Tsarra toweled her long hair but dried herself in the morning sunbeams and air. She stood before her wardrobe a while before choosing a simple shift of gray wool. She approached the bed and took up the bow and arrows, placing them carefully back in their places on hooks next to the wardrobe. Finally, she drew the scimitar from its sheath, and its silver sheen caught the morning light to dazzling effect. Mhaornathil-the only thing she'd inherited from her mother other than her elf blood-was a Rilifane-blessed scimitar that could cut ghosts as easily as flesh. Tsarra loved the blade almost as much as she hated undead, the bane of her existence since her father died by undead hands fifteen years before. Still, Tsarra knew she couldn't use the scimitar for the test. Danthra already knew a lot about the blade, and it wouldn't be a fair test of the spell. She snapped the weapon back into its sheath and hung it and the sword belt on their pegs above her headboard.
Tsarra approached her window to stand in the sunlight a moment and breathe in the fresh morning air. Within five breaths, she sensed her familiar coming, even though he didn't loop around the tower and land on the windowsill for a handful of moments. She loved the muffled rustle of his wings as he landed, as well as his purred greeting.
In its language, she said, 'Good hunt to you too, mighty one.'
Jet black in hue, the tressym stuck his head out, gesturing for a head scratch, his ravenlike wings ruffling slightly over his back.
Tsarra obliged him, letting him rub his head solidly on her palm. She stopped a moment, staring into his mismatched eyes-one of deep blue, the other green-and smiled.
'Of course you're a good companion and a very good hunter,' she said.
When the creature tensed to hop onto her shoulder, she held him back, smoothing his feathers and chucking him under the chin. In Common, rather than the purrs of tressymspeak, she said, 'Not a chance until the smell of those chipmunks you ate fades from your breath.
Now, go take a nap. I've got to work with Danthra for a while. Oh, and remember to leave Chaid's familiar alone until he gets used to you.'
Nameless let out a trilling purr, and she said, 'I don't care if he looks and smells like prey. He's not food, any more than you are.'
His trilling retort made Tsarra laugh as the tressym flapped his wings and headed out the nearest window, en route to the sunny top of the tower. Tsarra chuckled as she finished combing her hair with her fingers. Satisfied her auburn curls were under control with a white ribbon tying them back, she exited her room and descended the stairs.
When leaving from the dormitories, the lack of a command word deposited the descender on stairs at the second level of the tower.
Alcoves and tiny shelves lit by permanent fey lights lined the walls along both sides of the winding staircase, revealing random books and knickknacks. Tsarra remembered her first tendays in Blackstaff Tower, as she spent her free time staring at all the magical items and artifacts seemingly left out unprotected. By the end of the first tenday, she'd learned that none of the items could be removed from the alcoves without command words, and the things changed so often one might never see the same twice within the same tenday.
After her first year, Tsarra knew she had seen more than two hundred magical tomes and at least as many unknown items and artifacts littering the walls of the tower. She stopped counting and just accepted that Khelben Arunsun had more magical items within the tower than all the rest of the City of Splendors held within its walls.
In the short walk from her second-floor room down to the ground floor, she saw a pyramid of fifteen tiny silver frogs, the glistening black leather cover of The Fanged Tome of Lykanthus Szar with its four dragons' teeth clasps, a gnoll's skull carved from or transformed into green marble with eyes of scarlet flames, the golden crystal called Alaundo's Loop-forever turning in on itself in a twisted curl and hiding eternity in its depths-on a pillow of white velvet, a floating square blue-wax candle burning from each corner, and a clockwork cat whose buff rag tongue lent a shine to its mechanical paw as it cleaned itself with only the mildest of ticking sounds. She turned to her other side and started scanning those niches for objects she had never seen before, spotting a miniature throne with a small wax figure seated on it, a round book with a ring binding and solid silver covers, its runes identifying it as The Annals Adamarus, and a goblet made of glacial ice and set with rubies, its contents steaming hot.
'Choose one, Tsarra.'
Tsarra started, and shook her head in frustration. Despite her better-than-average hearing, the half-elf had not heard the mage come down the stairs behind her. He stepped from the gloom of the upper stairs, reminding Tsarra why so many feared her master. He stood only a bit more than six feet in height, and his build was strong, but hardly threatening. His robes proclaimed him a wizard, and he carried his trademark staff of blackened wood at his side. His hair fell just past his shoulders, its jet blackness interrupted only by a silver-white wedge on the chin of his full beard. While normal and fully human in many ways, the Blackstaff cultivated an aura of power and mystery. There were very few he couldn't intimidate with a simple stare. For the moment, that stare was leveled at her.
He said, 'I haven't got all-what is it, love?'
The look on his face changed instantly, and his eyes focused on something past her. Tsarra smiled as she tried to ignore Khelben's conversation with what appeared to be the wall. The Blackstaff and his wife Laeral shared a bond and could hear each other's words when they spoke the other's name. Khelben seemed distracted, but his voice never rose above a whisper.
Tsarra returned her attentions to the niches and their magical items. As the items before her shimmered away and others materialized in their places, she spotted a fascinating object-a golden belt of chain mail loops made of either gold or some amalgam. Ornate golden scales shaped like swords, shields, and oak leaves covered the surface of the belt. Set atop the shield scales, small, sea-green, opaque gems glittered, sixteen in all. The buckle was breathtaking in its workmanship-it was an ice eagle's head in profile, a larger sea-green gem as its eye. Tsarra had never been a great student of magic items, but the belt absorbed her attention. She reached for it, whispering the command word to release it… and failed.
As a senior apprentice, Tsarra was privy to many of the command words to access certain places and things within Blackstaff Tower, so she said the command again, louder, only to have a force field remain around the belt and niche.
She sighed loudly and said, 'Sorry to interrupt you, Lord Arunsun, but I cannot get the niche to release its burden to me for this test.'
Khelben did not even turn toward her as he began vaulting the steps.
'Adkarlom.' The niches all briefly flashed and Tsarra's hand closed around the cold metal belt. Khelben dashed upstairs and spoke as he spun from sight. 'Wait for me in the lower library. I'll be there… soon.'
Tsarra was stunned. In sixteen years at the tower, she had never seen Khelben run for any reason. While she'd heard the rare snort or chuckle, she'd also never heard Khelben laugh, which he seemed to be doing from up the stairs.
'Something weird is going on, Danthra,' Tsarra said as she entered the library. 'Did you hear that? Khelben laughing!'
Danthra blanched, her porcelain skin paling even more than normal.
Tsarra placed the belt on the table, and put her arm around her friend in support. Danthra hugged her fiercely, almost squeezing the air from her. After a few moments, she relaxed, and Tsarra held her shoulders as she asked, 'Gods… What's the matter, Dreamer? You can't be that nervous about this spell.'
'It's not that… it's that vision… I didn't know it before, but Khelben's laugh was in my vision too.'
'You're kidding me! Well, tell me-'
'Ladies, good morning. Let us proceed.' Khelben walked briskly into the room, his face cloaked in its usual stone-seriousness.
Tsarra saw what had gone unnoticed in the dark stairwell. Instead of his normal dark robes, Khelben wore modern-cut robes of deep crimson wool. His trademark black staff that he often carried with him was not the usual trim staff shod in silver on the ends. Instead, he bore a gnarled and blackened piece of wood that seemed more a small sapling blasted from the ground. As Khelben closed the door, Tsarra also noticed that blue sparks danced among the cluster of roots at the staff's top. He also had a broad smile on his face, and his steel-blue eyes danced with delight.
Khelben turned, noticed his apprentices' stares, and within a heartbeat, his face returned to its normal
