Keraqt raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. "Then it is true!"
"Answer my question," the mage snapped irritably.
"Please, my friend, there is no reason to take your wrath out on me." Keraqt did his best to look humble and slightly afraid, but Golsway saw only the glitter of greed in the other man's muddy brown gaze. "Remember, the messenger should not be killed." He paused, pushing his control of the conversation.
Golsway's patience was near to an end. The crystal table suddenly shook between them, holding an inner vibration like a bard's tuning fork.
"There was a man down in the Dock Ward this morning," Keraqt said quickly.
"What man?"
"I did not know him."
"What did he look like?" Despite all the wards on his home, despite the magical powers he had access to on demand, a thin worm of fear crawled inside the mage's stomach and twisted. Faimcir Glitterwing's legacy was worth an empire's ransom, but the sheer impact it would have on education and thinking about so many fields was beyond the pale. For the first time in many months, he wished that Baylee was home with him, that the harsh words that had passed between them had never been spoken.
"A tall man, and thick of neck and shoulder." Keraqt touched his brow with his fingers. "There was a livid red scar, bright as fresh spilled blood here. I don't know what kind of weapon would have made a mark such as that."
"Where is this man?"
"I don't know. I sent two of my best men after him when I heard mention that he was seeking you. They were dead by noon, and no one has seen this man since."
"Why was this man in the Dock Ward?"
"Asking after you, my friend."
"Did he say what he wanted with me?"
"No."
Golsway considered the answer. No more than a handful of people knew about the package he'd received. Only two knew the name of Faimcir Glitterwing. "And did someone direct him my way?" The mage knew there was a slim chance that the man could not have found the way to his home. He was well known in Water-deep, but not many knew where he lived. His closest friends were ones he'd made in other lands, on other adventures. None of those would have come without an invitation.
"I could not tell you," Keraqt answered. "But I can tell you the man is no longer on the streets of this city. I can't even find his shadow."
"Maybe he left."
"After killing two of my best sellswords?" Keraqt shook his head. "You are not fool enough to believe that even for the time it takes to say it."
"No." Golsway stood and paced the balcony. He looked out over the city, out over Gulzindar Street where he lived in lower Sea Ward. His house was not so grand as it was carefully placed. To the north, the spire of the temple of Mystra burned like a star as moonlight caressed the beaten silver. He also spotted the lights from Piergeiron's Palace and the Field of Triumph.
Suddenly, for the first time since he'd inherited the house almost forty years ago, Golsway felt vulnerable there. He wanted to laugh at his fears, but he knew they were legitimate.
"Fannt?" Keraqt said. "Are you all right?"
The mage steeled himself, making his face neutral. "I am fine. Perhaps we should take our pipes and the port inside. I find the night air a bit chill."
Keraqt only hesitated a moment. "Of course." He gathered his glass and followed Golsway through the twin doors of the drawing room.
Golsway closed the doors, taking a moment to secure the double locks. Well above me ground and warded defensively, the balcony generally presented no opportunity for thieves.
The drawing room held several trophies the old mage had gathered during his adventures. Shelves filled the walls, and small tables set up miniature exhibitions of discoveries he'd made. The room wasn't for bragging purposes, for few had ever seen it. It held only touchstones of his life, memories that soothed him when he grew 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.