The Lost Library of Cormanthy - Mel Odom [29]
"I'll not bother to respond to your taunts," Keraqt announced, lifting his glass in a silent toast. "Not when it is the only price I have to pay for imbibing of such an excellent vintage."
"You like the wine?"
"Most definitely. I've never had this at your home before."
"No. It is new."
"A new vintner?" Unbidden, Keraqt leaned forward with considerable effort and grabbed the wine bottle's neck to check for a label or a wax seal bearing the bottler's crest.
"Actually, yes." Golsway said nothing about the other man's ill manners. Those who knew the merchant ignored his failings if they intended to use his skills or his resources. What was sad to think for the old mage, was that a merchant who could be as churlish as Keraqt came close to being his best friend in all of Waterdeep.
That was of Golsway's own choosing, however. With his home base of operations in Waterdeep, he had never allowed many into his home. He neither needed their pandering or their questions. Usually there were too many maps and books and little-known documents scattered throughout every room and on every conceivable surface to permit anyone to come visiting. As a result, usually the old mage went calling, or a meeting took place in an agreed-upon tavern or inn.
Despite his years, Golsway remained a lean, tall man. Age had not stooped his back yet, nor robbed him of his vigor. His silver hair lay forward on his scalp, coming down to a widow's peak, cropped close in a military-styled cut. He wore a goatee that scarcely covered his chin, then tucked neatly under to come to a point. His ears lay back against the sides of his head, though the right one had a notch bitten out of it. He had never had the wound properly tended to in order that it might be made to look more presentable. He chose to wear it to remind him that he was not infallible. His hooded eyes and narrow face made him resemble a hunting falcon to a degree that he could never deny. He wore a brilliant red robe with a field of stars that announced his fealty to Mystra.
"And who is this new vintner?" Keraqt asked.
Golsway cocked an eyebrow, a move that was known to send those who knew of him into conniption fits. "Do you press me on this matter?"
Keraqt shook his head then laughed. "Press you about a vintner, you say? You have always had the tongue for pretty thoughts, haven't you?"
Golsway turned a hand over. "The new vintner is myself."
"You jest."
"Should I show you the basement where I have casks fermenting now?"
"No. I believe you. What I find hard to believe is that boisterous Fannt Golsway, self-appointed re-discoverer of Toril, should spend his days raising and pressing grapes."
"You admit that the wine is good?"
"Readily."
"Then my efforts are not met with failure."
"But to be squashing grapes when you should be putting expeditions together, my friend?"
"Things have changed. I no longer run willy-nilly through the forests and deserts and mountains seeking the truth in some frivolous tale of wonder or drunkenness. There are books that must be written, and I have put them off far too long if I hope to inspire another generation to seek out the mysteries of the ancients." Golsway shook his head. 'Too many of them are only grave robbers, destroying priceless relics for the gemstones and beaten gold before they know what they hold in their hands."
"It is the times," Keraqt lamented. "You remember the brand of fleeting youth. How it drove us to do things that we should never have done."
"But my agenda was always clear," Golsway replied. "Never did I destroy anything that would advance our knowledge of the past."
Keraqt kept silent.
Golsway knew the other man could not make that claim. Though in recent years, the merchant's tastes had changed. He had enough money and riches now to be more discerning about what he did with objects that came within his grasp. Many times Golsway had learned that Keraqt had taken less of a profit from some items to place them in the proper hands rather than break