Raegar finally spotted a glint of metal. He saw the short sword lying in the grass, another scabbard burned away entirely around it.
Raegar crawled to the sword, keeping himself hidden among the shadows as he heard more guards thundering down the road on horseback from their garrison on one of the nearby farms to the west. The golden diamonds in the hilt of the short sword glistened beneath the moonlit sky. The ground beneath it was an inky black and oily, as if a patch of tar had bubbled up beneath the sword. The rogue gripped the pommel, but the ground held it fast. As Raegar fought to pull the sword free, two four-clawed hands formed from the tarlike patch and wrapped around the sword. An eye opened on the back of one of the hands, and a mouth on the other. 'Wakessssss usssssss. Callsssss usssss,' it hissed at the thief. The tar patch grew beneath the sword, encroaching on where Raegar knelt. He grabbed the sword again and yanked it free from the growing horror, which screamed as he twisted the blade's edge to cut into the blackness. The scream seemed to echo across the ground and grow louder in two other places around the inn. The sound was instantly drowned out by another crash of lightning, and Raegar looked up, knowing it wasn't coming from his sword. Damlath had fired a volley of lightning bolts across the wrecked inn to knock away the count's guards. Raegar wondered why he attacked and didn't just leave, but he was shocked to see the wizard close on the now-unguarded and unconscious Gamalon. Raegar watched in horror as his friend reached down and ripped the sparking gem from the man's eye socket. Damlath held the gem high, his face triumphant and joyful. He cast a spell as new guards came up the road and surrounded him, and massive hailstones and mists of intense cold engulfed men and horses alike. 'Vengeance!' the captain screamed and swung his sword with both hands at Damlath, but the attack bounced off his spell shield. Behind them in the ruined taproom, a growing mass of purple energy formed, and a massive black form lunged through a vortex, its surface bristling with teeth, claws, and eyes. Damlath turned to look at it then teleported away before anyone else could react. Raegar had watched this scene as he unlashed the mare and mounted the saddle. He felt sick to his stomach and leaned over the mare's shoulder to vomit. That's when he noticed the blackness on the ground was thickening and growing toward him, the claws forming strange arms with three hands each. Among those claws, purple sparkles danced and the mouths continued hissing, 'Give usssss … Oursssss…' Raegar flinched from the creature and thought, Got to get away before that grows bigger. I'll get answers and more chances to be sick later. He finally allowed the mare her head, and she bolted down the eastern road, her terror giving them the speed to leave whatever horrors they'd unleashed in their dust. All Raegar couldn't outrun that night were his nagging doubts about his much- changed partner.
CHAPTER NINE
28 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Khelben's words struck Tsarra like a physical blow, and she stopped in her tracks. Her face flushed as she restrained herself from shouting: How dare you ask that of me, master or not? Tsarra's ears rang, a side effect she attributed to using the kiira. Khelben's current guise was a fat man in Wands livery, and his abrupt spin on his heels would have seemed comical at any other time. This is not the time to indulge in childish fears. Tsarra could feel his irritation with the sending. Childish? If you've already been through my memories, you know exactly why I hate undead. Hate, not fear. Those around them saw only the fat little guard and his charge-a well-dressed noblewoman in a stunning aquamarine gown-standing and glaring at each other in the middle of Calamastyr Lane. Fear is the true source of hate, Tsarra. Regardless of what happened in the past, you need to meet Syndra at this time. It's crucial for your development and all that is to pass these next days. You always do that. Do you know how much we hate it? Do what? Make appropriate decisions when called for? Oh, snideness too. No-make decisions for everyone around you and automatically assume they're both right and set in stone as if by godly fiat! The constant ringing made it almost impossible for Tsarra to hear anything else. Khelben approached her and grabbed her by the arm. Nameless flew from the darkness across the way, his snarl evident even from two stories up, and he flew directly into Khelben. The feline lashed his wings behind his body and into Khelben's hood while he sank his claws and teeth into the arm that held his mistress. With his free hand Khelben grabbed the tressym by the scruff and held him so his exasperated yowls and agitated wings were all that disturbed the peace. As Tsarra shrugged herself loose of Khelben's grip, she noticed the tressym had drawn blood and rent the archmage's sleeve. She wondered why her familiar wasn't calming despite her mental urging to do so or why she could hardly feel him in her head. She also wondered about the heavy smell of violets filling her nose, so thick she felt unsteady on her feet. Khelben whispered,
'You forget yourself, child, and with whom you're dealing.' 'I'm..
' Tsarra felt her rage drain from her so quickly she began to fall.
All she could manage was a weak whisper before she collapsed on the cobbles. 'Khelben, help me.'
Midsummer, the Year of the Lone Candle (1238 DR)
The dark-garbed man flew into the courtyard of a four-story stone tower nestled at the foot of Mount Waterdeep, violets covering every inch of the courtyard wall. The local watch patrol looked up, and all saluted the city's archmage, but Khelben the Elder waved them off, using their own hand signals to keep them from joining him. Despite their duty, none of them wished to argue with the centuries-old wizard. The watch civilar returned a hand signal to Khelben, his eyes directed above and behind the wizard. Khelben looked up to see four overzealous apprentices flying overhead, and he scowled. He waved thanks to the watch and sketched a furious spell in his other hand.
The archmage's whisper traveled upwind to the senior of his apprentices hovering above. 'Tandar, Mystra herself won't save you, should you or any others interfere here today. Were I in need of assistance, I would have asked when I left your class moments ago.
Remain and watch from there, if you must, but never follow me again unless you have irrefutable reason.' Khelben cut off the spell without listening to the young Chondathan's response. The teacher in him was proud of his students showing initiative and drive, but he shuddered as he remembered the funerals of seven apprentices in the past ten years. 'No more, especially today of all days,' he growled. At least he didn't have to keep Cassandra distracted, given how busy she and the Lady Simtul were with the wedding plans for that evening. Khelben glanced at the tower, realizing it had been more than two dozen years since he'd darkened its door, despite it only being a short walk from Arunsun Tower. It was an oddity, even for Waterdeep: one of the very few examples of Shoon-style architecture north of Amn. The tower sat on an octagonal stone base two stories tall, its solid stone walls smooth save for random sigils carved about its surface, two arrow-slit windows per side, and the door on the northeastern facet. The door was flanked by two smaller minarets attached to the base on the adjacent east and north facets. Most believed the minarets generated great defensive or offensive magic against intruders. In truth, they were decorative from the outside and concealed rooms for a privy and ablutions inside, but Khelben knew the benefit of leaving others' fears and fables about wizards unanswered. The top two stories blended in better with Waterdeep, the darker local stones and bricks finishing off the tower's body. Atop the construction was the most indicative mark of Shoon architecture-the pyramid that marked the dwelling as a noble's house. Fashioning the pyramid from crystal marked her home as that of a worker of magic. In his left hand, a crumpled parchment summoned him to the tower over a matter of urgency. It was signed with the mark of the sorceress Syndra Wands, and its teleporting directly to his hand suggested either knowledge or power that allowed it through the defenses of his home. The blood on the parchment bore enough hints of trouble to drag Khelben from his lecture on the ethics of charms. His right hand held a new weapon, a duskwood rod set with a row of diamonds and sheathed at head and foot in brightsteel. He didn't understand why his dreams had been haunted by that image or why Mystra herself insisted on both the weapon's creation months ago and his use of it that day. He understood he had been warned of the day's events, but familiarity and the unsure nature of dreams kept him from realizing it until moments before. Committed to his role in these events, Khelben walked calmly through the street gate and strode through Syndra's herb garden path to the door. Just as in his dreams, he found a field of magical silence around the door and its flanking minarets, which he dispelled. Unlike the dreams, however, the door hung askew by one hinge and was pockmarked with dents that still dripped acid. Whoever was behind the vandalism could strike quickly and silently. There was no other way to cause that kind of damage without alerting neighbors or the watch. Casting spells in quick succession, Khelben negated any additional standing spells within ten paces of the door, sent magic around to reveal any hidden or
