The Lost Library of Cormanthyr by Mel Odom Page B

female drow’s magic.
    He rose to the ceiling and focused on one of the holes he’d deliberately had installed in the house. It only took a moment for his wraith form to pass through the hole. He continued rising through the next floor, passing through one of the spare bedrooms.
    In a moment, he was in his study, surrounded by his things. The staff was in its case against the wall. He returned to solid form and dropped to the floor. Crossing the room quickly, grateful that he’d arranged all the tables against the walls and left none of them in the center of the room, he spoke the word of release. The case opened, revealing his collection of higher magic; some he understood and some whose natures he had yet to divine.
    The staff was seven feet long, of thick gnarled pecan that held a dark luster. Iron caps covered either end of it. He turned, feeling more confident. The staff was one of thunder and lightning and surely held enough power to handle the drow.
    “You run well, old man,” the drow said as she floated up through the floor in wraithform herself. She carried a large hunk of tentacle that she was pulling from around her midsection. She threw the tentacle to one side and resumed physical form. The tentacle smacked against the floor wetly when it landed. “But I grow tired of the chase.”
    “Who sent you?” Golsway demanded. He held the staff before him. Power radiated in the wood. The woman had to be able to see it if she was the kind of mage he thought she was. Still, she gave no pause to the threat that he offered.
    “One whom you would steal from.” The drow glanced around the room, spotting the table where Golsway’s latest interest lay. “You’ve been prying into affairs that are none of your concern.”
    “You’ve not told me who—”
    “Nor will I.” Ignoring the staff pointed in her direction, the drow crossed to the table.
    “Stay away from that.”
    “You’ve no right to this.” The drow lifted the box the artifact was packed in. She lifted it from its case, turning it in the light.
    For the woman to know so precisely what it was that he had, Golsway knew that a scrying spell had been used on the object. But the caster must have been very good, otherwise the wards the old mage had up would have notified him of the scryer.
    She turned back to him, locking her colorless gaze with his. “Now, old man, the chase is over, the prize won, and it is time for you to die for daring trespass.” She lifted a hand clad in a snake-skin glove.
    Even as Golsway activated the thunder and lightning spell from his staff, a giant disembodied hand formed in the air. Each of the fingers was as thick around as his waist. The palm spanned the distance of two axe handles laid end to end.
    The hand struck as quickly as a spark snake. The long fingers wrapped around Golsway with crushing strength, covering the staff as well. The thunder and lightning charge erupted against the giant palm. By some miracle, the hand absorbed most of the damage, but too much reflected back into the old mage.
    Blackened and maimed, the sorcerous hand fell away in a lifeless heap. It disappeared before it hit the ground.
    Golsway dropped, unable to make his limbs find the strength to hold him. Death hovered around him and he knew it. His vision narrowed. Gasping for breath to feed lungs too seared to use it, he tried to cast one last enchantment. But there was nothing left in him to give.
    His last sight was of the drow as a golden aperture opened behind her. Smiling, she stepped through. The aperture closed to a tiny yellow dot that fragmented and vanished.
    Golsway closed his eyes, surrounded by mysteries he’d yet to solve, truths he’d yet to find. He’d always known there would never be a proper time for leaving. Then he died.

    It’s all right, Baylee.
    The ranger came awake in the night, gasping for air and shuddering with the force of the nightmare. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. His chest heaved and