The Lost Library of Cormanthyr le-1

by Mel Odom

  For a moment, he thought he had waited too long after all. Then the skeleton warrior stretched out a hand and ripped the tumbling circlet from the air. The yellowed ivory finger bones clicked against the soft gold. With amazing grace and control, the undead creature came to a stop, its legs buckling under itself as it prostrated on the ground.

  With a cry of relief and anger, the skeleton warrior dropped the two-handed sword. It turned its face toward the sky and spoke. The words sounded brittle as they echoed in the clearing, but they were filled with the strong emotion of pain.

  Seeing the exquisite workmanship of the two-handed sword lying beside the undead creature, Baylee moved forward and picked it up. No one tried to stop him, and no one came forward with him.

  The skeleton warrior could have reached him easily, but it remained on its knees, shrilling up at the sky.

  The sword pommel was fashioned of the teeth of great cats, each tooth carefully inlaid in the overall pattern to lock precisely with the others to create a smooth hilt. A loop of silvery-gray hair hung from the hilt, carefully braided to be decorative.

  Even as Baylee took the weight of the sword into his arms, the skeleton warrior's cries ended. It turned its hollow-eyed gaze on the ranger, then brought the gold circlet to its forehead.

  Baylee thought he saw a smile on the undead creature's mockery of a face, twisting up the tattooed flesh of the cheek. At first, the ranger had thought the lines of tattooing were old scars or even dirt, but now he knew them as tattoos.

  In the next instant, all that remained of the skeleton warrior was a pile of white, powdery dust. The sword disappeared from Baylee's grip as well, leaking through his fingers as the magic exhausted it.

  The ranger stood, facing the people nearest him. "Did anyone understand what he said?"

  Everyone shook their head. Many of them returned to helping friends and family who'd been wounded in the battle.

  "He was giving thanks."

  Baylee glanced at Aymric. His friend stood between Serellia and a young boy, not yet able to support his own weight. His tunic flapped where it had been cut away to expose the wound. All that remained of the injury was a long, scab-covered line. Patches of red-inflamed flesh still carrying some infection surrounded the scabbing on either side.

  "You understood him?" Baylee asked.

  Aymric nodded. "Some of what he said. It was a very old dialect."

  "An elven tongue?"

  "Yes."

  "From where?"

  Aymric wearily shook his head. "You should know our history better than any human, Baylee. Once the elven races dominated Toril, then we massed at Myth Drannor, and eventually retreated to Evermeet. That tongue is still spoken in some areas. But you have to know also what time that poor soul came from."

  "You saw his clothing."

  "Yes."

  "And the sword."

  "As you held it, yes." Aymric nodded. 'To find that tongue spoken now, I'd wager you'd have to go to Evermeet to hear it. But to hear it spoken then-" He shrugged painfully. "It could have been from a number of places."

  "He was a wild elf," Baylee stated, feeling certain about his conjecture. "You saw that the armor he wore was scant. Wild elves don't wear much armor." He touched his face along his jaw. "And there is the matter of the tattooing, which again indicates his heritage."

  "Sy-Tel'Quessir," Aymric said. "And the god he cried out to was Solonor Thelandira, who watches over those attempting to survive in the wilderness. I did not understand everything, but the parts I did understand were quotes from Hunter's Blessing. That's the closest it translates to the human tongue."

  "I've heard of it," Baylee said. "It's supposed to be one of the most ancient texts of Solonor Thelandira. From a discourse from a much longer work that has been lost to the Tel'Quessir."

  Aymric nodded. "Some of the words he spoke may have been some of the missing stanzas. I will remember them and submit them to the proper authorities." He gave a weak grin. "Mayhap we've already uncovered part of the treasure you seek."

  You failed!

  The lich's voice thundered inside Krystarn Fellhammer's head as she returned to the hallway she had left only moments ago. "There was not much margin for anything but failure," she responded. "Your spell put us down in the center of the forgathering. There were dozens of them, perhaps even scores."

  Baylee Arnvoldyet lives.

  "Would it have been better had we all died killing him?" Krystarn demanded. "Even the skeleton warriors were turned against us at the end." She strode angrily down the hallway toward the wall, thinking the way might be open to her.

  Instead, only a blank wall greeted her. Folgrim Shallowsoul refused to even have a proper audience with her.

  Krystarn wanted to cry out with rage. Her need for vengeance soared. She had been so careful in her life never to walk into a situation she could not control, yet the lich insisted on shoving her down on her knees and placing the blade of an opponent at her throat.

  Then he expected her to vanquish that foe. Black spots swam in her vision as she turned back to face the hallway. She looked back at the drow warriors as Sergeant Rr't'frn reached into the bag of holding lying in the middle of the floor and pulled men out of it.

  "How many dead?" she asked the sergeant.

  "Seven," Rr't'frn replied.

  Krystarn cursed. Nearly a third of her men had been sacrificed in the attempt. She had counted six dead, two of them men she had killed herself with the hand crossbow. Captain V'nk'itn's death was regrettable, but necessary. With the curse put on the circlets of the skeleton warriors she had known there was the possibility of someone using the undead as a means of tracking them down if they were unable to recover them. That was why she had commanded the one she controlled to leave itself defenseless. When the axe had shattered the skeleton warrior's skull, a sharp pain had razored through Krystarn's mind, sending her back to her own body.

  She watched the bloodied and battered drow warriors stagger to their feet, two of them feathered with arrows. Seven warriors dead in one night-in a matter of minutes-and she had lost less than that in four years of searching through the catacombs.

  I wouldn't have forgiven you even in death, Shallowsoul assured her. The men who became the skeleton warriors you used tonight died a second death unforgiven.

  "I acted as you wished," Krystarn said. "It was your plan. Had I a voice in such matters, I would have recommended we act in another way."

  Treacherously? Shallowsoul laughed.

  "As any true Drow would have," Krystarn returned. "What matters is winning, not the how of it."

  You say "draw" as if you are so proud of your heritage, as if what others think of it does not matter.

  "It doesn't. And if you had not wanted a drow as a partner-"

  Not a partner, Krystarn Fellhammer. Never make that assumption, or that mistake again in my presence.

  Krystarn fell silent.

  Excellent, Shallowsoul said. You're very attentive… о good vassal… when you wish to be.

  A short prayer to Lloth filled Krystarn's mind, asking for the ability to conceal her true emotions from the lich at that moment.

  See to your men, Shallowsoul ordered. While I try to find another means to slay this Baylee Arnvold…

  Krystarn felt the lich's thoughts fade from her mind. Before she could move, a bag suddenly appeared in the hallway. Glass vials spilled out of it, each containing a pinkish fluid with a syrupy texture.

  "Malla?" Rr't'frn looked at her expectantly.

  Krystarn approached the spilled vials, knowing Shallowsoul had sent them but not knowing for sure what they were. She took one up and unstoppered it. Crossing to the nearest wounded drow warrior, she grabbed the fletched shaft protruding from his leg and roughly snapped it off. Reaching behind the wounded leg, she pulled the other half of the arrow through the limb, ignoring the sudden spurt of blood.

  The warrior only groaned in a muffled voice and did not try to pull his leg away.

 
Krystarn poured the syrupy pink liquid over the wound. Almost instantly, the bleeding stopped and the flesh started to heal.

  "Those are healing potions." Krystarn handed the vial to the wounded man. "Use them well, Captain Rr't'frn."

  The drow warrior looked at her, understanding full well he'd been promoted. He bowed his head. "I will serve you well, Malla."

  "I will expect no less," Krystarn replied, "upon certainty of death. Take care of your men."

  "Yes, Malla."

  Krystarn left them there, walking through the hallway and returning to her rooms. Shallowsoul had never told her how Fannt Golsway had found out about the library, but she felt the threat now as keenly as the lich did. After seeing Baylee Arnvold in action tonight, after seeing the anger in his green eyes-something that she as a drow could clearly understand-she knew the ranger would not easily be put off the track.

  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 Ciwa 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 a
nswer 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, Ciwa 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."