A few more minutes and they had cleared that room. Syndra said,
"Prieem," and the pattern became a carpet again, which rolled itself up. She looked at Raegar, the carpet, then Raegar again. "I'd be glad to, milady," Raegar sighed, and he hefted the carpet onto his shoulder. "Where do we want it?" As Raegar shifted his balance for the load, the tower itself rumbled, groaned, and sounded like stone grated on stone. Raegar dropped the carpet and fell over as the tower lurched hard-upward. "Seems like One-Eye's gotten us moving. Bring that up top, in case we have to jump with it," Syndra said, and she floated into the ceiling while the rod moved as if it walked up the stairs.
Raegar grabbed the carpet again and carried it up the stairs. Rhythmic booming shook the tower and the steps, so he took his time. He tossed the carpet to one side of the stairs, and dust exploded from the carpet into his eyes. Across the room, Syndra said, "Good thing I made this tower immune to lightning over the years." Cursing at the dust, Raegar blinked his eyes clear again. He saw Gamalon holding the staff firmly on the floor, a silvery dome overhead providing cover. Syndra smiled at him as well, and said, "Oh, c'mon One-Eye. Let's have the real view. Neither of us gets out of Waterdeep enough." Gamalon's voice sounded far away when he replied, "Of course." The silvery dome overhead shimmered and became perfectly clear-and lightning bolts crackled and boomed all around them. The sky was filled with nothing but gray fog and lightning. Raegar threw himself down on the floor as he saw a lightning bolt crackling directly toward them. He yelled,
"Duck!" After a few breaths, he opened his eyes to stare directly into the tressym's face. Nameless rolled his eyes upward and seemed to chuckle. "Good reflexes on that one," Syndra giggled. "Pity he's just gotten himself dirty. Can I take him down and shower him off?" "Sorry, Raegar. We should be through this… just… about… now,"
Gamalon said, and Raegar sat up to see the clouds part and the sky above fill with more stars than he'd ever seen in his life. He rose and moved to where Gamalon stood, not taking his eyes off the stars all around them. Syndra chortled. "I'm not easily impressed, but this is one great view, Idogyr." "You've-er," Raegar stammered, and both the tressym and Syndra sighed, while Gamalon smiled. Raegar shook his head, almost in total disbelief. He'd seen a lot of strange things while he worked with Damlath… but this… "We're flying a stone tower?" "No, you're riding in one, son," Gamalon joked. "I'm flying it." "But-how? Why?" Raegar noticed the clouds retreating away from them. He couldn't tell how fast they were going as he had nothing to look at for comparison. "Why?" "The how is the magic in my staff and myself that allow me to… well, I won't bore you with those details. The why is simply speed and expedience. We need to get to the High Moor as quickly as we can, and none of us could teleport there.
I'm just taking us up toward the Tears then back down atop the High Moor. We should be able to easily spot Frostrune's lightning pyramid to pinpoint him." Raegar leaned against one of the walls, staring out and down at the Realms. "I'm in a stone tower flying high over the weather… how are we still breathing air?" "Air travels with us, though if we had planned a longer trip, we'd need something to replace the air we breathe. This is just a short jaunt." Raegar started asking another question when he noticed the skies above Gamalon. "The Tears of Selune… they're just huge rocks? That's disappointing. All these years, I rather liked the legend that they're massive gems or dragons' eggs." "Aye," Syndra commisserated. "I was let down too the first time I saw them. But look behind you." Raegar turned, looked back at the Realms, and gasped. They were high enough up that the curve of the planet was now visible. He whispered to himself, "They always said, but it was so hard to believe. The world isn't flat after all." Even with Syndra's ribbing and ribald jokes, he remained quiet for a long time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Feast of the Moon, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Hours later, they were no longer climbing, and Raegar watched the Realms far beneath them. The entire Sword Coast and much of the interior was shrouded in storm clouds. When he thumbed in the clouds' direction and started to say something, Gamalon replied with an annoyed grunt of exasperation. "No, we can't see, because those magical lightning bolts appear to have created a massive stormfront that's engulfed a lot of Faerun with lightning storms like we saw in Waterdeep." Gamalon sighed, furrowing his brow, and said, "One of the main reasons I took this route was to minimize the delays of flying through bad weather, but now I'm trying to find the shortest way to our foe through the storms." Raegar's curiousity got the better of him. "Well, Khelben mentioned Malavar's Grasp a few times. If you know where that is, head for it. I've never heard of it, but then I avoided the High Moor for reasons most sane folk do as well. You know what it's all about?" As soon as he asked, Raegar regretted it. He was still in way over his head in wizardly intrigues, and everyone else-even the tressym-seemed to know more about what was going on than he did. Unfortunately, Gamalon had a far-away look in his eye, something Raegar recognized from far too many Oghman clerics about to lecture him. Despite Raegar being on his blind side, Gamalon looked over at him and laughed. "Don't worry, boy! My stories aren't nearly as long as Oghma's services." Gamalon concentrated a moment, and Raegar felt the tower shift slightly and start to descend. The wizard began talking again. "Khelben has woven so many lies around this gambit, even I have a hard time keeping track of it all. I say this as a 'renowned historian' myself. Malavar's Hand, down on the High Moor, is a false legend-a cautionary tale told to wizards who seek to abuse magic. Different places have different versions, but in most tales, Malavar sought to wield the might of the great sorcerous powers of the past, be they the Shoon, the Netherese, the Imaskari, or even older powers like the Ilythiiri. For his hubris, his spells to make himself a colossus failed, and his twisted body fell through the crust of the High Moor under its massive weight. All that remains above ground are the fingertips of his right hand, and these stand as tall stone menhirs on a blasted plain west of Highstar Lake." Gamalon cleared his throat and continued, "I don't know which legends Priamon has read, but given his obsessions over the Shoon, I'll assume he's followed three or four more accessible historical texts. There are three Malavars who are real people in historical records. The most recent is an insignificant tradesman of Athalantar and another was a notorious pirate, slaver, and early member of the Rundeen. The eldest Malavar is the one allegedly buried in the High Moor. A second-generation Asrami, Malavar of the Three Hands, was a sorcerer who fled Asram about forty years before the Standing Stone rose among the Dales. He arrived in Tethyr in time to become a key vizar for the Shoon Qysar Amahl Shoon III." Raegar snorted and said, "Malavar of the Three Hands? Did a barmaid give him that name, or is it a tale that's going to reinforce my belief that wizards are all as well-balanced as a fomorian on ice?"