Blackstaff

"Blessed Tymora, free me from Beshaba's bad luck!" His attentions shifted between the buckle and the building glow that presaged arcs of lightning between the count's gem and the sword. Raegar groaned as the buckle caught on one of the other clasps for his armor. The scabbard and sword swung below his right arm, the leather smoldering and charring. Upstairs, he saw a short hallway with doors to seven rooms and windows overlooking the entry, the top of the stairs, and the end of the hallway flanking the chimney. Raegar heard a blade clear its scabbard as one of the count's guards mounted the stairs after him, having noticed his interest in their party. Raegar's mind raced as he tried to judge the best option in a bad situation. He yanked hard on the scabbard to free it just as a small bolt of lightning arced up the stairs to his sword through the guard, dropping him instantly. Knowing even more destruction was to come, Raegar threw the blade as hard as he could out the window over the entrance, praying that the lightning bolts would spare most of the people inside. Just as the sword cleared the window's frame, the blue sparks coalesced again into two arcs-one leading straight down at Gamalon's Eye and the other angling to the left, reaching for the wand Damlath had just acquired. The sizzle and flash of three full lightning bolts blasted through wood and stone, and the bolts gathered together to send a fourth blast skyward. Raegar watched the lightning dance across a clear sky, the massive bolt jerking across the horizon and heading toward the southeast. Below him, the screams of the patrons nearly overwhelmed the groaning noise of the building as the lightning-blasted front began to collapse.

Raegar felt the upper floor start to strain and break. He launched himself into a tucking roll backward through the window behind him. He went off the back roof and landed easily on the ground below, landing like a cat on all fours. His plummeting arrival startled a stable boy who was leading two rearing horses toward the stables. Raegar had a sudden idea and yelled, "Quickly, boy! Go fetch more of the Guard from their garrison. There's some evil magic unleashed inside!" Raegar, for his part, ran around the i

Raegar used the distraction to dash past the guards and join the panicked throng heading over the bridge and away from the i

Raegar crawled to the sword, keeping himself hidden among the shadows as he heard more guards thundering down the road on horseback from their garrison on one of the nearby farms to the west. The golden diamonds in the hilt of the short sword glistened beneath the moonlit sky. The ground beneath it was an inky black and oily, as if a patch of tar had bubbled up beneath the sword. The rogue gripped the pommel, but the ground held it fast. As Raegar fought to pull the sword free, two four-clawed hands formed from the tarlike patch and wrapped around the sword. An eye opened on the back of one of the hands, and a mouth on the other. "Wakessssss usssssss. Callsssss usssss," it hissed at the thief. The tar patch grew beneath the sword, encroaching on where Raegar knelt. He grabbed the sword again and yanked it free from the growing horror, which screamed as he twisted the blade's edge to cut into the blackness. The scream seemed to echo across the ground and grow louder in two other places around the i

CHAPTER NINE

28 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Khelben's words struck Tsarra like a physical blow, and she stopped in her tracks. Her face flushed as she restrained herself from shouting: How dare you ask that of me, master or not? Tsarra's ears rang, a side effect she attributed to using the kiira. Khelben's current guise was a fat man in Wands livery, and his abrupt spin on his heels would have seemed comical at any other time. This is not the time to indulge in childish fears. Tsarra could feel his irritation with the sending. Childish? If you've already been through my memories, you know exactly why I hate undead. Hate, not fear. Those around them saw only the fat little guard and his charge-a well-dressed noblewoman in a stu