The drow walked toward Golsway, a spiked morning star naked in her fist. A mocking smile played on her lips. She wore a piwafwi, a magical shielding cloak, and wore a white sheer silk half-shirt and matching girdle that stood out sharply against her ebony skin. A holstered hand crossbow hung at her left hip in a cross draw, leaving her right side free for the morning star. Her white hair was cropped close enough to leave no curl at all. The iris of her eyes were so pale as to possess no color at all.
“Fannt?” Keraqt called from the couch. The merchant shoved himself back, trying to get clear of the confrontation without drawing attention to himself.
“Silence!” Golsway ordered. None of the business he currently dealt in had anything to do with the drow. He had stayed clear of the Underdark for most of his career. The dark elves had more lies than truth, and absolutely no honor. To enter the Underdark was to walk with death itself.
The drow elf kept advancing. “You have something that does not belong to you, old man.” Her voice was rough, as though it wasn’t used often.
Knowing the drow communicated by silent hand code when in bureaucratic environs, Golsway guessed that this was no ordinary drow. If there was such a thing. He’d rarely heard stories of any of the creatures being encountered above the surface. “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” the old mage said, buying time to organize the spells he carried in his head.
The drow elf gestured with her free hand.
Hastily, Golsway erected a shield in front of himself, expecting her attack to come directly at him. He felt the crackle of magic in the air and knew he faced someone of considerable talent and power.
A flaming sphere a yard across formed on the stone floor in front of the female drow. Her thin lips pulled back in a smile as she directed the fiery ball’s progress. The sphere smashed into Golsway’s shield, wrapping spongily around it for a moment, then ricocheting off with amazing speed.
Keraqt never had a prayer. The flaming sphere rolled over him and engulfed him. He screamed in agony, his voice ripping through what had been the quiet halls of Golsway’s home. The fat merchant struggled across the couch as the flames sizzled the meat from his bones. Every place his hands or face touched started new fires.
Even hardened as he was by everything he’d seen in his adventures, Golsway could not stand to see a man die in such pain. He chanted quickly, sending energy to dispel the flaming sphere.
The fiery ball cooled somewhat, turning blood red just as Keraqt’s struggles ceased. The merchant’s burned and blackened body spilled to the floor, knocking aside a low table containing memorabilia from a dig site in Shadowdale. Tiny ceramic statutes shattered against the flagstones.
“Mercy,” the female drow said in her rusty voice, “is something shared only by the weak to end their miseries.” She renewed her attack, abandoning the flaming sphere as it collapsed in on itself. Her hands moved again.
Golsway prepared spells of his own, choosing them in order. The female drow was a strong opponent, one he’d not want to do combat with at anything less than his best. His staff was in his study on the third floor. Had he been outside, he would not have been without it.
Bilious yellow-green vapors formed in front of the drow and began filling the room. The gentle breeze blowing in from the broken balcony doors pushed the vapors toward Golsway.
The old mage backed away, recognizing the cloudkill spell. One whiff of the toxic vapor and he would be dead or defenseless. The spell let him know the woman didn’t intend to let him live.
Staying behind his shield, he summoned his magic, focused, said the words, and drew the tiny feathered fan from his sleeves. He waved the fan in the direction of the coiling vapors. Immediately, a huge updraft of wind surged from the floor to the ceiling high overhead. The vapor rushed up with it.
The drow took a step back as her own spell threatened to backfire on her.
While she was off-balance, Golsway reached into a hidden pocket for the vial containing a piece of squid tentacle. He dispelled the wind wall and smashed the vial against the floor, mouthing the words of the new spell. He felt the drain of energy from his body as the spell formed long black tentacles that writhed up from the floor.
The spell for Evard’s Black Tentacles was a potent one against most foes. Golsway hated using it because getting rid of the tentacles was dangerous and time consuming, and there was no real control over them. They were just as dangerous to him as they were to the drow.
She gave ground before the tentacles. Setting herself, she lashed out expertly with the morning star, slashing hunks of the blubbery black flesh from one of the ten-foot long tentacles. It coiled away from her.
Golsway had to duck himself as he pulled a piece of gauze from his pocket and seized a fistful of smoke from Keraqt’s smoldering corpse. The sickly sweet smell of the dead man filled his nostrils as he said the words that activated the spell.
Instantly, his corporeal body became insubstantial and the weight of his flesh dropped away. He activated the ring on his right hand and rose into the air, flying quickly. He didn’t try for the door. Even though the tentacles could no longer touch him, such a move would expose him longer than necessary to the female drow’s magic.
He rose to the ceiling and focused on one of the holes he’d deliberately had installed in the house. It only took a moment for his wraith form to pass through the hole. He continued rising through the next floor, passing through one of the spare bedrooms.
In a moment, he was in his study, surrounded by his things. The staff was in its case against the wall. He returned to solid form and dropped to the floor. Crossing the room quickly, grateful that he’d arranged all the tables against the walls and left none of them in the center of the room, he spoke the word of release. The case opened, revealing his collection of higher magic; some he understood and some whose natures he had yet to divine.
The staff was seven feet long, of thick gnarled pecan that held a dark luster. Iron caps covered either end of it. He turned, feeling more confident. The staff was one of thunder and lightning and surely held enough power to handle the drow.
“You run well, old man,” the drow said as she floated up through the floor in wraithform herself. She carried a large hunk of tentacle that she was pulling from around her midsection. She threw the tentacle to one side and resumed physical form. The tentacle smacked against the floor wetly when it landed. “But I grow tired of the chase.”
“Who sent you?” Golsway demanded. He held the staff before him. Power radiated in the wood. The woman had to be able to see it if she was the kind of mage he thought she was. Still, she gave no pause to the threat that he offered.
“One whom you would steal from.” The drow glanced around the room, spotting the table where Golsway’s latest interest lay. “You’ve been prying into affairs that are none of your concern.”
“You’ve not told me who—”
“Nor will I.” Ignoring the staff pointed in her direction, the drow crossed to the table.
“Stay away from that.”
“You’ve no right to this.” The drow lifted the box the artifact was packed in. She lifted it from its case, turning it in the light.
For the woman to know so precisely what it was that he had, Golsway knew that a scrying spell had been used on the object. But the caster must have been very good, otherwise the wards the old mage had up would have notified him of the scryer.
She turned back to him, locking her colorless gaze with his. “Now, old man, the chase is over, the prize won, and it is time for you to die for daring trespass.” She lifted a hand clad in a snakeskin glove.
Even as Golsway activated the thunder and lightning spell from his staff, a giant disembodied hand formed in the air. Each of the fingers was as thick around as his waist. The palm spanned the distance of two axe handles laid end to end.
The hand struck as quickly as a spark snake. The long fingers wrapped around Golsway with crushing strength, covering the staff as well. The thunder and lightning charge erupted against the giant palm. By some miracle, the hand absorbed most of the damage, but too much reflected back into the old mage.
Blackened and maimed, the sorcerous hand fell away in a lifeless heap. It disappeared before it hit the ground.
Golsway dropped, unable to make his limbs find the strength to hold him. Death hovered around him and he knew it. His vision narrowed. Gasping for breath to feed lungs too seared to use it, he tried to cast one last enchantment. But there was nothing left in him to give.
His last sight was of the drow as a golden aperture opened behind her. Smiling, she stepped through. The aperture closed to a tiny yellow dot that fragmented and vanished.
Golsway closed his eyes, surrounded by mysteries he’d yet to solve, truths he’d yet to find. He’d always known there would never be a proper time for leaving. Then he died.
It’s all right, Baylee.
The ranger came awake in the night, gasping for air and shuddering with the force of the nightmare. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. His chest heaved and perspiration filmed his skin.
It was only a bad dream, Xuxa soothed. You are safe here with me.
Baylee ran a hand through his wet hair. Only then did he realize he was alone in the hammock stretched between two limbs thirty feet above the ground. Jaeleen?
Gone.
The loss hit Baylee harder than he’d have thought even though he’d been expecting it. His body groaned with the aches and bruises he’d gotten from the fight with the ghoul. She didn’t wake me.
No.
Baylee made himself relax back into the hammock. He stared up at the dying moon and the handful of stars dusting the remains of the night. He wondered if anyone could feel more alone than he did at that moment. Did she try to wake me?
Xuxa hesitated.
No lies, Xuxa. We could never have lies between us.
She didn’t, Baylee.
The ranger glanced further up into the tree, folding his arms behind his head, and tried to pretend the leaden lump in his breast wasn’t his heart. He forced a smile. Xuxa hung upside down, barely a yard above him, her leather wings folded tightly around herself. Did she talk to you? he asked.
No.
Did you talk to her?
I saw no point. We have nothing to discuss.
Did she take much this time?
The azmyth bat stretched her wings. Her small mouth opened in an almost human yawn. She took some of what you found in the chamber last evening. I do believe that you haven’t got a single silver piece left to your name.
It’s a good thing you and I don’t take much to get by in this life.
Yes, but then what better life can there be than living out in the open as we do. Neither of us were born for the cities of Man.
No, Baylee agreed. I love the openness of this world. A room at an inn is a nice thing to experience once in a while, but I’d get bored looking at the same land all the time.
Then why get so attached to Jaeleen?
Baylee looked the azmyth bat in the eyes. I can’t explain it even to myself.
Let me help. Have you ever heard of the word aberration?
Baylee ignored the comment. He knew it wasn’t the bat’s word, but he also knew her telepathic link always hit closely to what she was thinking. But he wanted to talk, not argue. There is so much she is good at.
I could tell you thought so from the way that hammock was jerking around earlier. I was actually fearful the two of you were going to break your necks before you exhausted yourselves.
Baylee smiled at the memory in spite of the pain that went with it. There was something missing. Wine. Some wine and some cheese, maybe some chilled fruit. That would have been nice.
That reminds me, Xuxa said. Jaeleen also stole the last of our journeycake.
‘Stole’ is too harsh a word. ‘Borrowed’ is better.
The azmyth bat sniffed in disdain, choosing deliberately to throw the artifice response at him. She’d learned the habit from a previous human she’d traveled with. Azmyth bats lived to be well in excess of one hundred years. Baylee had never gotten Xuxa to admit how old she really was.
Either term, Xuxa replied, it will be berries and spring water for breakfast.
I’ll make it up to you at the Glass Eye Concourse, Baylee promised. You know there will be more than enough to eat once we arrive there. And we’ll stay the duration?
Xuxa, this is a forgathering. Not only that, it’s one of the biggest forgatherings of rangers in the year. Once it starts, it may not end for months.
The azmyth bat gave a happy chuckle of expected contentment.
We’ll stay a tenday, Baylee promised.
I’ll hold you to that.
In the silence, the ranger’s thoughts wandered again to Jaeleen. He felt drawn to her in a way that moths winged to flame. Though he was loathe to admit it, there was not much to like about Jaeleen. She was self-centered, arrogant, and petty. But during the times he shared with her, contested against her own nature to try to get her to see a wider view of the world, he was convinced he’d never meet another woman like her who set his heart thrumming in quite the same fashion. When there was no sarcastic remark forthcoming from Xuxa, he was grateful. He knew he was allowed to have private thoughts in the azmyth bat’s presence in spite of her telepathic powers, but he remained suspicious of how much Xuxa monitored him.
After the forgathering, Xuxa asked, are you still planning on returning to Waterdeep?
Baylee hesitated.
Remember, Xuxa said, no lies.
I don’t know.
Well, at least that’s honest, if not definitive.
It’s not that easy, the ranger protested. Too many things were said between Golsway and me. Some of them I now realize I had no place to say.
And some of them Fannt Golsway had no place to say, Xuxa said gently. I am sure he realizes that by now as well. You are not the only one who can see the error of your ways.
Baylee looked deep into the azmyth bat’s milk-white eyes. Golsway is a hard man. He’s been my teacher. He can make no mistakes in his eyes.
He was much more than your teacher, and I think he’s had time to realize that. Baylee, you would be better served to spend your time in Waterdeep repairing that relationship than in haring off after Jaeleen.
How did you know I was thinking about that?
Because being around that—that woman—locks up your thoughts. I expect you to be pining away after her for a tenday or more. I am looking forward to very depressing times, I’m afraid. I hate it when you mope.
You’re no walk in an elvenglen yourself.
Baylee, why do you think Jaeleen left without saying good-bye?
She didn’t want me to try to convince her to spend a longer time with me.
Xuxa chirped in frustration. That’s only half the truth. The other part is that she has feelings for you and she knows she will never be the woman you need in your life.
What kind of feelings?
Xuxa spread her wings and shook them. Listen to all that I say, not half of it. As much as I find to dislike about that female, I sense that in her own strange way she loves you and would spare you the trouble that she would undoubtedly bring.
Baylee couldn’t help but think that somehow sounded romantic. Ill-fated lovers was a theme that played to most audiences, and all the legends and histories he’d ever read had been full of such stories.
You can’t change her, Xuxa said, and I fear a bad end for her.
She can take care of herself Baylee turned cautiously in the hammock and stared off into the darkened forest. To the east, the sun was starting to taint the sky a rosy gray. It would be so easy to trail her through the forest. She was good at her woodcraft, but he was better. He could find her before noon.
But he knew he wouldn’t In a few minutes more, he fell back asleep. There was no hurry.
Tirdan Closl surveyed the wreckage inside Fannt Golsway’s study, seeking to understand everything that had happened inside the house. He was a tall man, and broad, slower now in his mid-fifties than he had been as a younger man. His dark hair and beard were well kept by his wife, but he had a habit of pulling at it while he thought.
The carnage inside the home gave him plenty to think about.
“Sir,” a young guard said behind him.
Closl turned. He was a senior civilar of the watch in Waterdeep, his leather armor strengthened with chain bearing the green, black, and gold that marked his station. He fisted the pommel of his short sword as he regarded the junior officer. “Yes, Daike?”
“I located the cook, sir.” Daike looked around the room with wide eyes.
Closl didn’t blame the boy. Despite all the fights and bar brawls that happened in Waterdeep that the watch took care of, nothing could prepare a man for the sight of his first wizard’s battle. “Where is she?” the senior civilar asked in a gentle voice.
“Outside, sir. Her name is Qhyst. She asked that she not have to come in.”
“Of course.” Closl took another look at the ruined corpse of Fannt Golsway. The old mage was a crumpled shell of himself, lightning blasted so that his flesh had lost all its color, yet charred in places where the magicks trapped inside him had vented themselves. The early morning sunlight only made the horrific death seem even more evil. The watch senior civilar had been born a farm lad, brought to Waterdeep for a time to sail with the trading ships and see bits and pieces of the world, and had been with the watch for his last twelve years. He had seen such sights before, but not often.
Two men worked on Golsway’s corpse. One was Hazra, a watch member trained as a physician. The other was Mintrivn, who was wise in the ways of magic. Both of them were there to determine exactly how Golsway had died. If possible.
“Daike,” Closl said.
“Sir.” The young man whipped his attention toward the senior civilar and straightened his carriage. Closl ran a tight shift.
“Help Oryan question the neighbors. She will need every man she can get to do it all properly.”
Daike snapped a salute and led the way out of the room.
Closl sighed heavily and followed the younger man out. With a murder like this, all the weak members of the watch would be culled by the end of the week. Especially when Piergeiron, Warden of the Guard, Commander of the Watch, Overmaster of the Guilds, and Open Lord of Waterdeep announced that they were intent on bringing the person or persons responsible to justice.
He stepped into the hallway and found the cook. Surprisingly, besides the drawing room below and the study on the top floor of the house, little damage had been done. Whoever had done the killing had known exactly what they wanted and took no chances about getting it.
“Dame Qhyst,” he said.
The cook turned to face him. She was a short woman, surprisingly comely for one who chose to work out of sight of most people in a wizard’s home. Her dress was homespun, a pale green that set off her dark good looks. Her hands were weathered and red, the hands of a farmer’s wife.
She curtsied, bowing her head. “Milord.”
“No, Dame Qhyst, senior civilar will do nicely. Or Closl, if you feel so inclined. I am a working man, no lord.” He bowed and gave her a smile, thinking of his mother when she’d been much younger.
“Senior civilar,” she agreed.
“You understand what has happened?”
“Yes. Are you sure that Fannt Golsway is dead?” Tears glittered unshed in her eyes.
“There can be no mistake, dame. Two of his neighbors have identified his body just this morning.”
She raised a hand to her mouth. “Who would do such a terrible thing? He was such a good man.”
“I don’t know,” Closl said. “All that I am sure of is that Lord Piergeiron is going to want answers when I see him later this morning. He takes the protection of this city very seriously.”
“I am well aware of Lord Piergeiron’s interest in this city.”
Standing in the hallway, Closl was aware of the smell of burned flesh coming from the study. “Walk with me, dame.”
The woman fell into step beside him.
Closl lead the way down the curving steps to the lowest floor, then out beside the house where a small garden contained a number of vegetables, grape vines, and flowers. A stone wall ringed the patch of land, and Mintrivn had confirmed that it had wards of protection placed on it. Care had been taken in the placement of the small stone benches in the garden. He took a deep breath, clearing the smell of death from his nostrils.
“Is this your garden, dame?” he asked.
She looked around, her cheeks wet with tears now. “No. It was the master’s. He put it in, saying it was for me, but he spent hours out here when no one was looking. It was a habit of his since he’d quit traveling quite so much.”
“Please sit.” Closl waved to one of the benches across from an alabaster fountain with birds cut from sapphires sitting on the edge, The water trickled noisily from an artesian well that tapped an underground source, but the sound was soothing.
“Thank you.”
“I am told you had the night off last night.”
“Yes, sir. It was my routine to set the master’s table for him, then go home myself. I have three children, you see. The master was very generous with his time.”
“I understand that. I am also told that you were paid even for those days that Golsway was not at home.”
The woman nodded. “As I said, Senior Civilar Closl, the master was a very generous man.”
Closl almost smiled. In most circles, Golsway had been known as a very hard and demanding man. His research, when presented, was flawless. His lessons, when executed, were poetry.
“Tell me about last night,” the senior civilar suggested. “You prepared the eveningfeast before you left. What time did you leave?”
“Just after moonrise,” she answered.
“I’m told that was later than usual.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I prepared my own eveningfeast for my children earlier, then came back to prepare the master’s. He was entertaining, you see.”
“I understand that was a rare occasion.”
“True.”
“Who was he entertaining?” Closl asked. There was still the body in the drawing room burned beyond recognition to be explained, though the senior civilar had some ideas.
“Thonsyl Keraqt, the merchant.”
“Do you know what business he had with Golsway?”
“No. The master had his business, and I never pried into it.”
Closl talked for a while longer, going over the evening until he was sure he had everything the woman knew. There were no clues, nothing to suggest who had killed the men. After only a little while longer, he released her from his questioning.
She was almost to the door leading back into the house when he called for her attention.
“What can you tell me about Baylee Arnvold, dame?” he asked.
“Only that he would never have anything to do with this,” she replied without hesitation. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It’s been brought to my attention that there was a falling out between them in the past year.”
“Ten months ago,” the woman replied, her eyes sparking fire. “And I would like to know whose tongue has been wagging so loosely.”
“I’m afraid I can’t reveal that. Those who talk to me have my confidence.”
“Then please take a message back to that person for me that they should respectfully find some other way to spend their time than passing on idle gossip.”
“I’ll consider that, should the information prove false or misleading.”
“The falling out you refer to,” the woman explained, “was nothing more than a boy growing to manhood, despite his father’s best wishes.”
Closl studied the woman. “I’d never heard that Baylee was the old mage’s son.”
“He wasn’t, by blood,” Dame Qhyst replied, “but in every other way that mattered, that was their relationship. Even the master didn’t see it till months after Baylee had left this house. And a sad awakening it was, too, because by then the master had let too much time pass to be comfortable patching the rift between them himself. And Baylee, you can be sure, is on the prideful side himself. Youth can be such a detriment.”
“How well do you know this young man?” Closl asked.
“Well enough that you are asking me questions about him, Senior Civilar Closl. If you didn’t trust my answers, you should not have asked.”
Closl laid an apologetic hand over his heart and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Dame Qhyst, for I meant no offense. Of course you are right.”
“If I can be of any further help, please let me know.” She turned and nearly ran over the man standing suddenly and quietly in the doorway. “Oh, excuse me, Lord Piergeiron! I didn’t know you were there!” She backed away hurriedly and curtsied very low.
Closl straightened his own stance, coming instantly to attention.
“My fault, dame,” the Commander of the Watch of Waterdeep said. “I should have spoken up. Please continue on your way and know that no ill favor on my part has been garnered.”
The woman curtsied again, excusing herself, and disappeared into the house.
Piergeiron Paladinson strode into the garden, looking striking in his watch armor and colors. He was tall and graceful, much as his father had been. He gazed about the garden, then looked at his senior civilar. “This is a right and proper muddle of affairs.”
“Yes sir,” Closl responded, feeling like the whole arrangement had suddenly gotten many times worse than he thought it was going to be if Piergeiron himself was going to get involved in the murder investigation.
“Do we have any ideas about who did this?”
“Someone quite capable in the field of spell-casting, or someone armed with a magical weapon of some force.”
Piergeiron shook his head. “I knew that from the moment I found out it was Golsway who was killed. I knew that man as one of my teachers, as hard a taskmaster as a man would ever want to meet.”
“There’s not much else, sir,” Closl said. “Golsway didn’t have much in the way of friends.”
“There was always Keraqt,” the warden said. “Though I never knew what Golsway liked about the old pirate.”
“Sir, Keraqt was the other victim.”
Piergeiron looked surprised. “Well, rest his soul in peace then. If not friends, what of enemies?”
“Someone who could do this?”
“You’ll be working from a short list, then.”
Closl knew he wasn’t being let off the hook. “The people you’re suggesting, sir, well, we’ll be trampling on some blue blood toes to get the answers we’re looking for.”
“I know, and you’ll ask those questions on my order. If there are any who give you trouble, tell them I’ll free up my schedule to question them myself. I will have the answers for this.” Piergeiron looked out over the city. “Waterdeep stays with constant rumors and outright lies crossing her from one end to the other every day. I’ll not have this help feed the grist for that if I can help it.”
Closl said nothing, but he knew even the answers they found would only create more half-truths in their wake. “Yes sir. If I may, I’d like to suggest another route in this investigation.”
Piergeiron looked at his senior civilar.
“Baylee Arnvold,” Closl said. “I would send a watch team to find him.”
“Would you know where to look? He’s been gone from this city for months.”
“I think I might. Baylee is a ranger. I’ve a nephew who is a ranger. Young Varin has regaled us from time to time with tales of forgatherings. Festivals of a sort where rangers meet to discuss their trade and sharpen their skills. In a few days hence, the Glass Eye Concourse, one of the biggest of such meetings, is going to be held. It’s possible that Baylee will be there, or at least someone who knows him.”
“You want to send a watch team from Waterdeep there?”
“With your permission.”
Piergeiron stroked his chin as he considered the option. After a moment, he nodded. “Make it so, senior civilar. Whatever aid you need from me, consider it done.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And let me know what your people turn up.”
“Of course. You’ll be the next man to know after me.” Closl watched as the lord walked away, deep in thought. The watch senior civilar sighed heavily, looking back at the house. He knew what Piergeiron’s deepest fear was even though the noble had not spoke of it: that Golsway’s death really was part of one of the many plots that began every day in Waterdeep instead of a separate act.
The senior civilar shook his head, imagining the power that had run rampant inside the house. And as skilled as the murderer or murderers were, he feared for any man that tried to take them in for the crime.