Blackstaff (44 page)

The thirteen
selu’kiira
still formed the Highfire Crown on her brow, and she pleaded once more with them before the power left her.
Please, noble ones, is there no way to save him? There’s no other way?

Only if you would sacrifice all you have built
. The chorus of voices was cold, impassive, and without emotion.

Khelben’s voice snapped Tsarra from her sorrow.
Tsarra, let me go. Ualair and I must close the ritual in the only way possible
.

You once told me death is not a viable solution to a conundrum, damn you!
Tsarra yelled at Khelben, but she lacked the will to stay angry.
Do you realize how painful this is for the rest of us?

Yes. I’ve seen death from both sides, and it’s nothing to fear, only to endure and learn from. What is more painful is a world losing its hope. Let us go. Ualair and I both can feel Arvandor’s call, and our work is complete, but you hold us here
.

I’m not ready, Khelben! How can I be the Blackstaff? The minute your enemies realize you’re—

You shall have my counsel always. If you truly need me, I’ll be there in spirit. Everything I could teach you is within you already. The blackstaves and the tower are yours. I have no body, and my soul aches for rest. Please, Tsarra, save your love for the one with whom you’ll make your life whole
.

Ualair’s voice also came into her head.
Child, you feel
magic rather than think it, and your emotions binds us to you. We have become our final spell, and we must be cast. Be the Blackstaff and do what you must
.

Tsarra opened her physical eyes and realized she stood alone among the flames. The
selu’kiira
of the Highfire Crown remained with her, but she knew they remained only to cement the final magic in place. She reached out with her powers and her emotions, unifying her will and her heart to this action. With one word, she cast her mentor’s final wish with a whispered, “Indeed.”

Tsarra never saw the fountain of silver light erupt from the pyre. She didn’t see thirteen gems spiral around the city, trailing fireflies of magic. She certainly didn’t see the constellations above winking in agreement and sympathy with the spells permeating Rhymanthiin. All she saw were her own tears and those of Laeral, as she walked from the flames and into her arms.

The procession wound through the streets of the new city and every soul wished to pay his or her respects. Elminster and Alvaerele stood before the gates, a rose-quartz globe floating between them in mid-air. More than a thousand souls touched it, leaving their memories and thanks to he who was the Blackstaff, Khelben Arunsun. Even while the city was vibrant with new life, it too paid homage to the one whose sacrifice made their lives again possible. Many of the mourners looked around to console his widow, to no avail.

She stood alone, apart from them all, looking down from the balcony of the blackest tower in Rhymanthiin. This solitary spire lacked the green marbling and ivy that scrawled across all other buildings. Its forebidding starkness once suited its builder, and he built it once more before he passed from life. She planned to keep N’Vaerymanth as Khelben would have. Without him there, Blackstaff Tower could never be home, Laeral told herself. The City of Hope would be her home for the near future.

His children should be born here in his other legacy to the Realms. He would like that, indeed.

Well past midnight, Raegar wandered up the Third Ring, gazing in awe at the glistening black and green stonework and carvings that he had watched grow from the High Moor itself. Blue-and-white fireflies floated in the air above him, lighting the streets in a flickering soft glow. Raegar had left Sandrew at the Hightome Tor, Oghma’s temple within Rhymanthiin. While he felt a tugging leading him toward a small, inobtrusive building near the temple, he found himself looking intently for Tsarra. Finally, he realized he had a way to find her.

“Nameless, think you can help me find your mistress?”

The tressym took off like a shot, and even with Raegar running behind him, Nameless had to loop back and growl at him for falling behind.

The city was nearly the size of Waterdeep, but what was strange was the relative lack of people. There were people wandering the streets—gnomes and centaurs, dwarves and elves alike, everyone beaming and obviously overjoyed at their restored lives. Some remained nude, while others had found or formed clothes to their liking. Raegar never studied clothing in his historical readings, but he recognized some styles of formal robes on the elves he had only seen on tapestries or in carvings. Many waved to him, a few stopped and kissed him, wishing him to linger a while. He thanked them and moved on, Nameless leading him into a street off the Second Ring.

Raegar was almost relieved that the street seemed empty, and he stopped to take a closer look at an archway of two rearing centaurs, their hooves meeting at the keystone. Or where a keystone would be, if it weren’t a solid piece of stonework. What amazed him more was the lack of a single chiselmark on the stone carvings. He hadn’t even noticed that Nameless had left his side until he heard a happy purr come from him in the distance. Raegar turned and raced after him.

“Where are you, you thrice-damned cat?” Raegar growled after him, and Nameless trilled at him from atop a low archway carved to resemble a rearing centaur.

Raegar was fairly certain he was being mocked, but he didn’t care. The courtyard into which he walked held a broad and apparently deep pool, a small fountain set into one end coming from the horns of nude male and female sea elves. A balcony encircled the courtyard, and golden lights lit a broad chamber at the far end of it. The lights silhouetted Tsarra, but even in the darkness, Raegar couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked.

Tsarra called down to him, “I’ve yet to thank you for saving my life, Raegar. I’ve been waiting for you to find me. Some spy you are.”

Raegar feined being wounded, and Tsarra gave him a wink. “Welcome to my home. Come up, after you’ve cleaned up first.”

Raegar dived into the pool, happy to rinse off the grime from the High Moor. He resurfaced and stripped off his shirt.

“I’m glad to see you finally apart from Khelben,” he said. “I was wondering if I’d ever get you away from the Blackstaff.”

He didn’t hear her whisper, “No, you won’t.”

Raegar clambered out, leaving his sodden shirt and boots alongside the pool. Then he climbed the stairs two at a time.

“Aren’t you tired, after all the chaos of the past three days?”

He couldn’t read the look on her face, but he suddenly felt very unsure how to approach her. She solved that problem by rushing forward and kissing him fiercely.

“Life’s too short. Tomorrow, we’ll see your chambers and explore the city. I’ll fill you in on other things. Tonight, I just want to feel alive,” Tsarra said, leading him inside by the hand.

“Indeed,” he said with a grin.

Born in 1967, Steven E. Schend fell into the fantastic worlds of L. Frank Baum’s Oz and Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Barsoom. All that fantasy helped, as Steven worked for over fifteen years with TSR, Inc., Wizards of the Coast, and other game companies. He has been an editor, a designer, a developer, an assistant manager, and world builder. He’s also worked as a teacher, landscaper, street sweeper, and concrete curb builder.

After all’s said and done, his favorite job has always been as the mouthpiece and chronicler for the denizens of the Realms. There is, however, no truth to the rumors that Steven has actually assumed Khelben’s identity, or he his. It just seems that way more and more since Steven grew a beard.