She touched it, and the gold scales shimmered, but they felt like skin. "Yes," Khelben sighed. "I'd not told her, as I didn't want her intimidated by bearing one of Eltargrim's gifts. Do not worry-its wearer can remove it at will. The merging is just another way to hide the belt from thieves." Tsarra smiled and ran a finger along the belt.
"My mother taught me not to revere things over people, milords, and that all items are meant to be respected as tools and used, not feared or venerated." Khelben said, "That woman continues to earn my respect long after her untimely death. Yes, Maskar, you know I would only bring that item from the shadows for one reason." Lord Wands cleared his throat again and said, "So it's that time, Blackstaff? Rhaelnar's Legacy is to be fulfilled? That's the third favor? Do I need to hide a Nether Scroll for you, should a foolish treasure hunter actually reform one?" "No, old friend," Khelben replied. "Rhaelnar's Legacy is a blind that hides a greater secret, one I'd hoped to forestall for another three-score years yet. As my hidden foe now has two components I'd never expected uncovered, an inheritance more powerful than Netheril's writings will soon rise. I need you-we shall locate the scabbard in our own way-to participate in a high magic ritual out on the High Moor on the Feast of the Moon." "High magic?" Maskar said. "I have neither elf blood nor that kind of intimacy with the Weave, old friend." "I have it on good authority we'll have help in that regard."
"Who can promise you that?" The air around Khelben's head shimmered slightly, a hazy halo of stars coming into view. His eyes were rimmed with silver, and Maskar and Tsarra both gasped as Mystra's symbol manifested clearly for a breath before dissolving into the remnants of the sunbeam. "Very well," Maskar said. "What's the task-fully restoring Myth Drannor?" "No, though a few worthies of that realm may join us for the working. No, 'tis something older still. We need your wisdom as much as your knowledge of the Art for our ritual. Besides, you've little delight in these galas of overstuffed shirts. Join us at Malavar's Grasp, and help us tame magic that has slept for millennia."
"Getting away will take some doing, Blackstaff, especially if it needs to happen without undue notice. For me to disappear from my villa during a birthday feast in my honor will draw attention." "You're capable of slipping away without anyone the wiser, Maskar. Besides, it has been a score of years since you reminded people you're a wizard of power with many secrets they dare not invade." "Good point. My reputation is in need of repair, and it's been longer since I've been well and truly surprised by magic. What you're hinting at sounds too intriguing to miss. You have my promise to meet you at the Fallen One's Fingers, aye. I cannot break away earlier than daybreak on the Feast, but I shall meet you at Malavar's Grasp by moonrise, regardless of my family's wish for a three-day-revel." Lord Wands smiled as he shook both Khelben's and Tsarra's hands. "Are you well enough, Tsarra?
We need to move quickly now." Khelben helped her into a sitting position. "I think so," Tsarra said, standing up and stretching. Her balance was restored, and she readjusted her top to cover the belt again. "All right," Khelben said. "Many thanks, Lord Wands. It is now time we consulted with another god. I've a feeling there's much for us to learn at the feet of Oghma. Summon your tressym, Tsarra, and let us make haste for the Font of Knowledge. In the interests of both safety and propriety, we owe Sandrew the Wise a visit."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Raegar woke abruptly as the slap tore him from an exhausted slumber. What kept him conscious was the flesh-chilling cold from the lich's touch, the marble floor, and the many other pains across his body. The stunning effect had long worn off, but the beatings and lack of sleep were having a cumulative effect on him. The late afternoon sun lit the upper dome of the Stagsmere entry chamber through its shattered skylight, but the rays were intermittent as clouds still gathered overhead, as they had all through the night and morning.
While Raegar enjoyed the fleeting warmth of it, the afternoon sun in his eyes had lulled him to sleep for a time. Raegar hated feeling helpless, but he could only turn his head from left to right. The night before, the lich had summoned and morphed a trio of skeletons into a bone cage that anchored him spread-eagled on the floor. Turning his head away from the lich, he could see his broken short sword, two of his daggers, and his magical rings in a clump against one wall, tossed aside when the lich's spells overwhelmed and disarmed him. He couldn't see where the lich had taken the Diamondblade, but he was glad he didn't need to dodge any lightning because of it. "I realize you're not genteel, Raegar, but you must stop falling unconscious when I'm talking." The creature's skull loomed close to his face, its soulless features even more disturbing up close. "You're young, but Waterdhavians were made of sterner stuff in my day." Raegar spat a stream of invectives at the lich foul enough to make a Dock Ward sailor blanch. To his chagrin, no sound came from his throat due to a magic placed on him a few hours before. Raegar had been hurt many times by people and circumstances in the past. Never once had he ever felt so helpless. He pushed against the bone cage, but his efforts were less effective than they had been hours before. He was weak from exhaustion, but his hatred for his situation and his captor burned bright. The thief entertained methods of revenge and stored them away for more appropriate times to exact them. "Yes, this is better… much easier with you incapable of interrupting me," the lich gloated.
"Besides, don't you wish to learn more for those little scribes of the Font of Knowledge? Laughable, that they think themselves worthy to take for themselves the secrets wizardry has wrested from the cosmos.
At least this venture has proven fruitful with a number of new pawns and Rhaelnar's Legacy itself within my grasp." The lich paced around the chamber, sprinkling an area with powders and herbs, gesturing mystically at various points, and obviously focusing on a major work of magic while simultaneously torturing the captive Raegar. The lich had spent the past eighteen hours magically building something in this chamber and torturing Raegar for more information on Khelben and modern-day Waterdeep. The creature also lectured on the superiority of southern magic and the gentrific elegance that was the Shoon Imperium and its magical works. One thing the lich did not do was reveal his name to Raegar, which was fine. Raegar had more colorful names for him in his head. I would gladly kill this lich simply to spare anyone else the boredom and pain, Raegar mused to himself. At least he's taken off that skullcap and I'm able to think without him stealing my thoughts.
The thief shuddered when he felt the lich invade his mind and mine every detail of his life, significant or otherwise. His only pleasure came when the lich discovered how many insulting swear-word-filled names Raegar had silently given him. That rattled him enough to shout,