Blackstaff

THE WIZARDS

Blackstaff
Steven Schend

Bloodwalk
James P. Davis

Darkvision
Bruce R. Cordell

Frostfell
Mark Sehestedt

As it is in the Realms, no one person or work stands alone without dozens of connections to other people and other stories.

Many thanks go out to those who helped pave the path to this novel. The foundations are built on the works of L. Frank Baum, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert E. Howard, Stan Lee, and Jack Kirby. I’d not have finished this book without the moral support of Eric Boyd, George Krashos, Bryon Wischstadt, and “the guys in the Shire.”

Still, my greatest appreciation is saved for my editors, Phil Athans and Peter Archer (thanks for your keen editorial eyes and hands on this, as well as taking the gamble on my first novel), and my mentors, Jeff Grubb and Ed Greenwood (thanks for bringing me into the Realms and sharing your knowledge and your friendship).

“G
et back here, you malevolent windbag!”

The wizard was dark in demeanor, garb, and action. He snarled out an incantation, and his arms erupted with orange energy.

His colossal spell-arms seized the creature by its tail and yanked it hard away from its prey—a wide-eyed elf child. The mage then whipped his arms downward as if he were swinging a hammer. The green creature in his spell’s grasp smacked against an outcrop of rock, popping many eyes along its length with each impact. The wizard could tell the phaerimm was in pain and angry by the high-pitched wind whistling around it, and he repeated his actions to disrupt any spells it tried to cast. He felt the creature collapse and stop its struggles, its body broken with bones jutting out through its sickly green skin.

The man kept his focus on his spell but yelled to be heard over the wind, “Child, come here!”

The small elf girl only shook with terror, unaware she was safe for the moment.

He visualized his hands wringing the creature out like a dishrag, and a harsh whistle on the winds were the phaerimm’s final screams.

Phaerimm, to him, were the ugliest creatures ever to hover over the lands of Faerûn, their strange conical forms ending around an ovoid head filled with barbed teeth and surrounded by four angular arms. Their tails ended in a poisonous barb, and they flew at all times unless prevented from doing so. The ugly creatures were usually imprisoned beneath the desert they formed with their malicious spells. Apparently, some had either found their way free or came from elsewhere, hoping to free more of their own.

The black-clad wizard grabbed the amulet around his neck. He ran toward the tiny child, but spoke low into the amulet. “Take this child to her mother and protect them both. Follow the elf woman’s directions, if in doubt.”

A short distance away, a massive figure made of steel and wood turned its head with a shriek of straining metal and began running. Its massive limbs and body seemed to ignore the problems of running in sand as it thundered forward. By the time the shield guardian had reached them, the wizard had scooped up the shivering child whose eyes saw nothing but her fears. He ignored the dimpled chin and steel-blue eyes they shared.

With one free hand, the mage cast a short spell and whispered to her, “Your fears are over, little girl. Find your courage, and know that our father and I will keep these monsters at bay. Now, let my servant bear you home, tiny Phaerl.”

The girl blinked at the sound of her name, and her face filled with color again.

She asked,
“Osu?”
The young girl reached in relief to touch his full beard but reared back as she noticed his rounded ear. “
Ru n’tel’quess! N’osu!
”

“Aye,
d’nys
, I am no elf, but we share fathers, you and I.” His waist-length black hair whipping around them both like a creature alive, the human mage untangled his amulet’s chain and looped it around her small neck twice to ensure it would remain in place. “I hope to get to know you soon, but he and I need to stop these phaerimm. Now, this
aegiskeryn
will carry you and keep your family safe. Get home, and we shall follow when we can!” Despite the child’s clinging to his robes, he placed her in the cradling arm of his shield guardian and yelled, “Go!”

The twelve-foot-tall construct stood, and the child gasped to find herself seven feet in the air and swiftly moving away.

The wizard turned and surveyed the battlefield once more, sweeping his long hair from his face yet again and cursing the blowing sand. The phaerimm he had slammed against the rocks remained there, dead. Despite the blowing dust, the setting sun illuminated the surroundings well. Another phaerimm lay dead on the field. A short distance to the east, three more phaerimm hovered around or near a humanoid that stood atop a low sand dune. The man held an axe in one hand, his other hand glowing with arcane energy. At his side, a dire wolf shimmered into existence between him and his foes.

“He uses Mother’s axe,” the human wizard muttered.

Nightmarish portents had led the man up from the lush forests to the south. His trust in his goddess led him into the wastes of the Sword of Anauroch. His dreams the past three nights were of teeth, green magic, and his father’s aged face. The wizard had planned for battle. What he had not planned for was finding Arun leading a family of elves across the wastes to some western destination. The wizard faced many challenges, but he was not ready to face his father, the man who looked, pointed ears aside, like his twin brother.