I'm just taking us up toward the Tears then back down atop the High Moor. We should be able to easily spot Frostrune's lightning pyramid to pinpoint him." Raegar leaned against one of the walls, staring out and down at the Realms. "I'm in a stone tower flying high over the weather… how are we still breathing air?" "Air travels with us, though if we had planned a longer trip, we'd need something to replace the air we breathe. This is just a short jaunt." Raegar started asking another question when he noticed the skies above Gamalon. "The Tears of Selune… they're just huge rocks? That's disappointing. All these years, I rather liked the legend that they're massive gems or dragons' eggs." "Aye," Syndra commisserated. "I was let down too the first time I saw them. But look behind you." Raegar turned, looked back at the Realms, and gasped. They were high enough up that the curve of the planet was now visible. He whispered to himself, "They always said, but it was so hard to believe. The world isn't flat after all." Even with Syndra's ribbing and ribald jokes, he remained quiet for a long time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Feast of the Moon, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Hours later, they were no longer climbing, and Raegar watched the Realms far beneath them. The entire Sword Coast and much of the interior was shrouded in storm clouds. When he thumbed in the clouds' direction and started to say something, Gamalon replied with an annoyed grunt of exasperation. "No, we can't see, because those magical lightning bolts appear to have created a massive stormfront that's engulfed a lot of Faerun with lightning storms like we saw in Waterdeep." Gamalon sighed, furrowing his brow, and said, "One of the main reasons I took this route was to minimize the delays of flying through bad weather, but now I'm trying to find the shortest way to our foe through the storms." Raegar's curiousity got the better of him. "Well, Khelben mentioned Malavar's Grasp a few times. If you know where that is, head for it. I've never heard of it, but then I avoided the High Moor for reasons most sane folk do as well. You know what it's all about?" As soon as he asked, Raegar regretted it. He was still in way over his head in wizardly intrigues, and everyone else-even the tressym-seemed to know more about what was going on than he did. Unfortunately, Gamalon had a far-away look in his eye, something Raegar recognized from far too many Oghman clerics about to lecture him. Despite Raegar being on his blind side, Gamalon looked over at him and laughed. "Don't worry, boy! My stories aren't nearly as long as Oghma's services." Gamalon concentrated a moment, and Raegar felt the tower shift slightly and start to descend. The wizard began talking again. "Khelben has woven so many lies around this gambit, even I have a hard time keeping track of it all. I say this as a 'renowned historian' myself. Malavar's Hand, down on the High Moor, is a false legend-a cautionary tale told to wizards who seek to abuse magic. Different places have different versions, but in most tales, Malavar sought to wield the might of the great sorcerous powers of the past, be they the Shoon, the Netherese, the Imaskari, or even older powers like the Ilythiiri. For his hubris, his spells to make himself a colossus failed, and his twisted body fell through the crust of the High Moor under its massive weight. All that remains above ground are the fingertips of his right hand, and these stand as tall stone menhirs on a blasted plain west of Highstar Lake." Gamalon cleared his throat and continued, "I don't know which legends Priamon has read, but given his obsessions over the Shoon, I'll assume he's followed three or four more accessible historical texts. There are three Malavars who are real people in historical records. The most recent is an insignificant tradesman of Athalantar and another was a notorious pirate, slaver, and early member of the Rundeen. The eldest Malavar is the one allegedly buried in the High Moor. A second-generation Asrami, Malavar of the Three Hands, was a sorcerer who fled Asram about forty years before the Standing Stone rose among the Dales. He arrived in Tethyr in time to become a key vizar for the Shoon Qysar Amahl Shoon III." Raegar snorted and said, "Malavar of the Three Hands? Did a barmaid give him that name, or is it a tale that's going to reinforce my belief that wizards are all as well-balanced as a fomorian on ice?"

Gamalon laughed and continued, "Malavar gained his third hand by slaying Akhir, the second son of Amahl III, who tried to assassinate his father and become the second Shoon emperor. The boy had sorcerous powers, rather than the typical wizardry, and Malavar made a decades-long study of his corpse and his confiscated books on magic.

Amahl's third son rose to power as Shoon I by the time Malavar crafted the mummified Hand of Akhir into a powerful relic. Accurate accounts as to the hand's full powers have been lost for centuries. All we know for certain is that the Hand of Akhir allowed Malavar to remain a power in the court of the Shoon for more than fifty years and remain young well past three times that many winters." "This Malavar wore a mummified hand?" Raegar laughed, "How do you people think these things up? If I want something powerful, I'll go track down a nice clean magical sword, thanks." "Don't mock, boy," Gamalon said. "There is more power in the severed hand of a sorcerer than in some countries, strange as it may seem. I could tell you of a hand down in Chult that, should you light candles upon its fingertips, bends tomorrow into yesterday. But I digress. Here is the truth-Malavar existed, along with Akhir's Hand, and they were both powerful, but not powerful enough to stand against two whole clans of wizards. He was exiled from Shoon lands in the Year of the Moor Birds. For two years, he then was chased all across the Sword Coast by dozens of mercenary wizards hoping to even old scores or claim even a piece of his powers. "He finally made his stand at Highstar Lake against five archmages.

Depending on which sources you read, Malavar attempted magic unseen in centuries and lost control of it. He and most of his foes perished and were buried in the High Moor's blasted crust. All that remained to mark the battle were the five curved stone slabs that Maildak of Westgate first coined as Malavar's Grasp in Things I Believe and Have Seen over seven centuries ago." "So what's the truth? What was this fellow after, and does it tell us what Frostrune's looking for?"

Raegar asked. "Thanks to Khelben and his friends-myself included-there are more than fourteen different accounts as to exactly what Malavar was doing and how he died, as well as twice the number of references and legends that reinforce each one." Gamalon chuckled. "At this point, it's likely only Oghma, Mystra, and Malavar himself know the truth. Khelben would try to hoodwink you into believing he's got all the knowledge. Most of it, true, but just enough is missing that he can be blindsided." "Wait a breath-you're telling me wizards have made up false accounts and passed them off to us as history?" Raegar rose and paced angrily. "Bad enough to hide secrets for themselves, but to actively confuse and distract honest historians from-" "Oh, ye'd think someone told ye Leira had mists in her shift, the way ye're goin' on."

Syndra became visible again as she rose through the stone floor. "Of course there's false histories out there. If ye actually believe there's only one or two sides to any story, ye've not been payin' attention, lad. Now, I agree that some of Khelben's more creative 'histories' may have done as much harm as good, but the truth is still the truth, and for those who need to learn it, they do, despite any obfuscatin'." "But… well…" Raegar sputtered. He caught himself and took a deep breath. "All right. Setting that aside for now, haven't his secrets and changed histories brought a lot of danger down on folks? If he hadn't hidden so many secrets in so many lies, wouldn't your wife still be alive? Or you?" Gamalon and Syndra both paled then turned scarlet with anger. While Gamalon kept a white-knuckled grip on his staff, Syndra's hand began to crackle… until Nameless flew up among them and snarled loudly. Raegar took a step back, hands up, and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The quartet remained deathly quiet for a few moments, as they drew closer to the clouds over Faerun.