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.
6
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 bolstered 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
