"That's another reason why it's important for her to become the Blackstaff s heir. You all know the stakes and- the location of our foe. I'll best help you by remaining here in my place of power, sending power and aid through my heir. I cannot do any of this without your help, Elra. Without you, Ten-Rings may get away with it all, and we'll have to fight from the shadows to take back our city."
"Sounds good to me," Osco muttered, and Renaer smacked him lightly on the head.
"Will you shoulder this burden, Elra?"
Laraelra gulped, her palms sweating profusely. Thoughts of her parents raced through her head, urging her not to be seduced by the promises of power. She also hesitated as she recalled Vajra's instability over the past few days. The two women locked eyes. Despite having been nearly comatose for the past three days, Vajra's eyes held no hesitation, no doubts, only confidence and power. Laraelra heard her father's voice in her head, complaining that she was a traitor for allying with those in power, but she knew in her heart that Vajra and the power she promised needed to be held by those who wanted and needed Waterdeep to be a better place, not just a more prosperous one.
"What do I need to do?" Laraelra said.
Vajra waved her left hand, and a rune-inscribed circle appeared on the floor around them. The three men backed away, leaving the women inside the circle alone. "Sit. Calm yourself. When you're ready, all you'll need to do is take my hand in one hand and the staff in the other. I'll do the rest."
Laraelra and Vajra settled cross-legged within the magic circle, the Blackstaff floating horizontally above the floor between them. One intoned syllable from Vajra and the runes flashed green. A translucent emerald dome enclosed them. Laraelra heard only her own nervous heartbeat.
Vajra spoke in low tones, facing down at the staff and the circle, and her voice was a chorus again of male and female voices. Laraelra would later swear she saw eyes and partial faces within the dome's energy as she listened. She didn't understand what Vajra said, but she knew she spoke Elvish. When Vajra faced her again, her eyes shimmered and shifted, the colors swimming from blue to purple to gray, brown, hazel, and green. The Blackstaff held out her right hand and placed her left hand atop the floating staff. Laraelra exhaled, shook her shoulders, and let go of her fears.
With a silent prayer to Tymora, Laraelra gripped Vajra's right hand with her left and closed her right hand over the Blackstaff. She winced, but she merely felt a buzz in her head and a warmth in her palm, as if the staff were a living thing. Vajra's palm was just as sweaty as her own, but her tiny hand held power-as did her eyes. Laraelra felt rather than saw three pulses of magic pass from Vajra's eyes into her own. After the third pulse, Laraelra found she gripped the Blackstaff alone, and she felt its power simmering just inside the duskwood staff's surface.
Vajra cast a final spell, dissipating the energy dome over them, and said, "For as long as you and I concur, you are an heir to the power of the Blackstaff. That won't provide you with any more power at the present time, other than the ability to safely carry and wield a Blackstaff. In days to come, we'll talk more of you learning from me and from the tower."
Laraelra gulped, realizing this meant more time with the ghosts inhabiting the most formidable fortress on the Sword Coast. She started to ask, then coughed nervously, swallowed, and tried again. "How can we stand against Ten-Rings? He's powerful enough to destroy all of us with one spell."
"Once you get to Roarke House, simply say the word geh-rallen, and my power will be added to the battle," Vajra said. Laraelra smiled, realizing she understood what was to come without having to utter it aloud. She nodded and shifted the Blackstaff to her left hand, resting one end on the ground. "So what next?" she asked.
Vajra seemed distracted for a moment, as if she were listening to something no one else could hear. When her attention snapped back to the group assembled around her, she said, "Forgive me. That's going to take some getting used to. I can hear and see what folk are doing anywhere inside or within a step or two from the walls around the tower. Watch commander Delnar Kleeandur just demanded the surrender of all of you. He wants you to come to the palace for questioning and a possible trial. At least he has the sense to be courteous."
"I'll go," Renaer said.
"What?" Meloon said. "They'll hang you!"
"Doubtful," he said. "The main charge is for the murder of Vajra, who's very much alive. I want to clear all our names. Also, if I'm keeping the Watch busy, they can't get in the way of what the rest of you have to do. I'm less use in a fight than the rest of you, but I can talk our way out of the false charges Ten-Rings dumped on us."
"A sound plan," Vajra said. "Say the word traeloth when you step onto the stairs, and they will deposit you at the entry chamber. When you exit the tower, the gates will wrap around you, but not let anyone else enter. Advise anyone trying to do otherwise to desist, as the Blackstaff is not receiving any more visitors today." Vajra hugged Renaer and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you again, friend, for all your help. We'll discuss things at length later at your home-matters of days past and the future."
Renaer sketched a salute at the rest of the group and headed for the stairs.
Vajra gestured, and a trio of rings appeared in mid-air in front of Meloon, Osco, and Laraelra. "Those should help you all survive the coming battle with Khondar. Consider the rings my thanks. Now, here's the rest of the plan…"
CHAPTER 25
…and every citizen shall have bis say, beitinopen Court or in private with the Open Lord.
12 Nightal, Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Renaer's steps and those of his Watch escorts echoed from the marble of the floor to the peak of the dome that loomed over the Lords' Court. He held his head high, neither flinching his eyes away from those who met his nor looking at any beyond those in his path. After the trial at Blackstaff Tower, this held little fear for him.
He stood at the center of a semicircular table's arc, his father straight ahead of him and in full regalia as the city's Open Lord. To see his father reminded Renaer that father and son shared much in looks and manners. Long brown manes tumbled past both their sets of muscular shoulders, though Dagult's hair tended more toward pumpkin while Renaer's locks were almost a chestnut brown. Both men preferred to remain clean-shaven, though Renaer's stubbly chin bespoke his past few days of hard pursuit and toil. They both wore clothes of good solid workmanship and tailoring, but while Renaer's clothes were subtle and simply better-made than many of those around him, Dagult stood out, a blazon of color and sartorial excess in his black velvet cloak, ermine-lined vest, red Shou-silk shirt, and the Aglarondan hip boots of deep crimson leather. Dagult's face wore an expression of deep disgust and impatience.
To each side of Dagult sat thtee gray-robed and gray-helmed Lords. As usual, they appeared identical in form and stature, regardless of whomever wore the helm and robes. No details of gender, girth, or infirmities could be discerned through the robes, as the Open Lotd Ahghairon had designed them long ago.
Behind the Lords loomed a giant bulldog of a man, Lord's Champion Vorgan Drulth, looking uncomfortable in his fotmal uniform as the Open Lord's personal bodyguard. Renaer noted he wore metal sleeves over each of his index fingers, both sharp as claws, and other weapons bulged conspicuously from his boots, sleeves, and belt.
Dagult opened the proceedings by unfurling a scroll and reading it to the court. From the comer of his eye Renaer noticed a quill untouched by any hand, scribbling away the transcript onto a thick tome at a stand in a side alcove.