The Lost Library of Cormanthyr

by Mel Odom

  Killing him was the only way. Only the opportunity remained to be found.

  “… may the Lady keep you all in her sight …”

  Baylee knelt on bended knee in the group of rangers and other forgathering attendees. His wrists crossed over his raised knee. He kept his head bowed, but his eyes open. After the attack last night, no one felt safe in the clearing. The morning sunlight fell down across his back, muted by the tree branches, and stretched long, early shadows across the hills of chopped sod where they’d laid their friends and family to their final rest.

  “… and may she know you fought bravely and well here,” the priest went on. He stood at the front of the group, a thin old man with a white beard and a tall staff bearing the whirl of stars in an artificed hoop that were Mystra’s newest symbol.

  No one had gotten any sleep after last night’s attack. Baylee’s back, shoulders, and arms ached from all the digging. Seventeen rangers had fallen in the battle, as well as three druids, and a priest in the service of Mystra.

  Baylee had known them all. The youngest had hardly been more than a boy, fourteen summers old. Baylee felt the ache in the back of his throat as he watched the boy’s parents consoling each other. The boy’s animal follower, a shaggy gray wolf showing scars from past battles, lay atop the boy’s grave. As the priest finished his prayer, the wolf loosed a loud howl of mourning that echoed throughout the forest.

  The ranger looked over the carnage. Twenty-nine people still occupied tents, too wounded to attend the service. Bandages draped others as they knelt in the clearing. Myriad other prayers to as many other gods followed on the heels of the priest’s invocation.

  Baylee kept his head bowed as he surveyed the graves. There would come an accounting, Mielikki willing. He touched the white star and green leaf over his heart.

  “You were the eye at the center of this particular storm.”

  Baylee listened to the steady words of Civva Cthulad, a justifier.

  Through no fault of his own, Xuxa said in Baylee’s defense.

  Veteran of dozens of campaigns spread out virtually across all of Toril, Cthulad stood ramrod straight. His chain mail armor, still not removed from the fight during the evening, held dark spots of dried blood. His face carried lines as well as scars. His hair was gray and the dirty yellow color of old bone. Blue eyes rested on either side of the hawk’s nose. A fierce mustache ran down either side of his mouth. “Nor was such intent implied,” Cthulad said. “I like this boy.”

  “I’m no boy,” Baylee corrected, feeling defensive. The night without sleep on top of the fierce battle had left him feeling unbalanced.

  “My apologies,” Cthulad amended. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “None taken,” Baylee said. He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not myself this morning. That’s why I came out here to be alone.” Soon after the morning service for the dead was over, he’d slipped away from the forgathering, getting away from friends as well as the watchful eye of the Waterdhavian watch lieutenant. But even here, in the midst of the forest, he did not feel any better.

  “None of us are ourselves this morning,” Cthulad said. “I had no wish to intrude on your thoughts.”

  Unable to feel comfortable saying anything, Baylee turned to the old ranger and asked, “What exactly is it that brought you out here?”

  “I’d heard you’d lost Golsway,” Cthulad said. “I was greatly sorrowed to hear that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I trust you are going to search for the people who did this.”

  “Of that,” Baylee said, “let there be no doubt.”

  The old ranger nodded in approval. “Spoken as I was sure you would. There are many among us who think we should provision a band and send them in search of the drow female who led the attack last night, tracking her even to the Underdark should it be necessary.”

  “I think that would be a mistake,” Baylee replied.

  “As do I. I said as much to the people who came to talk to me.”

  Baylee wasn’t surprised that the justifier had been consulted. Of them all, Cthulad was one of the most seasoned in battle. “A large group can be tracked more easily than a small one.”

  “Agreed,” Cthulad said. “Which is how I was able to convince them that they should allow me alone to go in their stead.”

  Baylee shook his head. “No disrespect intended, but this is mine to do.”

  “I understand your feelings. My mentor was killed when I wasn’t much younger than you are now. Hector Glayne was a brave, fierce man. As a warrior, I’d seen him clear rooms, just him and that axe he carried everywhere he went. He was attacked and killed from behind by two men he considered to be friendly to his cause, if not friends indeed. It took me three years to find them and bring them to justice for his murder.”

  Baylee looked at the man.

  “Those people that lost loved ones and friends,” Cthulad said, “need that same release you’re hoping to achieve by finding that drow female. I’ve undertaken the job of representing their interests. That way they can get back on with their lives, trusting me to help them lay this to rest.”

  “I could lose you in the forest,” Baylee said, “just as I could lose those Waterdhavian watch members.”

  “Maybe,” Cthulad grudgingly admitted, “but I’ve been hunting and fighting men longer than you’ve got years …” He cleared his throat. “You are very good at what you do, Baylee, but exploring isn’t the same as handling military engagements. It may well be that you could use someone with my experience.”

  Baylee thought about the offer.

  “There are things you haven’t considered,” Cthulad said.

  “Such as?”

  “Calebaan, Lieutenant Cordyan’s partner, has been keeping wards up against any who would scry on this area. Have you any protection against that?”

  “No,” Baylee had to admit.

  “You’re aligned, for whatever dark purpose we ultimately discover, against foes who have vast resources at their command.” Cthulad regarded him quietly. “I’m asking you to let me help you.”

  Baylee, Xuxa said. He’s right.

  I know. But Baylee’s own independent nature warred against accepting anyone he couldn’t control into his sphere of operations. He looked back through the trees, at the fresh graves that littered the hill behind them. If I fail, I’ve no right to deny these people the chance to right the wrong that has been committed here.

  Tell him.

  Baylee turned to the old ranger and offered his hand. “I’d be glad to accept your help.”

  “You won’t regret this, Baylee Arnvold.”

  Baylee gave him an ironic smile. “Let’s just hope you won’t.”

  15

  “What is that book that you work in so diligently?”

  Baylee looked up at the question and saw Cordyan Tsald watching him. He closed the leather-covered book and marked his place with a finger. He held a quill in his other hand. “A book.”

  The watch lieutenant stood before him, dust covered her riding leathers as it covered them. A handkerchief hung around her neck, her lower face white against the dirt-encrusted upper part. “I’ve watched you work in it for the last three days of this trip,” she said. “In my line of work, curiosity is generally considered a boon, but to have to carry it around inside you when you cannot guess at the answer is hard.”

  In spite of the dark mood that had hung around him since leaving the forgathering three days ago, Baylee smiled. And when the effort felt so good, he couldn’t be totally antisocial. “I know the hazards of curiosity.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She made no move to come any closer, standing a few paces from where Baylee sat in the fork of a tree above her head.

  The forest was quiet around them, filled with the bright, quick movements of colorful birds. Nearly a hundred paces away, a mountain lion paced them, working out her own curiosity. The big cat had followed them for the last two hours. Baylee judged she would
soon stop, coming to the edge of the territory she claimed as hers.

  In the distance, Civva Cthulad, Calebaan, and the watch members sat around the remains of the midday feast they’d just shared. Cthulad enjoyed his tea, and had laid in a goodly supply, finding a kindred spirit in the watch wizard. It was an humble table the members of the watch sat with the rangers, mostly journey cakes, sweetmeats, and jerked meat they had been supplied with from the forgathering. Baylee had added to it with berries and nuts he’d gathered before the others had gotten up.

  You should not be so stand-offish, Xuxa chided from higher up in the tree.

  Baylee looked up to where the bat hung upside down, regarding him with those white, pupil-less eyes. You should stay out of things. Over the last three days of hard travel, the azmyth bat had taken time to point out that the watch lieutenant was also a good looking woman, and to make the occasional disparaging remark about Jaeleen. He knew that most of the conversation of that ilk was meant to distract him rather than to offer any real attempt at encouragement.

  It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her, Xuxa insisted.

  “She talks to you?” Cordyan asked.

  “She,” Baylee growled in irritation, “won’t shut up. She’s worse than the mother I never had.”

  “You had a mother,” the watch lieutenant said, shaking her head.

  Knowing the woman didn’t understand, Baylee said, “I’m sure I was born to a woman, but Fannt Golsway was the only parent I ever knew.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “They didn’t tell you everything about me?”

  She shook her head. “I saw the likeness of you that Golsway had in his rooms.”

  Baylee was taken by surprise. “I wasn’t aware that he had a likeness of me.” He’d never sat for a painting, and the old mage had never mentioned getting one of him. “Are you sure it was me?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “It was a very good likeness.” She wrinkled her brow, perplexed. “It was signed by someone named ‘Vi.’ ”

  “That’s not a name,” Baylee said. With the understanding came a return to the sharp hurt he’d first experienced when he’d heard of Golsway’s death, but it was also a bit of a balm. “Those are Golsway’s notations, not a signature. He drew the picture.”

  “Golsway drew that picture?” Cordyan seemed genuinely surprised. “He could have been a very well paid artist if he’d wanted.”

  “He was a man of many parts,” Baylee admitted. “But the only things he ever drew were things he wanted to—” He stopped short, his voice suddenly thick with emotion.

  “Only things he wanted to what?”

  “Only the ones he wanted to remember,” Baylee finished.

  “I see. I’m surprised you didn’t see this picture. It held a place of prominence in his private rooms.”

  “I’ve not been—” Baylee stumbled over the word home. “I’ve not been back in some time.”

  “The housekeeper told us there had been some discordance between yourself and Golsway.”

  “Back to work, lieutenant?”

  Cordyan smiled. She poured water from her waterskin onto the handkerchief and rubbed the back of her neck. “I never stray far from it.”

  “There were some problems,” Baylee admitted. “I think we were on the verge of working them out.”

  “What problems?”

  Baylee gazed down at her. “And if I choose not to answer?”

  She shrugged. “Then I have more to wonder about when we resume our travels.”

  “You had parents, I assume,” Baylee said.

  “Of course.”

  See? Xuxa put in. Already you’re finding common ground.

  Baylee ignored her. “Did you ever rebel against your parents?”

  “Perhaps, at times.”

  “And how do you get along with them now?”

  “They’re dead,” Cordyan replied.

  The answer caught Baylee off guard. He hesitated, forgetting about the argument he’d been building toward. “I’m sorry.”

  “It happened some time ago,” Cordyan said. “An accident.”

  Baylee searched her face for any signs of lingering pain, but read nothing. Over the last three days he’d noted that the watch lieutenant could keep her own counsel. “My disagreement with Golsway was much simpler than either one of us would allow it to be. I thought I was grown, and he didn’t agree.”

  “So you left?”

  “According to the Lady’s teachings, each of us must find our own path. The reward of that path of independence is in how much closer you can be to those whose lives have touched yours.”

  “Where need and want are one.”

  Baylee nodded. “You follow the teachings of Mystra?”

  “I am an interested observer, but not a passionate worshiper. Not yet. I take it you are.”

  “To be a worshiper is so simple,” he said. “All you have to do is look around you. When you are taught where to look, you will see the Lady’s work everywhere. Just as I see Mielikki’s.” Despite his first allegiance to the Lady of the Forests, he also owed a great deal to the teachings of Mystra.

  “As yet, I do not share your confidence.” She looked back at the group. “I’ll leave you to your book.” She turned to go.

  Baylee watched her. Over the last three days, he’d maintained his own company. Xuxa kept him in conversation all during the day, and watched over him at night when his thoughts busied themselves while he stared up at the stars. But it wasn’t the same as talking to someone who didn’t know him, someone who didn’t try to guess his every thought.

  “Wait,” he called. He capped the inkwell and replaced it in his pack.

  She turned, looking up at him.

  Baylee dropped easily out of the tree, brushing journeycake crumbs off his breeches. “This is a journal. I was just making notes.”

  “About what?”

  “The things I can remember from the last few days,” Baylee explained. “Conversations I can remember having with Golsway in the days before I left his house.”

  “May I see it?”

  Baylee gave it willingly. The journal was thick with parchment, most of the pages filled with his writing. Each entry was dated.

  Cordyan looked at the last page in the book that he’d been working on. Drawings covered the page on the right, while script covered the facing page. “This is the woman you saw that night?” she asked.

  “As well as I can remember,” Baylee agreed. He studied the drawings. He’d kept most of them simple, drawing the drow female’s face from a number of angles, front, and profile.

  “These are very good.”

  “I’m a poor artist,” Baylee said, feeling uncomfortable. It was one thing for someone to compliment him on his researching skills or on his ability to recover a particularly fragmented vase even though he’d never seen it whole before.

  “How can you say that?” Cordyan flipped back through the pages, finding the renderings he’d done of the circlets that had imprisoned the skeleton warriors. There were even renderings of the skeleton warrior kneeling as it had with its face turned toward the sky. The tattoo had been exploded in another view, and the whole of it drawn in as best as Baylee could imagine.

  “Golsway taught me,” Baylee said. “It is not so incredible. But when you’ve uncovered some of the masterpieces we discovered during our journeys, the way some of those artists were able to work in the mediums, whatever modest talent I may have pales by comparison.”

  Cordyan ran a finger along his pages of script. “Your handwriting is beautiful as well.”

  “Golsway never accepted anything less than my best,” Baylee said. “He always told me that an explorer wasn’t worth his salt if he made records no one could read.”

  “So what do you write in here?”

  “Anything,” Baylee replied. “What I think, what I hear, what I see. Any conjectures on my part. Sometimes information I can copy down from reference books.”

  Cor
dyan flipped the journal open to the first page. “You write a lot.” She flipped through the pages, opening to maps of areas Baylee had walked through, seeing faces of people Baylee had seen, seeing a handful of pictures here and there rendered in ink and sometimes chalks of picturesque areas where the ranger had camped.

  “It’s a big world.”

  The watch lieutenant stopped at a page that had a drawing of the pirate ship that had attacked a merchanter Baylee had traveled aboard. “You’ve only been working in this journal for the last three months.”

  Baylee glanced at the notation on the front of the journal and saw that she was right. “Yes.”

  “You travel a lot,” Cordyan said.

  Watching the woman, Baylee tried to figure out what she was after. He’d questioned people himself in his own line of work, and he could tell she was closing in on a thread she pursued. “Yes.”

  She glanced at him, handing the book back. She appeared threatening in no way, merely interested in his journalizing. “You must fill up a lot of books like these.”

  “Three or four a year,” Baylee admitted. “Sometimes more. It depends. When I worked some of the sites Golsway and I discovered, we sometimes filled up a half-dozen such journals each.”

  “What do you do with them when you fill one?” she asked. “I notice you keep a light pack.”

  Then Baylee realized what she was after. Evidently no one had found journals like his in Golsway’s house. “I have a place that keeps them for me.”

  “What place?”

  “Candlekeep. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

  “I’ve heard of it,” Cordyan said. “You’ve been there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m told the price of admission is quite high,” the watch lieutenant said. “Usually a book of some sort, and worth no less than ten thousand gold pieces. If your journals are kept there, they must be highly regarded.”

  “I have a friend there,” Baylee said. “Brother Qinzl, who claims to entertain a certain vicarious thrill of exploration when he reads one of my journals.”