Prologue
If a castle gate slams shut, Tyr is pointing to another castle, farther down.
Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun labored amid the tall wooden book stands and the long chest of tiny drawers, crammed with exotic components, in his spellcasting chamber at the top of his tower. He turned from tome to tome on the stands, reading and reciting, while green and red sparks buzzed unnoticed around his body. He shook his head disapprovingly at one manual, turning to a fat grimoire on the next stand and moving its dragon-skin pages with a wave of his finger. Magical energy crackled around his hands. Masterfully controlled rage lent power to his incantations. The bride of Piergeiron Paladinson had been seized in the middle of her own wedding, and because she’d been stolen under Blackstaff s nose, he was taking it very personally!
“The Utter East is tied into this somehow,” he grumbled. “The bloodforges that created Lady Eidola’s kidnappers came from there, but when I scry the Utter East, the crystal ball goes dark.” As Khelben glared at the lightless seeing crystal resting on its onyx pedestal, an ancient spell designed to pierce magical fog, crafted by the great Drawmij of Oerth, popped into his head, and he snapped his fingers at the thought. He crossed his laboratory to a chest of scrolls and thumbed through them until he found the one he wanted, unrolled it, and absorbed the words.
“Savretun, soenlovenom,” he muttered, memorizing intently….
“Wake him up! He’s sleeping and I can’t wake him up!”
Sznapp! Red-fire sparks crackled and seared a huge human paw reaching out to touch the engrossed Blackstaff. Without shrinking from the pain of the wizard’s personal shield, the massive hand shook Khelben roughly, breaking his concentration. He wheeled with a start and grimaced up at the eight-foot-tall Madieron Sunderstone. Piegeiron’s personal bodyguard ignored the magical ward. The wizard made a mental note to increase the strength of his protection.
“What is it, Sunderstone?” he snapped.
“I can’t wake my master! He told me to call Captain Rulathon, and when I brought him, my lord wouldn’t wake up!” Madieron stammered, uttering more words than Blackstaff had ever heard him put together at one time. That meant real trouble.
With an arcane phrase, Khelben blinked to Piergeiron’s chamber, where Captain Rulathon, second-in-command of the city, stood over his lord, slapping him once, twice, thrice, without eliciting so much as a flutter of Piegeiron’s eyelids. As the red and green glow of the High Mage’s appearance faded, the soldier turned with an expression of panic on his face.
“Wizard, he won’t wake up!”
“If you’re finished assaulting him, Rulathon, stand aside.”
Blackstaff s eyes turned crimson, then orange, as he mustered his power. Guards rushed in as word spread of the new curse that had befallen Waterdeep’s finest, only to spin and crash into others behind them while purple streaks of magic blotted out the chamber. Captain Rulathon stood behind Khelben with his arm thrown over his eyes, clinging to one of the bed’s canopy posts to keep his balance in the bewildering light storm.
“You men,” Rulathon yelled in the magical gale, “keep everyone out!”
“Perhaps it’s some effect from the shadow warriors who stole Eidola,” muttered Khelben’s voice within the glare. “Perhaps ifs something Eidola herself has done….”
Rulathon started. “What did you say, wizard?”
The blinding light of the High Mage’s art faded. He stood over Piegeiron’s prostrate form, grinding his teeth. Tve tried everything possible here,” he admitted angrily. “Lord Paladinson feared further treachery in the city, and he seems to have been right.” Khelben furrowed his bushy black and gray brows. “Perhaps, on the matter of those paladins I should heed his advice, after all.”
The High Mage turned to face Rulathon and ordered, “Summon the paladins of Phlan,
If a castle gate slams shut, Tyr is pointing to another castle, farther down.
Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun labored amid the tall wooden book stands and the long chest of tiny drawers, crammed with exotic components, in his spellcasting chamber at the top of his tower. He turned from tome to tome on the stands, reading and reciting, while green and red sparks buzzed unnoticed around his body. He shook his head disapprovingly at one manual, turning to a fat grimoire on the next stand and moving its dragon-skin pages with a wave of his finger. Magical energy crackled around his hands. Masterfully controlled rage lent power to his incantations. The bride of Piergeiron Paladinson had been seized in the middle of her own wedding, and because she’d been stolen under Blackstaff s nose, he was taking it very personally!
“The Utter East is tied into this somehow,” he grumbled. “The bloodforges that created Lady Eidola’s kidnappers came from there, but when I scry the Utter East, the crystal ball goes dark.” As Khelben glared at the lightless seeing crystal resting on its onyx pedestal, an ancient spell designed to pierce magical fog, crafted by the great Drawmij of Oerth, popped into his head, and he snapped his fingers at the thought. He crossed his laboratory to a chest of scrolls and thumbed through them until he found the one he wanted, unrolled it, and absorbed the words.
“Savretun, soenlovenom,” he muttered, memorizing intently….
“Wake him up! He’s sleeping and I can’t wake him up!”
Sznapp! Red-fire sparks crackled and seared a huge human paw reaching out to touch the engrossed Blackstaff. Without shrinking from the pain of the wizard’s personal shield, the massive hand shook Khelben roughly, breaking his concentration. He wheeled with a start and grimaced up at the eight-foot-tall Madieron Sunderstone. Piegeiron’s personal bodyguard ignored the magical ward. The wizard made a mental note to increase the strength of his protection.
“What is it, Sunderstone?” he snapped.
“I can’t wake my master! He told me to call Captain Rulathon, and when I brought him, my lord wouldn’t wake up!” Madieron stammered, uttering more words than Blackstaff had ever heard him put together at one time. That meant real trouble.
With an arcane phrase, Khelben blinked to Piergeiron’s chamber, where Captain Rulathon, second-in-command of the city, stood over his lord, slapping him once, twice, thrice, without eliciting so much as a flutter of Piegeiron’s eyelids. As the red and green glow of the High Mage’s appearance faded, the soldier turned with an expression of panic on his face.
“Wizard, he won’t wake up!”
“If you’re finished assaulting him, Rulathon, stand aside.”
Blackstaff s eyes turned crimson, then orange, as he mustered his power. Guards rushed in as word spread of the new curse that had befallen Waterdeep’s finest, only to spin and crash into others behind them while purple streaks of magic blotted out the chamber. Captain Rulathon stood behind Khelben with his arm thrown over his eyes, clinging to one of the bed’s canopy posts to keep his balance in the bewildering light storm.
“You men,” Rulathon yelled in the magical gale, “keep everyone out!”
“Perhaps it’s some effect from the shadow warriors who stole Eidola,” muttered Khelben’s voice within the glare. “Perhaps ifs something Eidola herself has done….”
Rulathon started. “What did you say, wizard?”
The blinding light of the High Mage’s art faded. He stood over Piegeiron’s prostrate form, grinding his teeth. Tve tried everything possible here,” he admitted angrily. “Lord Paladinson feared further treachery in the city, and he seems to have been right.” Khelben furrowed his bushy black and gray brows. “Perhaps, on the matter of those paladins I should heed his advice, after all.”
The High Mage turned to face Rulathon and ordered, “Summon the paladins of Phlan,
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