Steven Schend: Blackstaff Tower

"Thank you, Centiv," Khondar said to his son, as he floated off the ivy-covered tomb toward him. "Your illusions, as always, are excellent. I'm glad Samark's trick only removed your invisibility. It kept him focused on you. Now, stay back. There's going to be power in play here that should keep her from being a bother."

As if on cue, the two halves of the Blackstaffs body sizzled with energy, darkening the gory remnants even further. A tempest of dark lightning crackled out of Samark's remains and arced in two directions-into his staff and into Vajra, who arched her back and legs as if screaming before she fell into spasms. In one breath, the energy cascade ended, and the meadow lay still again. The only sounds were Vajra's uneven breaths and the triumphant howl of Khondar's laughter.

"Rejoice, Centiv! She's the last obstacle we have to conquer, and her secrets will lead to our joining the Lords and ruling the city!"

Vajra lay unconscious, but Khondar approached her warily. He nudged her with the toe of his boot. He gestured and her garments rewove themselves, binding her arms and hands. He looked up briefly and scowled at his son's rapt leer at Vajra. "Centiv, I don't need your help right now. Go chase down Kessik and make sure he cannot talk about this to anyone."

Centiv nodded and cast a spell before he leaped across the landscape in the same direction Kessik fled.

Khondar turned to the remains of Samark. His eyes shone as he reached for the blood-spattered amulet on Samark's chest. He patted down the pockets and body. As he wrenched a gory gold ring off Samark's finger, he muttered, "The power of the Blackstaff lies nearly within reach. Soon, the tower will be mine… and I'll gain the secret of long years so far denied humans. I shall become the Blackstaff, and Waterdeep shall know its savior! The rightful rule of wizards is at hand for the Crown of the North again!"

8 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

The tavern was hardly his first choice of venues, but it had grown on him after Faxhal first dragged him here last month. Renaer Neverember liked that the usual hateful, conceited social climbers and all-but-nobles that constantly badgered him for his attentions and his friendship rarely came here. This tavern at the edge of Sea and Castle Wards was well-kept and honest, and its patrons were a wide array of Waterdhavians, not just one group or social stratum. Renaer appreciated that, as he did its dark brew and its night black loaves. Atop all that, another small part of it made Renaer agree to meet his friends here repeatedly. Tucked back in the eastern corner away from the doors was a small sheltered nook with shelves on the back wall. Mostly empty, the shelves held a random assortment of broadsheets at all times, though often a few days out of date. Renaer managed to read a few of the more recent issues of The Vigilant Citizen and The Blue Unicorn before his first friend arrived.

Lord Torlyn Wands tossed a heavy oilskin-wrapped bundle on the table in front of Renaer. "The weather's getting that winter sting to it," he growled as he tugged off his soaked half-cloak. The clasp on his cloak snagged his light gray linen shirt, pulling it out of his belt and exposing his slender yet exceedingly hairy chest.

A few patrons whistled at the young noble, while a passing serving maid ran her fingers across his chest, making him blush. When she looked up and locked eyes with him, she blushed even brighter and stammered, "My apologies, Milord Wands," and rushed away.

Torlyn turned his attention back to Renaer as he tucked his shirt back into his breeches. "Damned shirt! My sister keeps replacing my functional clothes with these 'things that are in style,' and they drive me mad!" He slumped into the seat opposite Renaer and put his boots up on another chair. "Look at these soaked boots! All the trouble to dye the calfskin blue, but they didn't bother to waterproof the blasted things!"

"Ah, the costs of noble fashions and the maintenance of social airs." Renaer smiled, tipping his flagon toward Lord Wands in mock salute. "You have my sympathies, milord. Bad form, really, to not treat the leather well, I agree. I can suggest a few cobblers who can fix those up for you or make you better ones right away."

Torlyn laughed, his irritation at fashion forgotten. "Speaking of better leatherworking, I'm amazed you didn't dive on that parcel the moment it left my hands. I wanted to show you my latest acquisition, since few appreciate a good book more than you." Lord Wands's broad grin was not concealed in the least by his long mahogany locks or full beard. He whispered thanks to the still-blushing tavern maid who brought him a large tankard of the tavern's dark ale, and then Renaer's attention shifted from his companion to the parcel. Two sharp tugs undid the leather lacings and he opened the oilskin wraps around a large book.

Renaer ran his fingers over the ornate leather-worked cover and the bindings, his eyebrows rising in appreciation. He gingerly opened the volume to its initial page and let out a low whistle.

"The Complete Dragonhunter?" Renaer asked, looking up at Torlyn without letting go of the page or the book.

His companion laughed. "Had it for two days now, along with Gold Amid Dragonfire. They were hidden among a lot of dross I picked up when I absorbed the last remnants of the Estelmer and Melshimber collections last month."

Renaer chuckled. "You and your dragon books, Torlyn. Are you rebuilding your family's library or gathering a hoard?" Renaer flipped through a few pages, nodded at the good workmanship and calligraphy, and rewrapped the book to protect it.

"Very funny, Ren." Torlyn smiled, swallowed some ale, and asked, "You're one to talk, he who snaps up every book on Waterdeep's past that's been written. Say, did you find Folk of Renown yet?"

"No. Well… yes and no," Renaer replied. "I found a copy on the market up in Longsaddle last month, but I bought something else."

Torlyn shifted his blue boots off the chair, then stood. From the way Torlyn tugged at the bootcuffs and then shifted how he sat, Renaer could tell Torlyn's clothes and boots were too new and uncomfortable. He noticed Renaer's attention, shrugged, and cleared his throat before sitting down again and asking, "Why? For Oghma's sake, you've wanted that book forever, Ren."

"I know, I know," he answered, amused to see his audience taking the bait. "Instead, I discovered the final pieces for my Savengriff collection."

"You found a complete copy of A Palace Life? "The young lord slammed his tankard down in disbelief. The dark-stained table shined with the newest sluice of spilled ale, though neither man cared, save to move the wrapped book to a drier, safer spot.

Renaer leaned back. "I bought all three volumes with an identically bound copy of Piergeiron as I Remember Him thrown in for good measure!"

"Nice. 'Tis no wonder you're the new sage of local obscure lore."

"Sage?" Renaer asked. "I'm a mere dabbler and an inveterate reader, 'tis all."

"Still, I'm impressed. The only known library with every mundane work of Aleena Paladinstar and her wizardly husband Savengriff." Torlyn Wands looked down in dismay, then raised his eyes with a smile. "At least my collection still has the only full set of non-magical books by the Seven Sisters-or at least it will when you return my copy of Lifelong with Regrets to me."

"Soon, Torlyn, soon. It's a fascinating read, and I'm grateful for the loan. Laeral's handwriting and her inscription to your great-great-grandfather add a whole new understanding to her." Renaer drank and waved a servant over to their table. "Another round, please, Arlanna." He flipped a taol toward the tavernmaid, and turned back to Torlyn. "When are Faxhal and Vharem due to join us?"