The Lost Library of Cormanthyr

5

"As your friend, Fannt, you know I have only your best interests at heart."

"You, my dear Keraqt, only have my best interests at heart when it is good for your purse." Fannt Golsway chuckled at the embarrassed look he saw in the other man's face. They sat at a circular table out on the balcony of Golsway's home. The balcony was festooned with a dozen different flowering boxes. The sweet aroma of the moon blossoms circumvented the wind blowing over the Sea Ward of Waterdeep from the Dock Ward. "But, of course, that very predictability about you is what makes you so endearing. I've always found a man should know what motivates those he keeps company with. Would you care for some more wine?"

Thonsyl Keraqt shifted uncomfortably in the plush chair on the other side of the crystal table. He was a broad man gone to fat with his successes. His robe appeared voluminous, cut of lightweight blue and white silks. His round face beaded with perspiration in spite of the cooling breeze. Long red hair striped with gray hung to his shoulders, echoed in the short beard. He motioned to his nearly empty wine glass.

Golsway poured. He knew Keraqt was only there visiting to find out what he could regarding the old mage's recent renewed interests. It was amazing that Keraqt's lackeys within Waterdeep had discovered the new venture so quickly.

"I'll not bother to respond to your taunts," Keraqt announced, lifting his glass in a silent toast. "Not when it is the only price I have to pay for imbibing of such an excellent vintage."

"You like the wine?"

"Most definitely. I've never had this at your home before."

"No. It is new."

"A new vintner?" Unbidden, Keraqt leaned forward with considerable effort and grabbed the wine bottle's neck to check for a label or a wax seal bearing the bottler's crest.

"Actually, yes." Golsway said nothing about the other man's ill manners. Those who knew the merchant ignored his failings if they intended to use his skills or his resources. What was sad to think for the old mage, was that a merchant who could be as churlish as Keraqt came close to being his best friend in all of Water-deep.

That was of Golsway's own choosing, however. With his home base of operations in Waterdeep, he had never allowed many into his home. He neither needed their pandering or their questions. Usually there were too many maps and books and little-known documents scattered throughout every room and on every conceivable surface to permit anyone to come visiting. As a result, usually the old mage went calling, or a meeting took place in an agreed-upon tavern or inn.

Despite his years, Golsway remained a lean, tall man. Age had not stooped his back yet, nor robbed him of his vigor. His silver hair lay forward on his scalp, coming down to a widow's peak, cropped close in a military-styled cut. He wore a goatee that scarcely covered his chin, then tucked neatly under to come to a point. His ears lay back against the sides of his head, though the right one had a notch bitten out of it. He had never had the wound properly tended to in order that it might be made to look more presentable. He chose to wear it to remind him that he was not infallible. His hooded eyes and narrow face made him resemble a hunting falcon to a degree that he could never deny. He wore a brilliant red robe with a field of stars that announced his fealty to Mystra.

"And who is this new vintner?" Keraqt asked.

Golsway cocked an eyebrow, a move that was known to send those who knew of him into conniption fits. "Do you press me on this matter?"

Keraqt shook his head then laughed. "Press you about a vintner, you say? You have always had the tongue for pretty thoughts, haven't you?"

Golsway turned a hand over. "The new vintner is myself."

"You jest."

"Should I show you the basement where I have casks fermenting now?"

"No. I believe you. What I find hard to believe is that boisterous Fannt Golsway, self-appointed re-discoverer of Toril, should spend his days raising and pressing grapes."

"You admit that the wine is good?"

"Readily."

"Then my efforts are not met with failure."

"But to be squashing grapes when you should be putting expeditions together, my friend?"

"Things have changed. I no longer run willy-nilly through the forests and deserts and mountains seeking the truth in some frivolous tale of wonder or drunkenness. There are books that must be written, and I have put them off far too long if I hope to inspire another generation to seek out the mysteries of the ancients." Golsway shook his head. 'Too many of them are only grave robbers, destroying priceless relics for the gemstones and beaten gold before they know what they hold in their hands."

"It is the times," Keraqt lamented. "You remember the brand of fleeting youth. How it drove us to do things that we should never have done."

"But my agenda was always clear," Golsway replied. "Never did I destroy anything that would advance our knowledge of the past."

Keraqt kept silent.

Golsway knew the other man could not make that claim. Though in recent years, the merchant's tastes had changed. He had enough money and riches now to be more discerning about what he did with objects that came within his grasp. Many times Golsway had learned that Keraqt had taken less of a profit from some items to place them in the proper hands rather than break them up. It was one of the things that had convinced the old mage to open up his friendship more than it had been.

"Getting back to the wine," Keraqt said. "Do you have any flasks ready for sale? I'll send a boy around in the morning. With a fair price only, mind you, and not one copper more."

"It's not for sale."

Keraqt spluttered in denial. "Everything is for sale. It's only a matter of finding the proper time to buy."

"Send a boy around in the morning," Golsway invited with a smile. "I'll send him back with a few flasks I can spare."

The merchant sipped his wine again and smacked his lips in appreciation. "What an evening this is turning out to be. First you invite me over for one of the best meals I've had in five tendays or more, then you promise me free wine, and offer to send it to my door." He linked his fingers in front of him, his elbows resting on the table. The candlelight from the sconces in the corners of the balcony splintered from the jeweled rings on his fingers.

"I am glad you accepted my invitation to share eveningfeast."

"Bah! I invited myself and you were gracious enough to accept me into your home. We both know that."

It was true, but Golsway didn't acknowledge the statement. He took his pipe pouch from a pocket of his robe and worked the dottle out in anticipation of using it. Keraqt was a talker; the mage doubted the man would be gone before the morning cock crowed.

"Put your bag away," the merchant said, producing a pipe bag of his own. "I've only this tenday found a new blend I fancy. A trade ship I had owned part of a cargo in brought this from Beregost and I've found it quite pleasing."

Golsway took the bag and performed a quick spell to detect magic. If Keraqt noticed, he gave no sign. Finding the pipeweed free of any spells or wards, the mage quickly filled his pipe from the bag, packing the bowl tight.

"Allow me." Keraqt offered a light from one of the nearby candles. When both pipes were going, curling streamers of smoke about their heads that vanished into the night stretching out over Waterdeep, the merchant replaced the candle. "So tell me about the latest venture you are planning."

"What do you not yet know?" Golsway asked.

Keraqt grinned. "I know that you received a man in your home only four days ago. He carried a package for you that was nearly the size of a bread loaf, but was heavily wrapped and warded, so that may not be its real dimensions. I know, too, that the man spent the night and left early the next morning. You are not wont to allow overnight guests. I myself have spent a night here, but generally at this table or the one in your dining room, never as an overnight guest."

"Your spies are very good."

Keraqt shrugged. "They are paid generously."

"Do you have someone in my house?"

"No. I would never do something like that."

"You would," Golsway argued, "if you thought you could get away with it. But go on."

"I also know that your interest of late has been in Myth Dran-nor. I have people among the sages and book shops who say you've again been searching the histories and legends of the place."

Golsway released a deep lungful of smoke. In truth, he found the pipeweed quite pleasing. "My interest in Myth Drannor is no secret; nor do I stand alone in that interest."

"No, but I've not heard of you wasting research time in idle curiosity. It would take away time from the books you are writing. I am guessing you have turned up a new lead to follow."

"One that no one else has followed after all these years? Do you think such a thing could exist?"

The merchant nodded his big head deliberately. "It is the only kind of clue you would follow. Probably only one that you could turn up. Remember, I've known you for years."

"There are all kinds of new legends and rumors springing up about Myth Drannor. More now than at the time the city fell. You can pick and choose your illusions." Golsway made his voice deliberately demeaning.

"I've heard a name," the merchant whispered conspiratorially.

"You needn't whisper in my home," Golsway said. "It is well warded against those who would seek to invade my privacy."

Keraqt held up a plump hand. "I know, my friend, but this name is not to be bandied with."

“Tell me."

Keraqt leaned forward, covering his wine glass in case any would use the liquid in the goblet as a scrying vessel. Golsway recognized the action immediately for what it was. He quickly checked the wards around his home and found them all intact.

"Faimcir Glitterwing," the merchant said in an even lower whisper than before.

Golsway covered his surprise by sipping his wine. "How did you come by this name?"

Keraqt raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. "Then it is true!"

"Answer my question," the mage snapped irritably.

"Please, my friend, there is no reason to take your wrath out on me." Keraqt did his best to look humble and slightly afraid, but Golsway saw only the glitter of greed in the other man's muddy brown gaze. "Remember, the messenger should not be killed." He paused, pushing his control of the conversation.

Golsway's patience was near to an end. The crystal table suddenly shook between them, holding an inner vibration like a bard's tuning fork.

"There was a man down in the Dock Ward this morning," Keraqt said quickly.

"What man?"

"I did not know him."

"What did he look like?" Despite all the wards on his home, despite the magical powers he had access to on demand, a thin worm of fear crawled inside the mage's stomach and twisted. Faimcir Glitterwing's legacy was worth an empire's ransom, but the sheer impact it would have on education and thinking about so many fields was beyond the pale. For the first time in many months, he wished that Baylee was home with him, that the harsh words that had passed between them had never been spoken.

"A tall man, and thick of neck and shoulder." Keraqt touched his brow with his fingers. "There was a livid red scar, bright as fresh spilled blood here. I don't know what kind of weapon would have made a mark such as that."

"Where is this man?"

"I don't know. I sent two of my best men after him when I heard mention that he was seeking you. They were dead by noon, and no one has seen this man since."

"Why was this man in the Dock Ward?"

"Asking after you, my friend."

"Did he say what he wanted with me?"

"No."

Golsway considered the answer. No more than a handful of people knew about the package he'd received. Only two knew the name of Faimcir Glitterwing. "And did someone direct him my way?" The mage knew there was a slim chance that the man could not have found the way to his home. He was well known in Water-deep, but not many knew where he lived. His closest friends were ones he'd made in other lands, on other adventures. None of those would have come without an invitation.

"I could not tell you," Keraqt answered. "But I can tell you the man is no longer on the streets of this city. I can't even find his shadow."

"Maybe he left."

"After killing two of my best sellswords?" Keraqt shook his head. "You are not fool enough to believe that even for the time it takes to say it."

"No." Golsway stood and paced the balcony. He looked out over the city, out over Gulzindar Street where he lived in lower Sea Ward. His house was not so grand as it was carefully placed. To the north, the spire of the temple of Mystra burned like a star as moonlight caressed the beaten silver. He also spotted the lights from Piergeiron's Palace and the Field of Triumph.

Suddenly, for the first time since he'd inherited the house almost forty years ago, Golsway felt vulnerable there. He wanted to laugh at his fears, but he knew they were legitimate.

"Fannt?" Keraqt said. "Are you all right?"

The mage steeled himself, making his face neutral. "I am fine. Perhaps we should take our pipes and the port inside. I find the night air a bit chill."

Keraqt only hesitated a moment. "Of course." He gathered his glass and followed Golsway through the twin doors of the drawing room.

Golsway closed the doors, taking a moment to secure the double locks. Well above me ground and warded defensively, the balcony generally presented no opportunity for thieves.

The drawing room held several trophies the old mage had gathered during his adventures. Shelves filled the walls, and small tables set up miniature exhibitions of discoveries he'd made. The room wasn't for bragging purposes, for few had ever seen it. It held only touchstones of his life, memories that soothed him when he grew troubled with other problems or lacked a myth to track down.

"What do you know of Glitterwing?" Golsway asked as he indicated Keraqt should sit in one of the two stuffed couches.

"He was one of the best and brightest of the wood elves," the merchant said. "A warrior at heart, with an eye always toward the future."

Despite the tension that had arisen in the last few minutes, Golsway smiled. "You've been talking to Vlumir."

Keraqt nodded. "Easily the best historian that can be had for a gallon of cheap wine."

"He has fallen off the wagon again?" Golsway felt bad about that. Vlumir at one time had been among the most learned men in the Heartlands, maybe in all of Toril. But he had lost the use of his legs on an expedition while still a young man. Over a handful of years he'd fallen into drinking heavily, telling stories culled from legends and literature for a few coppers to keep himself drunk.

"Has Vlumir ever been on the wagon?" Keraqt shook his head. "Never in the time I have known him."

"There were other times."

"One supposes." The merchant didn't appear convinced.

"The stories you got about Faimcir Glitterwing from Vlumir were all tainted. He weaves truth with legend, never bothering to separate the twain. All of his elven history bears checking."

"He's a half-elf. I guess he's prideful about what he almost is and what he once almost was."

"What did he tell you of Glitterwing?"

"That the man amassed a fortune before Myth Drannor fell, and that it still lies hidden somewhere in the ruins of the city."

Golsway shook his head. "Go into any tavern, into any inn, any gathering where there are three men who want more out of life than the jobs they're currently working at, and you'll find as many tales like that as you'd care to listen to. In fact, you'll hear more."

"Then what is it that you have?"

The question, so simply put, threw Golsway off for a moment. It was silent testimony to the fact of how much time he'd spent working on the current problem. His gift for magic had never been more taxed. His need for a diversion was part of why he'd let Ker-aqt force an invitation into his home. "A foothold," he answered at last. "A foothold on a path to what may prove to be the greatest find since the fall of the City of Songs."

Keraqt leaned back on the couch, his eyes fixed on the old mage.

Golsway knew the man was carefully considering how to frame his next question. When it came to bartering, none was more shrewd than Keraqt. The merchant would take into consideration that they had shared a large meal together, had a considerable amount of wine, and the fact that Golsway himself had evidently not talked to anyone about his find.

And the fact that Baylee had not been around in months. If the ranger had visited of late, Keraqt would figure that Golsway had vented his excitement somewhere already, perhaps even sent Baylee out to look for another piece of the conundrum the old mage was working on.

Truth to tell, Golsway did feel himself weakening. There was only so much excitement that he could contain, even after a lifetime spent being close-mouthed about everything he saw fit to involve himself in. Even he could not have answered how the evening would have gone.

"Fannt Golsway."

The old mage turned at the sound of his name, as cold and piercing as a winter wind sweeping through the Storm Horns.

A man stood on the balcony. He was tall and broad, and bore the scarlet scar Keraqt had spoken of. His dress was rough but the leather armor was serviceable. Cold gray eyes blazed under square-cut bangs.

Golsway turned to face the man, readying the spells he had at his command. "Who are you who dares invade my home?"

"My name doesn't matter," the man said in his cold voice. "I only bring a message." He kicked open the balcony doors, then raised an arm. Ruby pinpoints of light in his fist refracted from the candle sconces behind him.

Golsway unleashed a magic missile at the man and watched as he staggered back, obviously in pain.

Still, the man managed to bring his hand down. The old mage had only a brief glimpse of the ruby helix that tumbled from the invader's hand before it shattered against the stone floor. "Vil-layetaix!"

Golsway's senses detected the presence of powerful magic even before the secondary explosion filled the room with curling red fog. The scent of crushed violet fungus filled the air. A figure formed in the fog, brought into sharper relief as the open balcony blew away the obscuring mist.

The old mage knew the ruby helix had been part of a succor spell even as he faced the new arrival. His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the lissome form of a drow elf walking toward him.