Gamalon cleared his throat and said softly, "Regrets and sorrows are for another time. Know this, young scholar-thief. Had such secrets not been buried-a mystery inside an enigma inside a puzzle-they would have been uncovered centuries before the Realms was ready for them.

'Mystery cloaks the walk of the Lady, for in her wake are secrets to be earned, not granted.'" "Spare us the sermon, temple-goer," Syndra growled. "Listen up, boy. I paid for this with my life more than a century ago. I was angry. I was bitter. I was dead. I hated Khelben for more years than ye've been alive, and here I am workin' his will and hers. Why? Surprise! Mystra'll have her sacrifices, just like any other bloody god. And no matter what the cost, the ultimate goal that's hidden for so long makes it worth it for everyone." Raegar stomped around the open room. "Then what's the goal, if it's worth setting fire to Waterdeep and killing innocent people and covering the land with lightning storms?" "Magic and unity," Syndra whispered.

"Magic untouched in millennia to stave off the darkness growin' all around us. For once, it will be magic for many races, not just elves or humans. Isn't that a goal worth any cost?" "No," Gamalon croaked,

"but the Lady of Mysteries deemed it so, and my faith demands I accept until I too believe it." "I just want to know why Damlath had to die,"

Raegar said. "Why, if Khelben knew about the power of those items, didn't he hold them all himself? Or better yet, if it's to bring some great magic to life, why didn't he do so before the Godsfall and save Mystra herself and so many others who died then?" "Boy, ye're asking the right questions. Gods know, I've asked them of him too." Syndra sighed and continued, "What ye find is that Khelben's never parted with secrets until he's forced to. I respect that, if only because I don't want his responsibilities. After all, half the reasons the man's so exasperatin' is because he's workin' angles that take centuries to complete. The other reasons involve visions from Mystra herself, and she can be a vague bitch sometimes…" "Blasphemer!" Gamalon barked, then turned his head up with his eyes closed in prayer. "We walk beneath your stars and eyes, accepting in your wisdom, Lady. Forgive those who sully the Path." Gamalon halted the progress of the tower, and calmed himself. "I take my faith seriously. I take my studies and my work equally so. All you need to know is that all things have happened as they needed to-to give us all the motivation and drive to do what we must." Syndra stalked away, the rod and the bracer swinging wildly to express her frustrations. Raegar said, "Well, I have to live with my part in your wife's death and I can never apologize enough for it. I never harmed anyone who didn't deserve it, and that's one of many reasons I need to see that lich in the ground." "I've prayed, and I've cast spells to understand everything that happened that night, Raegar. Mystra herself forgives you, and I forgive you. If not for your actions, everyone in that inn would have died, rather than the five who did." The silence on the tower was interrupted by the booming thunder in the clouds below. No one said a thing as they moved closer and closer to thunderheads that loomed higher than any others. "Of course," Raegar muttered aloud. "The most lightning bolts-with that pyramid of his-would have the greatest storms over head." "The magic we're fighting toward, Raegar? And how Priamon seemingly amassed power so easily?" Gamalon said. "We needed him too. I hardly believe Priamon knows the truth behind Malavar; he simply wants to claim the Hand of Akhir or other relics to conquer the cabal of liches of which he is a part. Priamon thinks to use the lightning to awaken Malavar, but he awakens a vastly older magic. Malavar's Grasp is not the petrified remains of a Shoon wizard. So, Priamon is doomed to fail in his quest." "Well, what is it then? It's obviously important and dangerous, or else Khelben wouldn't be pulling together all those high-powered wizards." Raegar paced around Gamalon, his feet matching the pace of his thoughts. "What sort of magic are you facing?" "Heard of killin' storms, kid?" Syndra materialized directly in front of him, and Raegar stumbled right through her. A wave of cold passed through him, and he shivered while Syndra snickered. "They're impossible.

Those were lost when the High Moor was formed, weren't they?" "No,"

Gamalon said, "despite many efforts. Every few centuries, someone cobbles together a similar magic that's not quite the same, but enough that elf assassins find and destroy mage and magic." "Wait a minute-are you telling me these are killing storms?" Raegar recoiled from the wall. "No again." Gamalon sighed, his face looking exhausted.

"The lightning storms fulfill Alaundo's predictions for the year, but they're only a byproduct of Priamon's collection of artifacts. When he brings the pyramid into proximity with the five menhirs, that will accumulate enough power to release and reactivate the killing storm magic that was trapped in the land more than twelve millennia ago.

That is why Khelben manipulated him into this." "So it's a good thing that the lich can unleash a true killing storm? I don't believe you-"

"I'm not finished, boy. The killing storm is a magic so ancient, that the only way to undo its effects is to let it loose and change its magic with a group casting. There are mysteries tied to the killing storm that only get answered when it is unleashed again and tamed at long last. We have assembled the forces for the past twelve millennia and the time to see it through is tonight." The full moon glowed brightly, and a solid beam of moonlight arced beneath them, parting the clouds and lighting a path ahead. "There is our sign, thanks be to the Moonbow," said Gamalon. "Five gods have watched and waited-both ours and three more. All we need to do now is let Priamon do his part before we take our revenge." With that, Gamalon urged the tower into motion, and the shattered Eightower slipped into the stormy clouds.

Raegar gritted his teeth and reached up to scratch Nameless behind the ears. He whispered, "I hope your mistress is doing better than we are."

CHAPTER THIRTY

Feast of the Moon, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Tsarra found it odd that she was smiling as she faced the shimmering wall of black sharnforms. Before I forget, Khelben, that face you made at Priamon was priceless, Tsarra sent to Khelben as he slipped beneath the surface of the sharn. It wasn't too much? Laeral accuses me of being a ham at times. It was a little over the top, but he took the bait. As long as he keeps moving in the direction we need him to go… Indeed. You've learned more than I realized in your short time with us. Now, step forward and learn more about magic than you previously dreamed. We shall need this insight with the sharn for what we do next. Tsarra looked back once at Nameless and Raegar, and she yearned to stay. Still, what she knew moved her forward. She smiled at them, turned, and stepped forward into infinity. Tsarra's first impression was that it felt equally like slipping into an overly warm bath, the empathic embrace of her familiar's bond, and the chaotic stomach-tumble of falling in love. She felt herself move around, willing her arms and legs to move, but she also sensed that they had temporarily ceased to exist. She felt the air moving around her, but it was and wasn't her skin across which the breeze flowed. In fact, she felt as if clothes no longer impeded the breeze. She sniffed, and her usually sharp senses could not isolate scents beyond the strongest-wood smoke, cinnamon, and the bitter coppery smell of spilled blood. Where is all this coming from? she asked herself.

Tsarra blinked and felt dizzy-she looked out on more than nine different scenes all at once. She recognized a few features of Waterdeep through one eye, while another watched the sun rising on the shores of a small island, and more scenes than Tsarra could process.