I beg my Lords' indulgence, but could you identify the last three names you noted?"

The masked Lord on Renaer's far left stood and pointed at him.

"They swing from the shadowtop in Ravencourt, as the tree refuses to give up its dead. We have more than two handfuls of witnesses claiming you led them there to their deaths, and either you or your pet wizard cast the spell that slew them."

"Hardly, but thank you for identifying them. I knew not their names."

This elicited a fresh set of gasps from the gallery and even one shouted, "Hang him too, then!" before the presiding Lord pounded a gavel on the table.

Renaer continued, keeping the proceedings in his favor. "In fact, I am not guilty of any deaths laid before me this morn. Four fell by others' hands and one is not dead, as you all may have heard with her pronouncement at dawn."

"That can be faked," the accusing Lord said, sitting again. "And if not by your hand, all others died at your orders."

"No," the fifth Lord said. "I was on the streets this morning. I saw Vajra atop Blackstaff Tower. Only a Blackstaff true could hold the staff with the wolf's head, make the tower glow silver, and send that pronouncement throughout the city." The Lord's helm turned in Renaer's direction, and asked, "I would know, young Neverember, if Vajra be not dead, who lies in the Castle's crypts with your weapons in her heart and eye?"

"You will probably need the Watchful Order to dispel some illusions on her body," Renaer said. "As for who it is, I suspect it might be an agent who failed my foes-a woman who called herself Charrar. I lost two daggers and a short sword over the past few days due to haste and peril. It would have been an easy matter for my foes to gather and use them."

"And those strangers were party to their deaths?" A new Lord chimed in, pounding a fist on the table in emphasis.

Renaer paused, thinking his way through his personal library. "If my Lords would have their staff consult Quallon of the Six Fingers' book Ghosts and Spectres Vengeful-or their own court transcripts from multiple incidents between 1268 and 1300-they will find ample evidence that Magister Pallak Nharrelk's ghost judged and sentenced those men, not I. His presence beneath and in the Magistree killed those men, for they were unpunished for previous crimes."

"What prevarication is this? Centuries-old scrolls cannot help your cause!"

"They will," Renaer said. "Ravencourt's three-centuiies-old shadowtop is all that remains of the House Nharrelk noble villa. Buried beneath that tree is a magister of the city who was slain by the corrupt Guildmasters who overthrew the Lords for a brief time two hundred years ago."

The presiding Lord flinched at that and paused, but said, "This court shall recess to test the accuracy of the defendant's statements. Until we reconvene, you are a prisoner and shall-"

As the other Lord was speaking, a court aide had approached another of the Lords and whispered to the side of the helm. That Lord nodded once, twice, and then held up a hand to intetrupt both the aide and the presiding judge. "My aide Urlath supports what the accused has stated. The Hanging Tree of Ravencourt, while inactive for more than a century, has been deemed a rightful arm of the Lords' Justice and thus none can be held accountable for deaths caused by it save the victims themselves."

"What of sworn testimony from a guildmaster that you are responsible for torturing young women in hidden cellars beneath a property of yours?" said another Lord. Renaer found it iiritating that all the Lords spoke in the same hollow, nondescript voice.

Renaer had to fight off both the lurch of fear in his stomach and a smile, admiring the deftness at which Ten-Rings covered his own tracks. He paced a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then said, "What we do on our own properties to consenting peoples is our own affair, a code to which each of you Lords, if unmasked, would attest. What we do to those unwilling is actionable, I agree. I'd like to face my accuser in open court and send the same charges at him, for he seeks to place his crimes on me. I proclaim Khondar

Naomal of the Watchful Order, the mage oft-called "Ten-Rings," a traitor to the city and one of two persons guilty of the crimes of which I am accused and more. I would accuse another, but he remained cloaked behind illusions. His co-conspirator walked the streets as Samark "Blackstaff" Dhanzscul for at least this last tenday, if not longer."

Tumult erupted both on the floor of the Lords' Court and up above in the gallery of witnesses. As the presiding Lord tried to gavel the crowd into order, Renaer yelled, "I demand a private audience! It is my right as a citizen of Waterdeep to plead my case to the Open Lord before any trial or senrencing is final." With his first statement, Renaer himself quelled the crowd to a watchful silence.

"The Open Lotd recused himself from these proceedings," the presiding Lord said.

Another of the Lords spoke up. "Regardless, it is the boy's right as a citizen."

Five other Lords nodded in agreement and looked to Dagult. The one closest to Dagult said, "As it is our right to hold the Open Lord accountable for judgments he proclaims in our collective name."

The Open Lord readjusted his ermine-lined vest and his heavy amulet of office on his chest, and said, "Very well. Guards, provide us our escort. I shall lead the way."

Lord's Champion Vorgan and three guards led Renaer through the back of the Lords' Court chamber, down a slim hall northward, and through a series of stairs and turns until he wasn't sure of his orientation. By the time they reached a set of double-doors, Renaer knew he'd not seen this place before, despite much time spent in the palace over the years. Dagult, ever in the lead, opened the doors, let his son inside, and then closed the doors again, saying to Vorgan, "Remain here, in case of need."

Renaer looked around this private office, sumptuous in its appointing. "The Chamber Emerald. I've heard of it but never seen it." Renaer went around, touching the silk wall hangings of a green dragon in flight flanked by an outward facing pair of black-pelted pegasi with green feathers and manes. "Can't quite remember-this was built with money from a noble family from Impiltur, right? They lost their fortune a few decades later, leaving this as their only surviving legacy. Didn't they lose all their family and fortunes with the Spellplague?"

"Enough scholar's games, Renaer," Dagult said. "You have your private audience. Don't waste my time and yours reciting what you know of House Khearen."

"You know these charges are false, Father," Renaer said. "You know I can prove my innocence beyond what I've already said out there in open court. I'm just here to save face-yours, in fact."

Dagult, drinking from a goblet, spit out wine in surprise and coughed. "What are you blithering on about?"

"You're in this too, Father. I just didn't want to expose you before your fellow Lords."

Dagult spun toward Renaer, his face purple with fury, but before he could unleash his tempet, Renaer simply said, "Roarke House."

Dagult deflated and took another breath before he said, "I don't know what you're talking about, boy."

"You're the only one who had access to the deeds and keys to all our holdings, Father," Renaer said. "You gave or sold Ten-Rings that house in return for something. What were you promised for his doing the dirty work?"

"Careful, boy," Dagult said. "You can still be punished by my hand, officially or simply parentally."

"Don't even think to try it," Renaer said, "or I'll simply start asking questions out there as to how Ten-Rings the Traitor got hold of a house owned by the Open Lord. That alone shall lead even dim-thinkers to other questions. And worse answers." He knew his father was shaken by these accusations, even if it didn't show on his face. The fact that he paced without looking at anyone or anything in particular told Renaer volumes.

Dagult took a few breaths before he said, "Don't threaten idly or without proof, Renaer. It's unbecoming. Besides, you're dealing with wizards here, boy." He paced away from Renaer. "They obviously got to your precious hin, charmed him into selling them Roarke House, and then wiped his mind of the memory later. We see at least one case a month like that in court."

Renaer slammed his hand against the desk. "Don't lie to me!"

The doors to the chamber burst open. Vorgan and the armed Watchmen entered. Dagult shook his head and waved them back. They closed the doors behind themselves after they looked around, seeing only the two men in the room.

"You have a share of my temper," Dagult said, "as much as you have your mother's wits."

"Father, her wits are what undid you. Them and your choice of agents." Renaer tossed a small pouch at Dagult, who opened it to find a blood-spattered eyepatch. He turned his back on Renaer to stare out the window of his office, only allowing his son to see him crush the pouch and patch. "Granek worked for you on more than one occasion before and after he was drummed out of the Watch. No longer. As for your cover earlier, one of the reasons I trust Sambral to collect my rents and manage my affairs is simple-he seems to be nearly immune to any mind-affecting magics. I am sure you know how many hedge-and-penny wizards and sorcerers try to weasel out of their rent by bending the brains of the collectors."

Dagult froze, his back to Renaer, and then sighed. Without turning to him, he said, "What is it you want of me?"

"I want all charges dropped and a public apology issued for me and my friends. I also want an end to this harassment by certain members of the Watch," Renaer said. "We both know they're more needed elsewhere than they are chasing me and my friends every night."

"Fair enough," Dagult said. "Provided you actually favor me with your presence when I ask for it. For the past two years, the only times I've seen you are when the Watch arrests you and drags you to me."

"I'll not appear simply at your summons," Renaer said. "A meal shared and scheduled once a tenday here at the palace, and I'll bring the wine."

"You do have your mother's penchant for good wines." Dagult chuckled. "Aye. Done."

"I also want independence," Renaer said. "You're the Open Lord, so live here at the palace. Conduct your affairs from here. Leave me Neverember Manor. I'm planning to restore its original name of Brandarthall in Mother's honor. I can oversee the Neverember business, if you wish, or you can find someone else to manage your holdings-openly or in secret. I only wish to manage what Mother left me-her wealth and her family's holdings, which far outstrip what you cobbled together with her money and family's connections. You can even pretend that I'm simply a wastrel son living off his father's money, if you choose to continue that tale. We'll both know who's the latger land holder in Waterdeep-and we'll both know each other's measure. I'll keep your secrets, if you keep out of my affairs."

After a long pause, Dagult said, "Done," but he remained unmoving before the large window.

"Am I free to go, then?" Renaer asked.

"One thing more-do you know where Khondar Naomal is now? Or his illusion-slinging lackey of a son?" Dagult turned to face him. "They, at least, are traitors, and the city shall demand blood."

"I don't know what happened to Centiv," Renaer said, "but my friends were going to face Ten-Rings before he tried to broach the shields around Ahghairon's Tower."

"What?" Dagult's surprise was genuine. "Guards!"

The three Watchmen burst in.

"Summon all forces and surround Ahghairon's Tower!" Dagult screamed. "Now! Get a runner to the Watchful Order and get us their most powerful to stop one of their own guildmasters from high treason!"

"Why the panic, Father?" Renaer asked. "It's not like Khondar'11 be able to penetrate all the shields. He's under a compulsion to do this, and Vajra believes it to be a suicide run. Thus, the city will get its blood after all."

"I helped raise you, so I know you're no fool," Dagult said. "Few know how to penetrate those shields, but those who tried unleashed all manner of magic. Ahghairon's magic helps protect this city and keeps spells more stable here than elsewhere. Should something disrupt that, the only magic left here might be mundane commerce."

Renaer finished his father's thought. "And there's too much coin to be taken from wizards and their ilk to let that happen."

Dagult spun around and spread his arms as if to say, "Of course!" His smile faded when he said, "Another thing we do know is that any intruder who penetrates those fields far enough, a Walking Statue-yes, a monolithic guardian of the City-teleports in from gods-know-where to attack the intruder."

Renaer started to ask where the problem was, but stopped and gasped. "That statue hasn't been summoned. Ever. It could very easily-"

Dagult and Renaer uttered the same conclusion together. "-bring a patch of the spellplague back with it!"

Renaer ran for the door, heading for the same destination as the Watchmen.

Dagult walked quickly back to the Lords' Court, its gallery now emptied as folk chased the commotion outside. "Where is Renaer?" asked the presiding Lord.

"He is free to go, by my hand and by Code Legal," Dagult said.

"We shall have our answers on those other matters soon enough. Come, our best view of a traitor's end may be from the East Tower."

"What happened in there?" another Lord asked.

"My son has become a man, and worse yet, a hero. Something this city has not seen in some time."