Thus, much of the architecture took on a variety of darkened hues, though it lacked any malevolence in its demeanor despite that. The first to emerge complete and intact were the streets and outer walls, very dwarflike and orderly with clean lines and heavy block constructions. These would last untold generations, and they laid out the city in the shape of a circular wheel. The central court plaza surrounded the Counciltor, atop which the pyre would eternally burn.
From that point, nine major trade roads split the city like spokes, each directly aligned with the nine sentinel towers twenty-five miles distant in each direction. Five broad roads provided a circumference for the city just inside the walls and each equidistant from the others down to the smallest of the ring roads that encircled the Court Plaza. The streets and defensive walls kept the black-as-pitch hue of the sharn, and Tsarra knew that any malefactors on those streets would face the three-mawed avengers that could form from any wall or street.
The full moon shone brightly over Rhymanthiin as it grew in the night.
More than ninety minds and souls lent their energy to the high magic, while many hundreds more labored directly and under the mystical direction of their own ruling grand mages. Tsarra stared in amazement as buildings of various styles and shapes and sizes grew along the skeleton of the major and minor roadways. She laughed as perfect duplicates of the Eightower, Blackstaff Tower, and the Dragontower rose from the loam in various places throughout the circled city. The magic continued into the night until Highmoon and the end of the Feast of the Moon. To those attuned to it, the City of Hope was a marvel.
Tsarra reined in her senses as she felt the ritual wane. She returned to her body at the center of the pyre, more than fifty feet above the ground and atop the Counciltor of Rhymanthiin. As she returned, she saw the only participants still attending the high magic ritual-Elminster, Alvaerele, Alustriel, Laeral, and the three grand mages of Rhymanthiin stood in a circle around the silver and green flames. Tsarra willed herself back into her body, and the pain and sorrow hit her all over again. She couldn't feel Khelben's presence in her gem at all. She barely felt the touch of Ualair on her shoulders, as he seemed almost entirely mystic flame, rather than flesh. 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'reYou 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.