The Lost Library of Cormanthyr (35 page)

Baylee continued the argument, but after awhile, he found he was arguing with himself as well as with the azmyth bat.

“How much longer do you think it will take us to reach the city?”

Baylee glanced over his shoulder as Cordyan rode up beside him. “Another hour or so. Perhaps a little longer.”

The forest continued on unabated though the stream had played out four miles or so back. The horses’ hooves thudded almost soundlessly against the loose loam. Birds flew from tree to tree, letting Baylee know no predators had been through the area lately.

The thing that concerned him, though, was the accumulation of rain clouds building up from the north. Dark and ugly, they skated across the gray sky, showing signs of intermittent lightning in their depths.

“What is it you don’t like about me?” she asked.

The question was so unexpected, that Baylee didn’t have an answer at first. “I never said I didn’t like you,” he said finally.

“You’ve given me the distinct impression you don’t approve of my being here.”

Baylee regarded her. “Your being here has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

“You couldn’t do this by yourself,” she said.

“I guess,” Baylee said harshly, “we’ll never know, will we?” He kicked his horse, putting distance between himself and the civilar.

She was only trying to talk, Xuxa protested.

I’m not stopping her, Baylee said. There are plenty of others for her to talk to.

They came upon the remnants of the city unexpectedly. Baylee rode point and halted the line as soon as he came to the crest of the hill overlooking the area where the city had been. According to the map Innesdav had reconstituted from Skyreach’s logbook, the city had once been called Rainydale, known as Selarrynm in the elven tongue, and had been one of the larger trading posts outside of Myth Drannor proper.

The Army of Darkness that had crushed Myth Drannor had rolled over Rainydale. Little of the city remained except for a few foundations that poked up through the tangle of underbrush and trees.

Baylee leaned across the saddle pommel to stretch his cramped back muscles. He wasn’t accustomed to long hours of riding.

“Rainydale?” Civva Cthulad reined in his horse next to Baylee.

The ranger nodded. The old excitement at discovering the unseen and unfound filled him, vibrating inside him like a tuning fork. “From here, we need to find the temple of Corellon Larethian, and the well that is attached to it. There should be a passage at the bottom of it.”

“The temple shouldn’t be hard to find,” the old ranger said. “Corellon is chief god among the elves. His temple will have been one of the larger structures.”

Baylee nodded in agreement. “Ask Junior Civilar Tsald to spread her men out while keeping the perimeter security intact.”

Cthulad nodded, without stating the obvious and telling Baylee he could have done that himself.

Baylee guided his mount down into the ruins of the city. He visualized the streets in his mind, building them from the map Innesdav had provided. Less than an hour after he began, he located the well.

Precious little remained of the temple of the elven god. And an immense stone slab covered the well itself. He used rope from the gear they’d brought to rig a crude block and tackle through the nearby trees. Even then, it took a team of horses to lift the slab away.

The well possessed a mouth six feet across. The lip above the ground showed only broken and smashed rock. Brackish water filled the bottom of the well, and the stench gave evidence that it had been salted when the city had been razed.

Calebaan joined Cordyan, Cthulad, and Baylee at the well. “Now it begins in earnest,” the watch wizard said, peering into the well’s depths.

And Baylee couldn’t wait. He pointed up. “Rig another rope from that tree,” he said. “I’ll need it for support to make the descent. Those who follow me will need it as well.”

Cordyan ordered the men into motion.

Retreating from the group, Baylee found a wall of brush to keep his modesty intact. He stripped off the chain mail armor and clothing.

“What are you doing?” Cordyan asked.

“Getting ready to make the descent.”

“Unarmored?” The watch civilar stood on the other side of the brush, watching doubtfully.

“Chain mail is great if you’re going into battle,” Baylee said. “But not for getting around ruins.” He opened his bag of holding and pulled out the leather armor inside. It was a full set of gnomish workman’s leather armor, complete with a hood that fit snugly over his head. But this set of gnomish workman’s leather armor had been built to fit Baylee precisely, allowing him access to the dozens of pockets and secret areas inside the armor. When he’d traveled with Golsway and found out about the armor that came complete with multitudinous pockets, he’d wanted a set. It had taken nearly a year for him to build a friendship with a party of gnomes who followed the explorer’s way themselves. In the end, they’d made him the suit in return for help he’d given them.

He ran his hands over the pockets, knowing the positions of all the lock picks, hammers, chisels, brushes, and other implements he’d found of service while crawling through excavation sites. As he’d donned the armor, his trepidation about descending into the well had waned. He pulled his boots on again, then pulled the leggings of the armor tight. Each device in his pockets was placed carefully enough that it didn’t clink or make a sound when he moved.

Finished, he stalled for the well.

“Baylee, I hope your pride and your overconfidence don’t get you killed down there,” Cordyan said.

“It’s not going to,” the ranger said. “I’m better than that. This—this is what I live for, Cordyan. And what Golsway lived for, too.” But he couldn’t deny the seed of fear twisting in his stomach. He started to walk away, feeling Xuxa’s eyes on him as she hung from a tree branch.

Then he turned on his heel and approached Cordyan directly, feeling more afraid of what he was about to do than any thought of descending into the well gave him. Before she could pull away, he put his hand to the back of her head and pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely. He was surprised at how she kissed back. Behind him, men shouted out ribald encouragement.

Then he stepped away and she slapped him. Not as hard, Baylee knew, as she was capable of. But the ribald encouragement became faked groans of sympathy and laughter.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For making me worry about you,” she replied. “And for even daring to think you could do that, much less act on it.”

“But you kissed me back.”

“I did no such thing. And if you don’t mind to keep a civil tongue in your head when you address a civilar of the Waterdhavian Watch, I’ll have the tongue from your head.”

Even more confused, Baylee approached the well. I thought you said she liked me, he accused Xuxa.

Liking you and putting up with improprieties are a totally different matter, the azmyth bat said. You should have asked.

She would probably have said no. And it was just kind of a good luck token.

I get the strong feeling that Cordyan Tsald would never allow herself to be anyone’s ‘token.’ And if that kiss was for you alone because you’re scared, then that was very selfish of you.

Guilt stung Baylee. He hadn’t wanted to descend into the waiting darkness without reaching out to someone. It was a weakness he hadn’t expected at the moment and didn’t like to admit. He hesitated on the lip of the well to secure the lantern of continual light to his belt, then turned to look at Cordyan. “I’m sorry,” he said. He dropped over the side of the well, the rope sliding through his gloved hands as he dropped rapidly.

Xuxa dropped with him, flitting to a rest on his shoulder.

The lantern spewed out yellow light, striking harsh reflections from the murky water below. Baylee wondered how deep it might be, working his jaw to finish easing out the sting of Cordyan’s slap.

A jutting section of stone caught his attention almost at the water’s level. He squeezed his hands together and halted his downward flight. Removing a twist of horsehair from his leather armor, he secured it to the rope, making a stirrup for himself further down. He stood in the stirrup and leaned toward the wall, adjusting the light to play over the jutting stone.

Sections of letters showed through the stone. They held curlicues of elven script, a recent language Baylee knew. Evidently whoever had hidden the secret door hadn’t used the dead language Skyreach had used in her logbook.

Maybe Glitterwing wanted the library found, Xuxa proposed. In case they couldn’t get it out in time.

Baylee knew it was possible. Glitterwing wouldn’t have wanted the library kept away from his heirs. He took a brush from the armor and carefully cleaned out the letters. Luckily, the water table hadn’t been high lately, so he dealt with dirt rather than mud. The letters cleaned easily, and with every one that became visible, his confusion went away and the excitement took over.

“What’s going on down there?” Cthulad called.

“I’ve found what has to be the hidden door,” Baylee said. “But there’s writing on it.” Finished cleaning the letters, he raised the lantern and translated aloud.” ‘For he who would seek the knowledge contained beyond this portal, let him first acknowledge his right to such passage with the trinity of truth.’”

“Is there anything else?”

Baylee examined the wall beside the stone. “A series of gems inset in the stone. They have pictographs above them. Religious symbols. I recognize them all.” His finger traced the crescent moon. “Corellon Larethian.” Next came a bird silhouetted on a cloud. “Aerdrie Faenya.” Followed by a star with asymmetric rays. “Erevan Ilesere.” And a heart. “Hanali Celanil.” And a setting sun. “Labelas Enoreth.” A great oak. “Rillifane Rallathil.” And, finally, a silver arrow. “And Solonor Thelandira.”

“All gods of the elves,” Calebaan said.

“Yes.” Baylee studied them, remembering their mythologies easily.

“And you are supposed to pick three of the seven present, I assume?”

“That’s my best guess,” Baylee answered. He shifted, taking a length of rope from one of the gnomish workman’s leathers and tying a harness around himself. When he had it finished, he turned to place his feet against the side of the well.

He brushed along the lines of mortar, finding small holes in the material along the big stone. He figured he was right about it being a door. It looked like it slid back once the locking maneuvers were completed. But the space also left room for some rather nasty surprises.

“Which three?” Cthulad asked.

Baylee shifted, reaching out to touch the gem with the crescent moon. “Corellon Larethian, of course, because all the elves set him above the others.”

“Wait!” Cordyan said. “What if you have to pick them in a certain order?”

Baylee hesitated, his finger above the inset gem. “I’ve already figured on that. That’s why Larethian has to be the first.” He slid his finger across the gem’s surface, tensing as he heard grinding on the other side of the wall. A moment later, it stopped. “So far, so good.” He surveyed the other choices.

Labelas Enoreth has to be the second choice. Xuxa hung on the well wall nearby, her wings wrapped around herself. He was considered to be the teacher of the elves. The philosopher, as well as the ideal of elven thought and superiority over other races.

Agreed. Baylee let out a tight breath and touched the gem beneath the pictograph of the setting sun.

The grinding repeated itself, lasting longer this time. Then it faded away, echoing to the top of the well.

“The second was Enoreth?” Calebaan asked.

“Yes.” Baylee wished the wizard would be silent and let him think.

“Hanali Celanil would probably be the third,” the watch wizard yelled down. “She was the goddess of elven beauty. Remembering the vases and other things you say Glitterwing collected, it would be a logical choice.”

“You can’t be logical in this business,” Baylee called back, remembering words Golsway had spoken, “not and survive. You’re generally dealing with madmen and zealous protectors who wanted to die and take their treasures with them.”

What would make Celanil important to Glitterwing? Xuxa asked.

Nothing, Baylee answered. Glitterwing wouldn’t have been interested in beauty. Everything the ranger had read of the man suggested an iron-edged pragmatism.

What about the one that doesn’t fit? Xuxa asked. Erevan Ilesere is the elven god of change and of rogues. Maybe Glitterwing intended it as a protest against what was being done by letting the humans and dwarves into Myth Drannor.

In a way, it made sense. Rillifane Rallathil is god of the wild elves. Glitterwing was a wild elf.

An acceptable answer, Xuxa said. However, there remains only one way to find out.

Wishing the Lady’s blessing on his efforts, Baylee touched the gem beneath the oak tree pictograph.

Steel shafts plunged out of the mortar at Baylee. He let go the harness and plummeted down into the well a couple feet before stopping himself. The trident-trap set into the wall missed ripping into his flesh by less than a finger’s breadth.

He stopped his fall by squeezing on the harness ropes and held his position as the trident retracted into the wall.

“Baylee!” Cordyan yelled from above.

“I’m fine,” he called back. With shaking arms and legs, he climbed back up to the pictographs. When the trap had retracted, it had also reset the gems. Well, we know the first two are right.

That only leaves four more possibilities, Xuxa replied. Do you think you can dodge them all?

A memory flooded into Baylee’s mind as he touched the first two gems. Remember when we were attacked by the skeleton warriors? One of them got down on his knees and prayed. He gazed at the fletched arrow pictograph. And it was to Solonor Thelandira, not Rillifane.

You’re assuming those skeleton warriors once knew Glitterwing, and that they shared religious beliefs.

They were also elves, someone who Glitterwing could have forced into servitude as skeleton warriors. If he was desperate, maybe he would have used his own people.