'Why?' Osco asked. 'What could she tell them? And why should we get involved in the Blackstaffs mess? It'll just lead to us being tortured-the kind without feathers!'
Vajra sat bolt upright on the divan, leveled steel blue eyes at the halfling and said, 'You know many secrets that lie beneath black stones, Osco Salibuck. Do these deeds for me, and know the Black-staff rewards his friends well.' Her tone was grave and stern, but then she looked quizzically at Osco and asked, 'When did your eye get restored?'
When Osco just looked at her strangely, the blue-eyed wizard stopped speaking, and then she collapsed back onto the couch, unconscious.
Osco looked at her, then Renaer, and the others, and said, 'Bet she's fun at parties. I've never met her before in my life, so I don't know how she knew my name. And I've no idea what else she was blathering on about.'
When Vharem shot him a disbelieving look, he pleaded, 'Honestly!'
'She does that,' Renaer said, 'but she rarely speaks as clearly. Normally it's like there's a bunch of folk fighting to talk through her. I think if we take her to Blackstaff Tower, it might help her. At least it'd be a safer place for her to hide.'
'So how does that make it our problem?'
'Because they knew we're aware that they're up to something, fool,' Vharem said as he sliced off a large hunk of cheese from the wheel he'd brought with him. 'Besides, if someone else steals her power as the Blackstaff, they could kill Renaer and all of us far too easily. Not to mention anyone else associated with Renaet, like a certain family of hin servants?'
Osco blanched, his connections to the trouble made clear. 'Depending on where we can- return to in the city, I can probably keep us all hidden from anyone looking for us. Anyone human, at least.'
'How can you do that?' Meloon asked.
'Yes, how do you plan to help us avoid being caught?' Renaer said. 'We're not even sure who our pursuers are other than Ten-Rings.'
'I'll lead you through the Warrens beneath the city. It'll help me avoid others meself.'
'Do the Warrens lead anywhere near Blackstaff Tower?' Renaer — asked.
Osco's brow furrowed, and he said, 'Not that I know of, but I'm sure we can get close.'
'Is that easier than using the streets?' Laraelra asked.
'Easier?' Osco said. 'Not for you tall ones. Safer? Yes. The Watch and most humans never had much presence in the Warrens beyond a few token gnome and hin Watch. Mostly because the
Lords're too big and too arrogant to think that things among the small folk are worth noting. That's why there's a lot of things going on down there that make me gradam think I'm up to no good.'
'Well, you skulk in the shadows pretty well,' Renaer said, 'and you always seem to be in trouble or fleeing from one moneylender to the next.'
'And that hardly makes me worse than most of the young nobles and nigh-nobles of Sea Ward now, does it?' 'He's got a point,' Laraelra chimed in, smirking.
CHAPTER 10
Blessed are those enfolded by the Cloakshadow, for their enemies shall see them not, know them not. Things entrusted to the Illusory remain secret, until the time comes to draw back the cloak and reveal what Baravar held dear.
10 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Master Ompahr,' Roywyn yelled, 'we need your help!' She hated trying to talk to the nigh-deaf elderly priest. Even her shouts barely penetrated his awareness.
'You can't have my heart, curse you!' The bald, white-bearded gnome half-sat up against a mound of cushions and pillows at the back of his somewhat sumptuous burrow. His quarters filled the back of the subterranean temple to Baravar Cloakshadow, his honored presence as the elder high-priest of the order apparent from the richness of the trappings about his personal burrow. Ompahr Daergech himself was a frail, wizened gnome who almost disappeared amongst the pillows.
Instead of answering, the young priestess took a helmet off a nearby shelf and handed it to him. It was a curious object-a metal skullcap with two ram's horns mounted over the ears. In opposite fashion from some overdone fighter's helm, the points of the horns went toward the ears and the open ends of the hollowed horns faced outward. The old gnome grudgingly took the helm and grumbled as he put it on. 'What are you disturbing my meditations for, granddaughter Ellywyn?' His voice dropped as he realized how loudly he had been speaking.
'I'm Roywyn, Grandsire Ompahr-Ellywyn's granddaughter,' she explained in a lower voice, now that he could hear better.
'Well, what do you want, whoever you are?' Ompahr's growl was now more playful. Both she and her ancestor knew each other, but continued the game nonetheless for their own amusement.
'There's someone here bearing your seal-your green seal,' Roywyn said. Her hands communicated even more to Ompahr that would not be overheard in the tunnels. She knew their guest was wrapped in at least three spells- one illusion, one transmutation, and one divination spell-and that he was impatient and not terribly respectful. His hands also glowed brightly of magic, even though they appeared bare. The child continued talking while her hands flew fast to tell her great-great-great-grandfather all this. 'He is a halfling who has come to pay his respects and asks a boon of you.' Her final hand-signals elicited much giggling out of the aged gnome, as she explained that if he was truly a halfling, she was a hill giant-after all, he turned down their standard offer of something to eat when he crossed their threshold.
'Send the lad in, then,' Ompahr said, 'and leave us be.' Ompahr's silent hand-signals told Roywyn to stay close but hidden, along with two other priests who could overpower their foe-or at least dispel his active magic and any more he planned to use.
When Roywyn returned, she escorted a male hin. He wore a nondescript cloak and leathers, his hood thrown back, and a pair of short wands tucked into his belt. He bowed, and Omphar looked at him with spell-enhanced sight. He saw who the man was beneath his transformations and illusions-a completely bald man with merged eyebrows and a thin salt-and-pepper goatee and mustache. He noted the ten rings on his fingers-only two of which glowed magically-and saw an additional wand strapped to his inner right forearm. Ompahr didn't know who he faced, but he grinned nonetheless. He hadn't had any fun with strangers in quite some time.
'Greetings, honored Ompahr Daergech,' the halfling said as he stood up. 'I bring you this-'
'Don't waste my time, boy!' Ompahr roared at him, far louder than he needed for his own hearing. 'I'm too blasted old! Show me what you've brought, silly fool of a hin! And give me a name, or I'll call you Puckerpaws and make you match the name!'
The hin coughed once, nervously, and said, 'Call me Harthen,' and held out his left hand, palm up, to show the gnome priest a rolled scroll closed and impressed with a green wax seal. Written in the old Common trade tongue on the outside of the scroll was, 'Take this to Ompahr Daergech or his heirs. They will guide you to your rightful legacy.'
Ompahr wiggled his ring finger and the scroll levitated off Harthen's palm. 'Hold your palms up to me, Harthen,' he said.
Ompahr saw nothing, either on Harthen's palms or on the man's real palms beneath his spells. Well, he didn't find these himself or he'd have the mark on one of his hands, Ompahr thought. I wonder how he found an honest person to do so. The priest wiggled his index finger, and the seal popped off the scroll, the ancient parchment unrolling and brittle edges cracking as it did so.
Ompahr saw an empty scroll for a moment, and he whispered a prayer to his god. 'Baravar, draw open the curtains of deceit over this and let me see what secrets we hide from ourselves and others.'
