Mel Odom - The Lost Library of Cormanthyr

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 Water-deep, 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.