smiled but shook his fascination away and kept running. 'I wasn't sure that was going to work. First time I've ever used Blackstaff Tower's spell defenses against anyone.'
Renaer dashed left, heading east up Tharleon Street. The Flagon Dragon Inn's three stories dominated that corner, the stone dragons at the base of the walls all spouting fire. He waved at the two dragon-helmed guards at the door as he ran past, and both returned the wave. He'd have to drag Torlyn back here again soon-he liked this place, even if it did cater more to those of less-than-noble class. Renaer jogged into the Silkanth's Cut, ducking behind Rarknal's Whitesmiths and running up the outer stairs leading to the rooftop garden on the adjoining building.
Renaer never slowed his pace and continued to run up to and past the roof's edge, launching himself toward the clothesline that angled over the eastern arc of the cut. He grabbed it and used his momentum to swing himself further up and onto the parapet of a row house. Keeping up his pace, he ran across that roof as well, leaping over the low wall that marked where that building abutted the next. As he ran east across that roof, he headed toward the stone arches that arced over Hoy's Skip below. Since the Spellplague, many of the row buildings had arches to support the buildings.
Renaer deftly ran over the arch as if it were a dry street instead of the ice-rimed bridge it was. He continued south, vaulting over or climbing above the abutment walls among the buildings lining the Street of Silks. When he stopped, dropping into the shadows next to an overlarge chimney, he could look across the street and beyond to see into the well-lit windows of the Smiling Siren festhall.
Renaer waited. The young Lord Neverember heard the Watch stumble past him on the street below, their armar chewing out the new recruits and barking orders. Looking down, Renaer knew he'd run many a scamper with this armar, the bald patch on his head exposing a familiar birthmark.
The balding armar's voice traveled in the crisp winter air. 'No, he's not a Shar-worshipper to draw shadows around him! You're just incompetent! Now look down to Keltarn and see if he's heading east. He likes to-take Cymbril's Walk, not the Prowl, because the taverns along there like him. We'll head up to Bazaar and investigate parts east. If we don't find him by the Street of Bells, we regroup at the Singing Sword and…' The words grew muffled as they moved out of Renaer's hearing range.
Renaer smiled, then something tapped him on the shoulder and he felt his stomach lurch. He turned and found himself facing the tabard of a barrel-chested Watch valabrar standing less than an arm's reach from him, a watchman's rod in hand. In Selune's pale light, Renaer stood, and said, 'At least it was you and not Ralnarth. Well, Officer Varbrent? Am I a prisoner?'
The grizzled older man rubbed his salt-and-peppered beard with the end of the rod, smiling slightly at Renaer. 'Nah, but you're getting almost predictable, lad. You've come here twice before. You don't scout too well ahead of yourself or you'd have noticed me waiting here for you. Slow night?'
'Slow enough. I didn't find any other things to lead them toward.'
'Like those smugglers the other night? Ralnarth caught a good reward there, he did.'
'And we both know he doesn't deserve the promotion, Morrath. He's a bully with coin and a noble name behind him, that's all!'
'Aye, lad, but he's connected in the right places, so he moves up the ladder. Besides, for his faults, he serves a purpose.'
Renaer smirked at the Watch captain. 'Someone for you to laugh about back at barracks?'
Morrath snorted and said, 'No. He's vain, so his uncle's money gets him and his Watchmen better equipment, but ultimately that's only good for the city. Don't worry-we both know why he's got his recruits chasin' you. That'll die down in another day or so, assuming you and your friends stay out of his nose. Kahlem won't bring things to the notice of your father. Not while I'm about.'
'Thanks, Morrath,' Renaer said, clapping the watchman on the shoulder.
'Boy, your rat-scampers are handy for training the young 'uns or punishing those who've o'erstepped their places. I just wish you or your friends would join the Watch to train them directly. You'd be a farsight better officer than Ralnarth.'
Renaer winked and said, 'You can't afford me, Morrath.'
'Well,' Morrath said, 'can't blame a man for trying. Just keep yourself from trouble, boy.'
Renaer and Morrath both clambered down a stone rose trellis from their rooftop perch. Renaer dropped the last few feet, landing in a crouch onto Swords Street again.
'Do you want to share a carriage?' Renaer asked, but when he turned in Morrath's direction, the man had disappeared. 'Well met, Morrath. Have to learn that one some time. '
Renaer stepped out of the shadows at the mouth of Scarlet's Well and flagged down a carriage. The single horse and its young driver both started from his sudden appearance. He didn't blame them, for the area was known to be haunted, albeit by a harmless woman's spirit still weeping bloody tears for her lost love. The boy got over his fear quickly when he saw the quartet of taols Renaer held up. The boy reached eagerly, but Renaer closed his hand around all but one of the square coins. 'The rest are yours if you get me quietly to the Grinning Lion in less than two songs.'
The boy nodded enthusiastically as Renaer slipped inside the carriage. Renaer found no comfort inside, as the matted cushions provided little relief from the hard bench or lurching ride.
Renaer enjoyed the chases with the Watch, but he bristled when the law enforcers-including his father the Open Lord- flaunted power over him and others. Dagult and Kahlem Ralnarth's abuses of authority showed the people that the Watch did not work always for the greater good of the city-just the whims of officers or the Lords. Worst of all, he didn't know what his father wanted, other than obedience and for Renaer to only act within the limited confines of Dagult s imagination. Renaer heard his father's words often enough-'You're a dupe, a wastrel, and you're throwing money away at every church across the city! I won't have my son waste his life!'
Renaer whispered, almost in prayer, 'I want more for my father and for Waterdeep. This used to be a city where dreams came true and gods walked the cobbles. Now, the grime of commerce and greed covers everything, including the once-shining helms of the Lords. The Crown of the North still rules all commerce and politics, but it can't remotely claim to be the City of Splendors. This city needs heroes to bring back its life and luster. But gods know if I have it in me to be one.'
Many hours later, Renaer crept quietly up the stairs to his rooms, a task not terribly difficult given the stone steps and carpets. He expected to be alone, but lights still blazed beneath the door to his father's study.
'The man is the Open Lord,' Renaer muttered. 'Why in the gods' names doesn't he use his offices at the palace?'
Despite his aggravation at the delay in sleep, Renaer smiled. He discovered years ago that he learned more when folk didn't know there were others within earshot. He slipped silently into his room, closed the door, and stripped for bed. Folding his clothes neatly on a side dresser, he shivered from the cold despite the small fire in the fireplace near his bed. Renaer burrowed beneath the furs and quilts, all the while keeping an ear cocked to the voices carried through the chimney shared with the next room's fireplace.
'We've not learned nearly enough, Dagult.' Renaer didn't know this thin reedy voice, nor did he like-what the man had to say. 'She is as stubborn as her master was.'
'We know the Blackstaffs have always had access to unknown magic,' another unrecognized voice said. 'I got her talking about the masked Lords of the past, but she would not say how they controlled them.'
The thin-voiced one said, 'The secret of long years, of course, is the most profitable of secrets we could glean from her. I always suspected they bargained with elves or dwarves for those secrets.'
'Three tendays! That's what you told me! And it's been seven!' Dagult slammed his hand down on a table. Renaer knew his father's temper well, and Dagult's roar meant he was frustrated but not yet angry. That's when he'd get very quiet. 'You claimed I would have the Overlord's Helm to help me uncover my fellow Lords' secrets. That is what you claimed would make this gambit worth it! Well?'
The second voice joined in again. 'We can't get her to focus. She's been mad ever since-'
'Focus?' Daguh snapped. 'What do you think you have Granek for?'
The thin-voiced man coughed and said, 'Yes, well, his methods are 'Only slightly more successful than your magic, apparently,' Dagult said. 'Now, when are you going to deliver what you promised? You've already received far more reward than what you've delivered in return, but I'm still prepared to bring you into the fold, should you gain results before the solstice.'
Just who was Dagult conspiring with here? Renaer wondered. He never put more on the table unless he
