would you prefer?'
'Neither, Tsarra, thank you,' Meloon said, and he backed away, ducking behind a large tree to break the charge of the lion. When it hit the tree, Meloon turned and ran toward the villa and the light.
Behind him, he heard arrows striking the trees and the roar of the lions. He felt more than heard their heavy footfalls in the forest around him. He focused on his first goal-the Stag and Hawk tavern mysteriously moved within this grove. When two arrows struck the trees on either side of him, he marveled at his luck that they'd missed him Until sprays of webs came from each arrow. Within a step, sticky arm-thick spiderwebs filled the path before him. Meloon tried to turn, but his feet slid out from under him. A spray of dead leaves covered the lower webs as he rolled to the right. He could see his path to the Stag and Hawk cut off.
Behind him, Tsarra uttered a swear word only his grandfather still used. Meloon got up, only to find his path blocked by two of the lions. He turned back to find the other two lions and the webs preventing escape down his previous path. He tightened his grip on the axe and said, 'Come on.'
He stepped toward the lion in his path, swinging Azuredge, only to see the lion grow more and more transparent. By the time he closed with it, the lion had disappeared. He broke into a run again.
Arrows sprouted thorn bushes, slinging more webs, and even a few gouted fires or noxious gases when they hit. Meloon charged past all of them, calling behind him, 'Tsarra, it's obvious you could easily stop me, so why don't you?'
'Haven't had a good hunt in ages,' she said, suddenly beside him. 'We rarely get to play here.'
'Here?' Meloon asked, dodging away from her and out into a clearing on the western side of the noble villa. 'So I'm still in Blackstaff Tower? And since when do wizards use bows or hunt?'
He took a quick look behind to see where Tsarra was, but spotted no one behind or beside him. He picked up his pace, arcing around the clearing to the front of the villa. He ran through the open gates, only to skid to a stop on its cobbles. Tsarra leaned against the villa's corner. On one side of her was the servant's entrance tucked to the side, and on the other the main entrance in proud, overdone details of metal banding and highly polished pharnal wood. Light streamed out beneath both doors and the windows high above.
'Wizards don't, but I do,' Tsarra said, as she leaned on her bow.
'Did you hunt down my friends too?'
'Hardly,' Tsarra said. 'There are others tending to your friends.'
'Let us help. You're guarding Blackstaff Tower. Let us help Vajra, and we can all help Waterdeep.'
'Did she tell you that?' Tsarra nodded toward Azuredge.
'She who? The axe? No. But she has said a few things, like your name. I'm sorry I don't know who you are. I'm not a history student like Renaer.'
'I used to be a Blackstaff. You're a sellsword. If we promised you a fortune in gems, would you help the other guardians and me rout the other invaders out of the tower?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'They're my friends. We're here to help the city, not ourselves. I thought that was what Blackstaff Tower was all about too.'
'Very good, Meloon Wardragon,' Tsarra said. 'There's more to you than a great physique and a magical axe. I expected you to fight my harassment long before you ever got here. If Lauroun'-and here the ghost nodded toward Azuredge-'honors you with advice, listen to her. You're both defenders of Waterdeep now, and that's rarely the easiest path on which to walk. Are you certain you choose this?'
Meloon smiled and said, 'And so the wagons toll.'
'So be it, warrior,' Tsarra said. 'How do you know which door to choose, then?'
Meloon laughed and winked at her, then strode past her and through the servant's entrance. As he crossed the mist-enshrouded threshold, he heard Tsarra's ghost mutter, 'Brawn and some brains when he chooses. Just like you, husband…'
Meloon's third step took him through the mists and into a decidedly cooler place.
And again, not where he expected.
CHAPTER 20
I worry for our son, my love. His temper is as yours was, though he has not my mother's gifts to protect him. Krehlan climbs to your example, but 'tis such a fall from so high…
11 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Renaer just stood and stared. After all he'd read about Blackstaff Tower, he'd not expected this. No one else was ptesent other than Vajra, and the room itself was tiny with barely room for Vajra and him to stand face-to-face. Its walls were made of some chilling, white energy. Touching them felt like brushing a hand against glacial ice. Pushing his hand farther through, Renaer quickly lost all feeling in his hand. The room's featurelessness frightened Renaer, as he tubbed his hand to restore feeling to it.
'Vajra, what's going on? Where's Vharem? And the others?' Vajra turned to him, a lone tear running down her cheek. She looked past his left shoulder and said, '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 frail cloud of green mists, leaving Renaer alone.
He turned back to the stairs, only to find them gone. The white walls dissolved into mists that slowly rose and cleared. Renaer gasped, finding himself at an intersection among rows upon rows of bookshelves. In every direction, books rose on ancient wooden shelves up to a ceiling more than three times' Renaer's own height. He let out a low whistle, turned, and walked into another row, only to be faced by the same scene-thousands of books of all conceivable sizes and bindings.
Renaer reached out at random, grasping a red-leather bound folio off the shelf and opening it to its title page. The rich smell of vellum wafted over him as he read in elegant script 'An Archmage's Life at Court, by Vangerdahast Aeiulvana.' The scribe's notation at the bottom marked this as a personal copy for Khelben Arunsun, penned in the Year of the Crown, 1351 DR. More astonishing were brief scrawls of 'Enjoy!' written by Azoun IV, and another hand writing, 'Now you owe me your next,' followed by an elaborate V. Renaer replaced the book with reverence, knowing this tome alone would cost him a month's worth of rents.
Renaer turned and grabbed a more modest brown leather book bound by straps. He gingerly undid them and opened Wanderings with Quill andSwordby Mirt the Moneylender, penned in the Year of the Bridle. Renaer's eyes widened as he realized the book had been copied that same day 130 years in the past! He put the book back and wandered down the rows of books, less frequently taking books down for identification as much as absorbing the variety and breadth of the tomes in Blackstaff Tower.
When Renaer turned down his twentieth row, he stopped in his tracks, startled by the appearance of someone in the library. More than ten feet overhead, a man stood on thin air at the high shelves, reading. The man's olive robes and hood hid his features, but Renaer noticed that his green boots showed no wear and tear on their soles.
'Forgive my intrusion, master,' Renaer said. 'Do you know where I might find Vajra Safahr or my other comrades?'
The figure barely twitched, though the man's left hand began a spell. Renaer watched carefully, but neither moved nor interrupted him. When the spell finished, a brief cloud of sparks surrounded the man's hood. 'How did you know?' 'Know what?'
'Not to fear the spell. Most folk would have dodged for cover behind the books when they noticed my working a spell. Are you simple, fearless, or some combination thereof?' The man's tone was haughty and condescending, a
