Steven Schend: Blackstaff Tower

"She's unable to speak, lads. We should be safe."

The man laughed, and through the roaring in her ears Vajra dimly heard others approach around her. She focused her attention on the laughing man, and willed magic out her eyes. Three bolts of amber energy felled the man in mid-laugh.

Thank the gods Samark taught me how to cast at least one spell without movement or sound, she thought.

Vajra tried to rise but found her legs would not support her. She fell backward as her eyes began to cloud over. She stared straight upward and raged at her body's betrayal. Her foes closed around her, blades drawn. None had seen the business end of a bath house or a razor in some tendays.

"Is she out?" The skinniest of them asked, his pinched face, scars, and patchy beard reminding Vajra of a rat.

"No, she's staring at us. If looks could kill, eh?" The taller man's face bore a beak of a nose, making him the vulture of the lot.

"What do you mean, Rivvol? She's smiling." A pudgy, inquisitive face peered down at her. Realization dawned on the black-haired ferret of a man and he reared back.

Fools should have learned the first time, she thought.

Vajra's contempt for her opponents eked into her smile and spell as she willed more missiles at the three foes. Each of the men staggered back, clutching their faces in pain. One wiped tears from his eyes and kicked Vajra hard in her side.

Another voice from behind the trio said, "You were warned not to underestimate even the apprentice, fools. Now, prepare her and yourselves for the Blackstaff’s return."

Vajra wished she could move to see who that voice belonged to. The man's kick turned her away from them, and she stared at the boulder marker of Khelben the Elder's tomb. She tried to move or speak, but failed at both. One of the men picked her up, keeping her eyes directed up and away from himself and his compatriots.

Samark the Blackstaff walked out of the tomb and through its covering vegetation as effortlessly as he'd entered it. "I have them, Vajra. Now, where-"

"Do anything but breathe, Blackstaff, and she dies!"

A hook-nosed vulture of a man held his knife at Vajra's throat, his other arm holding her up and pinning her back to his grimy hauberk. Another slovenly rat-faced man, his beard growing only in clumps around many scars, held Vajra's legs and aimed his rusty short sword at her midsection.

A third man sidled alongside Samark, a crossbow at his shoulder. Pressing the point of his quarrel to the side of Samark's throat, he said, "Throw the staff down, old man, and you both might live a while longer. Kessik, grab those books."

The old wizard dropped the books from the crook of his right arm to hold his staff with both hands. "You had better not harm her…"

"Shut it, you. And drop the staff!" The vulture's blade pressed closer to Vajra's neck, drawing a bead of fresh blood atop older gore still encrusted on the knife.

"Listen to Rivvol, Blackstaff. He gets twitchy around wizards, and he's likely to kill even one as pretty as that Tethyrian." The speaker moved over next to his comrades, his crossbow always at his shoulder. Kessik let go of Vajra's legs and scurried over to the pile of tomes next to Samark.

"Fine." Samark threw the staff at the ground among the four of them. As he let go of the staff, he clapped his hands, and his form shimmered with cerulean magic. The staff hit the turf right at Vajra's feet and flashed a verdant pulse in all directions. The top, of the staff tipped forward onto Rivvol's arm, and he screamed as ¦ emerald lightning crackled from the staff into him. He screamed and collapsed, but his dagger fell as well. Vajra collapsed in front of him, her body unharmed by the staff, but her neck gushing blood from Rivvol's knife.

The crossbow's scrape and twang drew little of Samark's attention, but he saw the bolt glance off his protective shield. His face wrinkled in concentration, Samark launched a purple pulse at Vajra, pointing with his other hand to aim a second bolt at the crossbowman. The energy swept through Vajra and looped around to strike the crossbowman. The woman's wounds healed quickly, but the crossbowman's throat opened just as hers had been, and he fell' to his knees, his breath and lifeblood bubbling out of the wound.

"Ammol!" Kessik stood open-mouthed. Both his allies had fallen in mere seconds. "What'd that green stuff do to me?" Kessik asked, his eyes filled with terror as he crawled away from Samark, the tomes forgotten.

"Absolutely nothing, boy." Samark said. "It merely undid some spells to reveal your master to me. Now flee, before I become less patient or he decides you're expendable too."

Kessik paused a moment, then turned and fled as fast as he could. Samark barely watched him, his attention focused on the tall, hooded man who had shimmered into visibility when the green energy washed over him. Wearing nondescript olive robes, the man stood with his scimitar drawn, its edge shimmering with red light. The mage's most outstanding features, aside from a very thick, singular eyebrow, were the ornate rings flashing on every digit of both hands. The man's razor-thin salt-and-pepper mustache and goatee framed his sneer.

Samark touched the scars on his own cheek and said, "I wish I could be surprised, Khondar. Your betrayal was inevitable- though, I confess, sooner than I expected."

Khondar "Ten-Rings" Naomal said, "Blackstaff, this reckoning has been coming a long time. I'm glad you know it was me who ended your life and that of your strumpet."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Samark stepped closer to Vajra and his fallen staff. "Far better than you have tried, you know."

Khondar Naomal s response was an angry slash of his scimitar while he uttered an incantation. The blade resonated with magic and a slash of midnight shredded the air between the two wizards. The dark energy shattered the blue shield Samark had around himself, much to the Blackstaff s surprise.

"You've gotten better toys, Ten-Rings," Samark said, "but you've always relied too much on them."

Samark braced himself and summoned energy around his hands and arms as Khondar rushed forward. Ten-Rings chopped downward with his glowing scimitar, and Samark clapped his hands, trapping the blade in mid-chop. Both men stood eye-to-eye, their hatred as powerful as the magic that trapped them together.

"You should have stayed in Sundabar, Khondar. You'd have been the big wizard there, rather than fighting your betters over imagined slights every tenday."

Samark couldn't move or cast without disrupting his active spell and releasing the blade. Luckily, Ten-Rings also could not move without losing his weapon.

Three amber pulses slammed into Khondar's side, and he howled in anger. Taking a quick look to the side, the Blackstaff saw the still-paralyzed Vajra had collapsed facing their battle. Her eyes glowed with arcane power and anger.

Samark chuckled, "Vajra can harm you even when paralyzed, Ten-Rings. Having an ally helps, but having someone who loves you… well, that makes all the difference."

Khondar's grin disarmed Samark. "Very true, Blackstaff. I couldn't agree more." The ten-ringed man let go of his scimitar and backed away. "Don't you, Father?"

Samark saw his foe's gaze wander past his own left shoulder toward the tomb. Samark said, "Father? Then you're-"

"My son, and your doom, fool," Khondar's voice rang out behind Samark.

An energy ring blinked into existence around Samark and clenched shut around his midsection, teeth biting into him as it contracted. Samark's last word was a pleading "Vajr-"

Then the spell rent him in two.

Khondar moved quickly behind Vajra and clubbed her on the back of the head with his scimitar's pommel. As he did so, his form blurred and shimmered. Rings faded from his hands, as did his mustache. His hair darkened, and his robes became a black tunic and breeches. The younger man, who shared the singular eyebrow of his father, looked up and said, "She's out at last."