"Three things, milord. First, I need to see the Weeping Blade of Rholaris Wands, and mayhaps borrow it," Khelben said.

"Easily enough done."

Maskar walked to the far side of the room. Tsarra realized she'd not even taken a look around. She fully believed people's tales of the magnetic personality of Lord Maskar Wands. Two massive bookshelves stood behind that staircase, and seven more sets of shelves continued along the left-hand wall, interrupted twice by large work tables, one covered in books and scrolls, the other with bubbling beakers, potion flasks, and component jars. The center of the room held the large table, its illusionary tracking of the wizards on Wands property still glowing. The far end of the room held a circle of over-stuffed chairs and small tables, and a few of them were turned to face the right-hand wall, which was covered with paintings and maps of Waterdeep, the Sword Coast, the Savage North, and much of the rest of Faerun. Lord Wands motioned them toward the farther wall, on which were three doors. He approached the second one, pulled a key from his pocket, and opened it. He went through, and Khelben made sure to hold Tsarra by the arm as they stepped through the door simultaneously.

Tsarra felt a slight tingle as she was shifted spatially to Maskar's study on the third floor of the manor house. The room was more richly appointed than the lord's workshop. Rich walnut panels lined the ceiling and walls of the study. A massive duskwood table with eight formal chairs dominated one side of the room. There were two bookshelves there, both with glass-paneled doors protecting their contents. They seemed to hold only bric-a-brac and trinkets undisturbed for many years. The carpets under foot came from far-off Zakhara, and Tsarra had little doubt that at least one of them might fly if so commanded by the lord of the manor.

The trio approached the western wall, and Tsarra shielded her eyes slightly as they crossed a strong sunbeam coming through the tall windows. The wall held a display of weapons: an arc of seven swords atop a quartet of shields and a row of nine daggers.

Khelben said, "My Lord Wands, I believe we can test my student's knowledge to find the item that we seek."

Tsarra took her time, looking the weapons over from top to bottom then she said, "It's the third sword among the seven-the silver pommel with the sapphire tang button, two more sapphires on its steel-banded scabbard."

Maskar's eyebrows rose, and he chuckled. "Very good, girl. How did you know that?"

The old man muttered a command word before he magically floated the sword off the wall and into Khelben's waiting hands.

Tsarra whirled when Khelben smacked his palm on the nearby table and cursed, "Hrast!"

Tsarra silently asked, What is it? What's the matter? Didn't you need this sword?

No-the scabbard was actually more important in this case, Khelben replied then spoke aloud. "Lord Maskar, when was the last time someone removed this sword from its perch?"

"My sons and nephews made use of all of those weapons to fend off Myrkul's Horde sixteen years ago. Other than that, it has stayed there. Only three of us can remove the weapons from their places."

"Well, Lord Wands, someone tampered with this regardless. I don't have time to check the sword's authenticity, but the scabbard is a forgery. Were it true, we would have seen blue sparks the moment we entered this room." Khelben fumed, smacking his fist into his other palm as he paced.

"What?" Tsarra yelled. "You risked the lightning again without warning me?"

Khelben stared out the window. "No. The lightning only occurs when three of them are within a certain proximity. Two together only spit out sparks to cue the seeker as to their connections."

Tsarra lashed out at Khelben. "I can't believe you! With all that's gone wrong, you don't even warn me?"

Khelben said, "You are more than capable, Tsarra. I also knew there was no danger of the lightning today."

"Like you knew at the tower?" Tsarra snapped. "Danthra's dead, Khelben. Dead! Do you need the tower to collapse before you part with another secret? Are the secrets more important than people?"

Khelben's shoulders sagged then he stiffened his back and replied,

"No, that was never my choice. That happened because Mystra willed Danthra's fate. Even if I had tried to prevent it, the results would have been the same for all of us, perhaps with greater costs. You must believe that, Tsarra, if nothing else."

"Why should I trust you?" Tsarra screamed, pent-up frustration fueling her rage. "How many more of us will die for your precious secrets?"

"Tsarra, that's enough. We need to move on to our next errand."

Khelben said, his voice gaining an edge of exasperation.

"Tish-tosh, child," Maskar said, putting a kindly hand on her shoulder. "Khelben loves his secrets, but you must know he loves good people more, even if he hides it." His merry eyes helped Tsarra calm down, and he nodded as he moved closer to Khelben by the window. "I heard something had blown a hole through the tower. That's not happened since my father's day and the Harpstar Wars."

Taking the sword from Khelben's hands, the old man set it on the table and pressed his palm on the surface beside it. Hands morphed from the table's surface to hold the sword and scabbard fast.

Khelben said, "It's obvious someone stole the scabbard long ago-it may have happened during Epira's collusion with the Guildmasters a century back. We cannot spare the time to look for it, but we'll hope to find the remainder of the items before our foe claims the true legacy."

Tsarra sat down on a chair, clenching her fists. She tried to listen in to the archmages across the room, but the ringing in her ears made that difficult. "Good. A second favor, milord, is to see Belkram's Fall. Using the Yawning Portal right now would draw untoward attention." "Young lady, we'll need you over here, please," Maskar called, and Tsarra rose from her chair. She felt slightly dizzy and no less angry, but she approached and the wizards each took one of her hands. Maskar spoke an incantation, and instantly they went from the sun-flooded study to a dark stone room with no light. Torches flared to life around them, blue flames dismissing the darkness and revealing a small chamber with a massive sealed doorway. Khelben and Maskar had their backs to the door but dropped their hands and turned to it. They intoned together, "Ahrakelsharith Hilathrellas Orekarla Belkrammath."

The stone door split down its middle and opened like wardrobe doors.

The scraping of stone was loud in the small chamber. Bile rose in Tsarra's throat, as she smelled decay and death on the chilling draft of air that rushed out the doors. Khelben stepped to the edge, and Tsarra followed, more curious than invited. She looked past the doorway to see only darkness, and looking down, she perceived a massive shaft disappearing beyond the edge of the light. She heard distant sounds and saw some flickers of light far below, but she couldn't identify what they were. Tsarra gulped, her dizziness and nausea not abating at all. "How far down does this go?" "We've never measured it properly, dear," Maskar chuckled. "We only know we've never heard anyone hit bottom." "Belkram's Fall is perhaps thrice the length of the City of Splendors, give or take a ward." Khelben remarked flatly. "It was once a major mining shaft for the Melairkyn dwarves when they worked the Underhalls. We're not descending, though.

Merely sending a message." "Into Undermountain?" Tsarra gasped. "Why would you want to get the attention of the Mad Mage?" Khelben produced a small carved stone swallow from his pocket. He cast a number of spells on the bird too quickly for Tsarra to follow then tapped the bird's head three times. It woke in his palm, twittered a gleeful greeting, and took flight down the tunnel. In its wake glittered five different colors of magical sparkles, but within moments even those sparkles had vanished. Khelben said, "Those defenses should allow it to pass through the antimagical fields that span the shaft and get my message through. As to your question, sorcerers and wizards both must attend to some courtesies, regardless of power-or perhaps because of it." As Tsarra looked down, her dizziness increased, as did the smell of decay. The ringing in her ears became the patter of rain on stone, as the vision overwhelmed her. Tsarra collapsed, and as she pitched forward a small part of her brain wondered what would happen next.