Realms of Magic a-3 Read online

  Jehan blinked back the mild, ale-induced fog around him and looked at the merchant. He couldn't place the accent, and the cut of the man's clothing was strange-the tunic a touch too long to be fashionable, and the seams stitched across the back instead of along the shoulders. "I am a wizard's student," Jehan said. "An apprentice."

  "But you know magic?" pressed the man. His inflection rose at the end of every phase, making each sentence sound like a question.

  "Some," said Jehan. "A few small spells. If you need magical aid, there are a number of name-level wizards in Waterdeep who can help…"

  Tm sorry," said the merchant, "but I overheard you talking and thought you were knowledgeable? You see, I have a small problem that requires an extremely discreet touch? And I'm not comfortable talking to the older mages in this city?" — here he dropped his voice to a whisper-"about smoke powder."

  That last was a statement, not a question. Jehan raised his eyebrows and looked at the strange little man, then nodded for him to follow.

  Once on the street, Jehan said, "What about the… material you mentioned?"

  "I understand that it is not… proper to have this material in this city?" He said, flexing his voice on the last word.

  "It is illegal," said Jehan. "Extremely illegal. And there are a few mages in town who would destroy any of this material they find. And anyone standing near it."

  A pained look crossed the merchant's face. "I was afraid of that. You see, I have come into possession of some of this material without realizing it was illegal? And I want to move it out of the city as quickly as possible?"

  "A sound idea," nodded Jehan, trying to sound as sage and puissant as he could.

  "But I have a problem?" continued the odd-speaking merchant. "I was doubly cheated, for I did not know the material was illegal? And further was unaware that someone had mixed it with sand? If I am to get it out of the city, I need to pull the sand out?"

  "I…" Jehan's voice died as he thought about it. The merchant had to have overheard their conversation about the paranoid and powerful Khelben Blackstaff, and now was trying to get his stuff out of town as soon as possible. The right and proper thing was to go to the sage and aged authorities and have them destroy it.

  Of course, getting it out of town was as good as destroying it, and if Jehan could get some for his own experiments, so much the better. Just a bit for independent study. The idea warmed him, and the ale strengthened his resolve.

  "I'll be glad to do what I can," said Jehan, "for a small sample of the material. Where do you have it?"

  The merchant led him past the City of the Dead, toward the Trades Ward. The well-tended walls of the various noble families gave way to town houses, then to irregular row houses built by diverse hands in diverse centuries, and finally to the gloomy back alleys of the warehouses, off the beaten track and home only to teamsters carrying goods and merchants selling them.

  It was as if they had entered a different, alien, city, far from magical instruction and friendly taprooms. Jehan might have worried, but the ale and his own resolve eliminated doubt from his mind. Besides, he was a mage, and even with his simple cantrips, he'd be a match for any ordinary citizen, common merchant, or rogue of Waterdeep.

  The merchant went to a heavy oak door and thumped hard with his fist, three times. A bolt clicked audibly behind the oak, and the merchant slid the entire door aside on ancient, rusty runners. Without looking back, he entered and motioned for Jehan to follow.

  The warehouse was a middling-sized member of its breed, one of those that would have six or seven tenants, who would either quickly rotate goods or store them forever and forget them. From the dust and debris accumulated on most of the supplies, it looked like the majority of the tenants were in the latter category.

  Great iron-banded crates marched in neat rows across the central space of the warehouse, and the deep, gray-boxed shelves reached from floor to ceiling. The only odd piece stood at the far end of the space-a large, badly corroded statue of a winged deva, cast in bronze. Possibly a wedding present, thought Jehan derisively, gratefully accepted, then quickly hidden. The entire area was given the slight glow of moonlight through a frosted skylight in the ceiling.

  In the center of the room were about a half-dozen small quarter barrels, their lids popped open, next to an empty full-sized tonne keg. In the center of the room was also a large humanoid creature of a type Jehan had never seen before. It was half again as tall as he was, with a broad, ogre-sized body and a huge-mouthed head that reminded Jehan of a hippopotamus. The massive creature was dressed in black leggings and a crimson coat, the latter decorated with metallic awards. In its broad belt it had a pair of small crossbows. No, corrected Jehan, they were miniature arquebuses, long, pistol-like weapons. The huge creature recognized the mage's presence with a curt nod of its massive head.

  The merchant, locking the sliding door behind them, caught Jehan gawking at the creature. He said. "His name is Ladislau? He's a giff, one of the star-faring races? He's normally not this cranky, but the present situation has made him bitter?"

  Jehan could not tell if the giff was bitter, cranky, or in blissful ecstasy. All he knew was that the creature could swallow him to the waist in a single bite.

  The young apprentice put on his most serious face, the one he used when Maskar was lecturing him. "Is this your… material?"

  Ladislau the giff made a loud, derisive snort that sounded like an air bubble escaping a tar pit. "Is this the best you can do, Khanos. Are there no better groundling mages on this dirt speck." The hippo-headed creature's voice was level and flat, and his questions sounded like statements.

  "I think he will do, Laddy?" rejoined Khanos. "You don't need a large gun to shoot down a small bird, do you now?"

  Ladislau grumbled something Jehan did not catch and motioned to the barrels. Jehan stepped up to the containers and pulled the loosened lid from the closest.

  The smoke powder itself was hard and granular, a grayish-black shade shot with small pips of silver. Jehan had never heard of these pips, and inwardly congratulated himself on the discovery. Here was some other fact about the powder that the Old Hounds kept to themselves.

  Jehan picked up a nodule of the powder between two fingers. It was heavier than it looked, as if it had been cast around lead. He tried to break it between his nails, but he might as well have been squeezing a pebble.

  Jehan looked into the container. The small nodules were mixed with a grit of a soft, lighter gray. The largest particle of the grit was slightly larger than the smallest bit of smoke powder. Doubtless, the merchant had already considered sifting it through a screen. Jehan rubbed the grit between his fingers; it broke apart easily and drifted slowly downward in the still air of the warehouse.

  The young mage licked his dust-covered skin. It tasted like the floor of old Maskar's summoning chamber, and the grit clotted into a ball that Jehan rubbed between his fingers.

  No sieve then, and no water to separate the two, Jehan thought. He said aloud, "You could do this without magic, and in a city safer than this. Perhaps it would be smarter merely to remove the smaller barrels now and separate it later.

  The giff made a noise that sounded like a human stomach growling, and Khanos put in, "We felt it would be easier to move one barrel than six, especially through this city? We don't want these to fall into the wrong hands? Can you separate the two?"

  Jehan scooped up the mixture with one hand and sifted it between his fingers. Some of the larger nodules stayed in his palm, but most of the silver-shot grains fell back into the barrel with some of the grit. The grit drifted more slowly, like dandelions on the wind.

  At length he nodded. "It can be done. You want to have the powder in the large keg at the end of this?" Khanos nodded enthusiastically. "Then if Mr. Ladislau here would be so kind as to pour the smaller barrels slowly into the larger, I can come up with something to remove most of the debris."

  The giff grunted and hoisted the first barrel. Jehan recalled t
he basics of the cantrip, the small semispell that Maskar had taught him to aid in his sweepings. It was a simple spell-"half an intention and a bit of wind" as Maskar described it when he first taught it. Of course, Maskar the Mummy would never think to use a floor-sweeping cantrip in this way.

  Jehan cast the minor spell and nodded at the great creature. The giff began to pour the mixture into the larger barrel. Jehan directed the sweeping wind across the entrance of the larger container. The breeze caught most of the grit and dust, blowing them away from the container's mouth. The heavier nodules of smoke powder fell into the barrel, forming a dark great pile mixed with silver sparkles. Without the dust, the sparkles glowed brighter in the moonlight.

  Ladislau the giff finished the first small barrel and picked up the second and, finishing that, the third. Jehan wondered if he could make the spell last long enough for all six barrels, and redoubled his concentration as Ladislau started on the fourth barrel. By the fifth barrel, perspiration dripped from the young mage's brow, and by the sixth, small stars were dancing at the edge of his vision.

  The giff poured the last of the barrel into the container, and Jehan tied off the end of the incantation. He took a deep breath and blinked back the dizziness he felt. The back of his head ached, and Jehan realized he had sweated off the effects of the ale, spellcasting himself into a mild hangover.

  He looked at the others. The dust in the air had yet to fully settle, giving the entire warehouse a fog-enshrouded look in the moonlight. The great giff s nostrils twitched, and he scratched his snout with a heavy hand. The merchant was positively radiant, and pulled up a handful of the smoke powder, letting the rough nodules slip between his fingers. Then he grabbed the barrel's lid and slipped it into place.

  Jehan cleared his throat softly. Then, afraid his interruption might be merely interpreted as a reaction to the dust, cleared it again. The merchant scowled at the young mage.

  "Before you close the barrel," said Jehan levelly, "about my fee."

  "Your fee?" said Khanos. The smile returned to his face. "I had quite forgotten. Ladislau, can you give the young man his fee?"

  The giff pulled the arquebuses from his belt-sash and leveled them on Jehan.

  The last of the little stars plaguing Jehan's vision evaporated, and the mage's attention was fully riveted on the ends of the gun barrels.

  "Good-bye, groundling," said the giff. "We couldn't leave you alive to tell your superiors." His inhuman face was illuminated by the twin fires of the exploding smoke powder as he pulled the triggers.

  Jehan dropped an instant before the guns fired, turn-bling forward. Even so, he felt something hot plow a grazing path along his left shoulder.

  The pain roused him to action. When he struck the hard, cool floor, Jehan immediately scrambled on his hands and feet, trying to put as much distance between himself and the giffs weapons. He half ran and half crawled away from the pair, deeper into the dusty darkness of the warehouse. Behind him he heard Khanos cursing at his companion.

  Jehan's shoulder burned as if someone had dripped acid on it. Now scared, wounded, and sober, the young mage cursed himself for being so stupid, so trusting. He should have left a message at the tavern, or contacted Gerald or Anton at the very least. But no, he was so sure he could handle this little bit of magic, this little bit of free-staff spellcasting, this independent study. He was so sure that his little magics could handle anything a mere merchant could throw at him.

  But could he handle enemies armed with smoke powder, bringing them to the level of wizards themselves?

  Jehan leaned against a stack of boxes and tried to contain his breathing. His wounded shoulder held a coldness that was beginning to spread down his arm, and his shirt clung to him stickily there. He would have to escape this place and be pretty quick about it. His opponents were somewhere in the dusty darkness between him and the only door.

  Jehan mentally cursed Maskar the Mummy as well, for not teaching him any useful spells for such a situation. One more example of the Old Hounds keeping their knowledge to themselves.

  Jehan was suddenly aware of a tall humanoid near him and started, almost crying out. It was only the ugly deva statue he had noted before. Beneath spread wings, its angelic face was impassive to Jehan's plight, its features practically glittering in the moon's radiance through the skylight.

  The statue reached halfway to the skylight above, and there were shelves above it. Most skylights had an interior latch, easily sprung. Even lacking that, Jehan could probably smash the skylight and get away before they could fire on him. — -

  And they would not expect a groundling mage to take to the skies.

  Slowly, painfully, Jehan pulled himself up around the base of the deva statue. His shoulder was getting worse now, and the young mage wondered if he could make it all the way up. Still, it would be better to hole up in the spaces above rather than being found passed out on the ground.

  The statue stood on a pedestal, with about two feet of clearance between its back and the wall. Jehan set his back against the wall and his feet against the deva and slid upward. He slowly pulled himself up, leaving a wet, dark slick against the wall as he moved.

  He had almost reached the wings when he heard the heavy clump of feet below. Wedging himself tightly in place, Jehan held his breath.

  The giff warrior trudged slowly up beneath his hiding place, swinging only one hand arquebus. Jehan realized Khanos would have the other one, using it either in searching some other part of the warehouse or in standing guard by the entrance. Jehan simultaneously offered prayers to Azuth for favor and curses to himself for inexperience. Were he a full-fledged mage, he thought, he would be able to handle the pair with ease. The increasing pain in his shoulder gave lie to that last thought.

  The giff stopped at the base of the statue, and Jehan's heart stopped as well. The great creature's nostrils flared and snorted, and the warrior peered about, surveying the surroundings. Then he looked upward, along the shelves and at the statue.

  Jehan panicked. The statue offered only minimal protection for an immobile target wedged between it and the wall. Jehan's legs stiffened to push him back into the wall itself.

  The wall did not move. The statue did. It tipped forward on its loose mounting.

  Jehan's panic that he would be shot was suddenly replaced with a similar concern that he would fall from his perch. With a shout, he leapt forward to grab the statue behind the wings and rode it down as it tipped forward.

  The giff had time to look up at the plummeting statue, open his huge maw in a shout, and raise his gun. The pistol detonated as the great bronze deva, Jehan on its back, slammed into him.

  On impact, Jehan rolled free and felt something give in his right leg. He rose slowly to survey the damage. The giff had been pinned beneath the heavy statue, a large pond of blackish blood pooling beneath him. The creature was still struggling, and as Jehan watched, he started to shift the heavy statue off himself. Of the gun there was no sign, and Jehan had no time to search for it.

  Jehan looked up at the skylight, now as unapproachable as the moon beyond it. The only way out would be past the merchant, who likely had the other gun.

  Jehan dodged over three rows of crates before heading for the door, hoping Khanos would search out his companion at the sound of his cry. Indeed, Azuth and Mystra were smiling on him, for the area in front of the great oak door was clear. Jehan tugged on it with his good arm, then realized it was still locked. He reached over and, grunting, unlocked the door.

  "Stand away from the door, would you, boy?" said a voice behind him, raising the last word in an odd inflection.

  Jehan cursed softly and turned slowly to face Khanos. He wished he had some lightning bolt or other spell to slay the merchant on the spot, but he was a novice mage, and the wind-sweep cantrip had emptied his mind.

  Khanos was there, and had the other arquebus in his hand. There was no sign of the giff. The merchant had a lopsided smile on his face.

  "I really wis
h we could let you live?" he said, emphasizing the last word. "But it just wouldn't do, would it? I mean, your magical brothers might want to hunt you down when they themselves start dropping from assassin's bullets? Oh yes, the powder isn't leaving the city, not when it can be put to much better use here? A few well-placed shots against the more powerful mages, and the rest will retreat into their towers? Wizards are cowards like that, aren't they? And by the time they emerge, we'll have a ready supply of powder from Ladislau's friends? So unwittingly, you helped bring a new thing to Waterdeep- and greater independence from mages?"

  Jehan was not thinking of the advancements to Water-deep, but rather the distance between the two of them. Four steps. More than enough distance for the merchant to get off a shot before Jehan could get the gun. And from the easy way he held the weapon, Khanos seemed a better marksman than the giff had been. Still, it was move and die, or stay and perish just as surely.

  Jehan started to move forward when the door behind him rolled aside on its squeaking runners. A fresh breeze blew aside the dust still hanging in the air. Khanos pointed his gun at the doorway as a new figure entered the warehouse.

  Jehan gasped. The new arrival was himself, or rather an unwounded, unbloodied Jehan, dressed as he had been when he left the tavern, unblemished and unarmed. No, this Jehan was a little taller, perhaps a little fiercer, but otherwise it was he.

  "Another wizard?" spat Khanos. "You'll come no closer?"

  "I don't think so," said the other Jehan, using Jehan's voice and mannerisms. "I think it's time to wrap this little play up, eh?"

  "I'll shoot?" said the merchant.

  "Be my guest," said the other Jehan, striding forward and in front of the young wounded mage. Jehan saw that magical energy was already dancing at the ends of his duplicate's fingertips.

  The other Jehan took two steps forward, and Khanos fired, the thunder of the gun echoing through the warehouse. The other Jehan did not flinch or fall. The bullet struck him with a metallic splang, then rebounded in the darkness.