The Lost Library of Cormanthy - Mel Odom [74]
Krystarn felt the lich's thoughts fade from her mind. Before she could move, a bag suddenly appeared in the hallway. Glass vials spilled out of it, each containing a pinkish fluid with a syrupy texture.
"Malla?" Rr't'frn looked at her expectantly.
Krystarn approached the spilled vials, knowing Shallowsoul had sent them but not knowing for sure what they were. She took one up and unstoppered it. Crossing to the nearest wounded drow warrior, she grabbed the fletched shaft protruding from his leg and roughly snapped it off. Reaching behind the wounded leg, she pulled the other half of the arrow through the limb, ignoring the sudden spurt of blood.
The warrior only groaned in a muffled voice and did not try to pull his leg away.
Krystarn poured the syrupy pink liquid over the wound. Almost instantly, the bleeding stopped and the flesh started to heal.
"Those are healing potions." Krystarn handed the vial to the wounded man. "Use them well, Captain Rr't'frn."
The drow warrior looked at her, understanding full well he'd been promoted. He bowed his head. "I will serve you well, Malla."
"I will expect no less," Krystarn replied, "upon certainty of death. Take care of your men."
"Yes, Malla."
Krystarn left them there, walking through the hallway and returning to her
rooms. Shallowsoul had never told her how Fannt Golsway had found out about the library, but she felt the threat now as keenly as the lich did. After seeing Baylee Arnvold in action tonight, after seeing the anger in his green eyes-something that she as a drow could clearly understand-she knew the ranger would not easily be put off the track.
Killing him was the only way. Only the opportunity remained to be found.
*****
"… may the Lady keep you all in her sight…"
Baylee knelt on bended knee in the group of rangers and other forgathering attendees. His wrists crossed over his raised knee. He kept his head bowed, but his eyes open. After the attack last night, no one felt safe in the clearing. The morning sunlight fell down across his back, muted by the tree branches, and stretched long, early shadows across the hills of chopped sod where they'd laid their friends and family to their final rest.
"… and may she know you fought bravely and well here," the priest went on. He stood at the front of the group, a thin old man with a white beard and a tall staff bearing the whirl of stars in an artificed hoop that were Mystra's newest symbol.
No one had gotten any sleep after last night's attack. Baylee's back, shoulders, and arms ached from all the digging. Seventeen rangers had fallen in the battle, as well as three druids, and a priest in the service of Mystra.
Baylee had known them all. The youngest had hardly been more than a boy, fourteen summers old. Baylee felt the ache in the back of his throat as he watched the boy's parents consoling each other. The boy's animal follower, a shaggy gray wolf showing scars from past battles, lay atop the boy's grave. As the priest finished his prayer, the wolf loosed a loud howl of mourning that echoed throughout the forest.
The ranger looked over the carnage. Twenty-nine people still occupied tents, too wounded to attend the service. Bandages draped others as they knelt in the clearing. Myriad other prayers to as many other gods followed on the heels of the priest's invocation.
Baylee kept his head bowed as he surveyed the graves. There would come an accounting, Mielikki willing. He touched the white star and green leaf over his heart.
*****
"You were the eye at the center of this particular storm."
Baylee listened to the steady words of Civva Cthulad, a justifier.
Through no fault of his own, Xuxa said in Baylee's defense.
Veteran of dozens of campaigns spread out virtually across all of Toril, Cthulad stood ramrod straight. His chain mail armor, still not removed from the fight during the evening, held dark spots of dried blood. His face carried lines as well as scars. His hair was gray and the dirty yellow color of old bone. Blue eyes rested on either side of the hawk's nose. A fierce mustache ran