Elfsong

by Elaine Cunningham

  “Well done,” Vartain said grudgingly.

  “There is more,” Danilo added. “I began this quest thinking only to remove the curse on the bards. This is clearly only one part of the problem. Finally, I doubt that these curses were chosen randomly; they all probably contribute to some ultimate goal. This we must discover, so that we can find and stop the spellcaster before that goal is accomplished. It’s imperative that you solve the riddles as quickly as possible, so that we know what form the other spells take.”

  The riddlemaster seemed taken aback by the command in Danilo’s tone. “I am in the employ of Elaith Craulnober,” he reminded the Harper.

  “Elaith and I seem to be partners in this effort,” Danilo countered. “You work for both of us now. Think about this, before you limit your allegiance: Elaith wants to possess the artifact, but I want the person behind all this. Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t relish the chance to match wits with the author of this riddle scroll?”

  That thought flickered in the riddlemaster’s large black eyes, then caught fire. Danilo noted the gleam of dawning obsession and was satisfied. He rose to his feet and walked off to waken the camp, and to give Vartain time to assimilate the Harper’s goal as his own.

  Music and Mayhem were on their way by sunrise. At Danilo’s insistence—and for the price of another gem from the dragon’s hoard—Balindar guided Vartain’s horse with a leading rein, so that the riddlemaster could devote himself to the study of the scroll as he rode.

  Wyn and Morgalla rode side by side, as was becoming their custom. It was clear to Danilo that the dwarf had found in Wyn the musical mentor she craved, but, as much as he hated to disturb their camaraderie, he needed time to convince Wyn to share elfsong magic. So soon after his conversation with Vartain, broaching this subject made Danilo feel as if he were a juggler trying to keep a few too many balls in the air.

  “Ride with me a while,” he requested of the elf. Morgalla took the hint and reined her stout pony over to Balindar’s side. The mercenary looked a bit sheepish when the dwarf approached, but she made some comment that got him laughing and seemed to ease his conscience.

  Danilo reached into the magic bag at his belt and withdrew the spellbook Khelben had prepared for him. “This is the spell I used on Grimnosh. Be careful not to look at the runes—that can be dangerous to the untrained. It’s a charm spell, very like the one you cast in the marshlands. It suggests that wizard magic and elven spellsong are compatible.”

  “After what occurred in the High Forest, I cannot deny that,” the elf said with obvious reluctance. “Morgalla told me all that happened. She sang me the melody you used, and it is identical to a powerful elven charm spell. This is what you were trying to tell me last night an elven spellsong had been written in arcane notation.”

  “Actually, no. I had no idea it was an elfsong spell. I’d never seen anything like this, and I had no idea what it was or even, for that matter, whether it would work. Khelben gave me this spellbook, but I’ve never heard him cast such magic.” Danilo paused, and his brow furrowed. “Come to think of it, I can see why. Uncle Khelben has a voice reminiscent of an amorous cat on an alley fence.

  “But I’m wandering from the point,” he continued, giving himself a little shake. “As the good archmage often admonishes me, I ought not to let my mind wander, as it’s too small to go off by itself.”

  “You were saying?” Wyn prodded politely.

  “Indeed I was. The point is, I’m not an elf, yet I was able to cast magic through music. Consider the possibilities!” Danilo waited for the elf to reply, but Wyn kept his eyes on the path ahead. “Don’t you see what this could mean for the Harpers? After the Time of Trouble passed and the gods returned to their own planes, magic was changed in many important ways. Bardic magic was stolen from humans. If some bards could learn the magic of elfsong, think what we could become!”

  “I have considered that”

  “And?”

  The elven minstrel rode in silence for several moments before he turned to the Harper. “Please listen to my explanation before you pass judgment. Keep in mind that I mean no offense, and that my hesitation does not reflect upon you personally.”

  “I think I’ve heard this speech before, from at least a dozen Waterdhavian maidens,” Danilo said warily.

  Wyn’s answering smile was faint “Elfsong, as you have so aptly named the spellsong magic, is a power that when learned is easily accessed. But consider this: power is more easily acquired than wisdom. The elven people live for many human lifetimes, and this gives us a different perspective and a patience that humans tend to lack. We are guided by rich and ancient traditions, and we are prone to consider many solutions before resorting to the use of magic. If humans could resolve their difficulties by the singing of a song, the temptation to abuse—or at least overuse—this power would surely be too great to bear.”

  “That argument can be made for any kind of magic,” Danilo countered. “Yet many humans wield magic with honor.”

  “And there are many who do not. At least with wizard magic, one must take the time to study and memorize a spell before each casting. That guarantees time for deliberation and reflection, and surely keeps many mages from acting in haste. Elfsong lacks any such safeguard; once a spellsong is learned, it can be cast at will.” Wyn shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have spent many years among human musicians, and there are none I would entrust with such a power. Your ways and elven ways are simply too different.”

  “I have the next two stanzas!” announced Vartain.

  The riddlemaster’s words forestalled the protest Danilo had ready. “Can we discuss this at a later time?” he asked the elf.

  “It would do no good,” Wyn said with quiet finality.

  Although he was deeply disappointed, Danilo saw no option but to accept the elf’s decision. He inclined his head in a small, formal bow and rode to Vartain’s side.

  “You were correct,” the riddlemaster said, and his voice was less patronizing than usual. “The third and fourth sites were also barding colleges. The riddles name Doss in Berdusk, and Canaith, located near Zazesspur in the land of Tethyr.”

  “I have recently come from Tethyr,” Danilo said thoughtfully, remembering the ballad that had driven him north. He’d tried to put that night from his mind, but he quickly reviewed the event now in search of something that might yield a clue. He wished he had asked Arilyn for more details about the bard who had spread this ballad. Perhaps such information would help them now.

  “What powers did the caster gain?” Danilo asked, returning to the matter at hand.

  “In Berdusk, the ability to call up or control monsters who use music as a weapon. That would perhaps explain the frog pipers we met in the marshlands near the High Forest It is interesting to note that there has recently been a marked increase of monster attacks on travelers and farmers to the south of Waterdeep. In many cases, the victims were slain before they could raise weapons in their own defense. These incidents seem to fall along a path between Berdusk and Waterdeep.” The riddlemaster paused and considered. “For that matter, the failure of crops around Waterdeep has been profound this year, and unmatched elsewhere in the Northlands but for that one area in the Moonshaes.”

  “Marvelous,” Danilo muttered. “And what happened at Canaith?”

  “The caster regained the power to influence crowds through song. Once a common type of bardic magic, it fell dormant during the Time of Trouble.”

  Danilo fell silent, moving the pieces of this puzzle around in his mind and trying to fit them into a pattern. After a moment he abandoned the exercise. “What’s going to happen in Sundabar? The old college Anstruth was there.”

  “I’ve haven’t gotten that far.”

  The Harper scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It is possible that the sorcerer hasn’t, either. Our foe can obviously travel fast, but we might yet precede him.”

  Danilo kicked his horse into a trot and rode to the front of the group.
The moon elf was riding point guard, as usual, and his silvery hair gleamed in the bright morning light “You’ll have to live without me for a short time,” the Harper announced. “I’m leaving for Sundabar at once. Upon my honor, I will return at daybreak.”

  “Upon the dwarf’s life, I believe you,” Elaith said pointedly, then he smiled at the Harper. “I shall strive to withhold my tears during your absence. What benevolent god should I thank for this turn of events?”

  “Khelben Arunsun, but don’t refer to him as such. As deities go, he isn’t much for ceremony. Now, all jesting aside. The archmage gave me a ring of teleportation that can transport up to three persons to a site of my choice. I’m going to Sundabar, for there may be a chance of catching up with our spellcaster there.”

  “Then let us be off at once,” Elaith said.

  “Us? As in, you and me?”

  “Of course.” The elf smiled pleasantly and produced a plain silver ring from a pouch at his belt “Your magic ring, I believe.”

  Danilo’s jaw dropped. He glanced down at his hands. Sure enough, one of his rings was missing. “How?”

  “Let us tend to more important matters,” the elf said, returning the ring to its owner. “If it would make you feel more comfortable, by all means bring someone else along with us.”

  The Harper nodded reluctant agreement as he slid the ring back onto his finger. “It’s either Wyn or Morgalla. The others are in your employ, and I trust none of them.” He raised his voice to hail the dwarf. “Morgalla, how would you like to teleport to Sundabar with me?”

  “How’d you like to kiss an orc?” the dwarf responded sweetly. Dwarves were notoriously leery of magical travel, and Morgalla was no exception.

  “Wyn it is,” Danilo said in a matter-of-fact tone. “One problem: I can use the ring but once in any given day or night We will not be able to return until after sunset, and I can only teleport to a place I have been before. We’re about a day’s travel from Taskerleigh: we could meet up with the others there tomorrow morning.”

  Elaith agreed. He called a halt and quickly explained the plan to the others, putting Balindar in charge and giving them strict orders to make camp at the nearby creek, away from both the ruins of Taskerleigh and the harpy-infested hills.

  When all was in readiness, Danilo twisted the ring. The white whirl of the teleportation spell began to encompass him, and he grasped each of the elves by the wrist to bring them along. There was a long moment of nothing but swirling wind and white light, and then they were in Sundabar.

  They were also ankle-deep in slush. Danilo stared agape at the devastation around them. The air was warm, but melting ice flooded the streets, and water flowed in rivulets down the gutters. He stooped and fished a chunk of ice from the slush, partly melted but still nearly the size of a hen’s egg. It must have been quite a hailstorm, he noted, watching the industrious cityfolk as they set about righting the damage. A small army of workers replaced shattered glass windows, physicians and healers scurried about with herbs and amulets, and city workers dragged off dead and battered animals. Only the children seemed pleased by the novelty, and they darted about, shrieking and tossing balls of hard-packed slush.

  For a moment, Danilo wondered if his transportation spell had misfired and taken them to a city farther to the north: perhaps Sossal or some other cold land.

  Elaith apparently harbored similar misgivings. “Where the Nine Hells are we?” he demanded.

  The Harper turned to the building behind them and squinted up at the heavy wooden sign. The Lusty Wench. Yes, that was the name of the inn he’d patronized on several occasions, and it was the site he had chosen as the destination for his teleportation spell.

  “This is definitely Sundabar,” he said.

  “In that case,” Elaith said smoothly, “I think it’s safe to assume that we’re a bit too late.”

  * * * * *

  When Garnet awoke that morning, the sun was already well into the sky above Sundabar. Exhausted from her long flight and drained by the miscast spell, she had taken a room at an inn not far from the warehouse. Her asperii needed rest as well, for the return trip to Waterdeep would take two days of almost constant flight.

  The sorceress dragged herself to the window of her bedchamber and looked down at the street Almost a day had passed since the freak hailstorm, but the streets were still clogged with slush. Garnet heaved a profound sigh and glanced at the elven harp. It was proving more difficult to control than she had imagined.

  She quickly dressed and made her way down to the taproom. As she ate a breakfast of fruit and oatcakes, she noted absently that the other patrons could speak of nothing but the storm. It was widely regarded as a portent of disaster, coming so close to Midsummer. Garnet observed this with satisfaction. At least her spell had succeeded at that much!

  Three of the inn’s patrons seemed unusually curious about the storm. Two of them were elves, the third a tall young man with long blond hair and an engaging smile. This he turned upon a servant girl, flirting extravagantly while he gently extracted information about the freak storm.

  “Try to remember why we’re here, Lord Thann!” grumbled the silver-haired elf when the girl left to fetch their order. His voice was soft, but Garnet’s sharp elven hearing picked up the words. “While you waste your charm on a serving wench, our sorcerer is long gone.”

  Thann! Could it be? Garnet studied the young man with growing trepidation, noting the lute on his shoulder and the travel-worn state of his clothes. If this was Khelben Arunsun’s nephew, what was he doing in Sundabar? Even such a fool as Danilo Thann was reputed to be should have found his way to Grimnoshtadrano by now. The possibility that he could have survived the dragon encounter was too ludicrous to consider. After all, Garnet had studied and altered Danilo’s songs, and she knew what the young “bard” was capable of doing. He was hardly the musician and mage needed to outwit wily Grimnosh.

  “Tavern servants hear a great deal,” the young man told his elven companion. “Many people speak freely in front of them, as if they were invisible or deaf, or at the very least of no consequence. You would be surprised, my dear Elaith, at how much information they usually possess.”

  “Spoken like a true Harper,” Elaith replied, and the moon elf’s tone made clear that this was not a compliment

  “What do you propose we do now, Danilo?” asked the gold elf.

  Garnet caught her breath. It was indeed Danilo Thann, and he was counted among Those Who Harped! Somehow the young man she had thought to use as a tool had become an adversary. She leaned forward and listened intently.

  The young Harper paused to consider. “We cannot return to Ganstar’s Creek until after sunset, and the others will not reach that site until well after dark, anyway. I propose that we spend the day and most of the night in Sundabar and return just before daybreak. That will give Vartain time to work on old Grimnosh’s scroll, and us time to glean some information from the townspeople. Our sorcerer struck recently, and perhaps we can get some idea of his identity. Perhaps he is still in the city.”

  Not for long, Garnet added silently. She rose from the chair and tossed some coins onto the table. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she moved through the taproom.

  Vartain, the young Harper had said. That could only be Vartain of Calimport, a riddlemaster of well-deserved fame. And he had in his possession her riddle scroll! Her situation could only be worse if one of Danilo Thann’s elven companions was a spellsinger.

  The sorceress hurried up to her room. She snatched up the Morninglark harp and took the back stairs out of the inn, then she ran across the courtyard to the stables. Her asperii looked up with a question in its sleepy eyes as Garnet cinched on the saddle with shaking hands.

  “We’re leaving at once. We fly to Ganstar’s Creek with all haste, throughout the whole night if we must. It is imperative that we make it there before tomorrow’s dawn!”

  * * * * *

  The early show at the Three Pearls theat
er opened to a large crowd. Outside the large stone and mud-brick building, a queue of people stretched down Pearl Alley. Several troupe members strolled along the narrow street, entertaining those who waited. Vendors hawked oranges and sweets, and there was a hum of curious anticipation.

  “Lucia, I really haven’t time for this,” Caladorn told his lady, an uncustomary touch of impatience in his voice as they edged closer to the entrance. “The Midsummer Festival is almost upon us, and the practice sessions have been plagued by mishaps and injuries. I should be at the arena”

  “I would not keep you from your work, but for something important,” Lady Thione said in soft tones. “You know that guilds or other groups sometimes hire the theater for private performances. A private party is paying for this show, yet the performance is open to all who care to come.”

  “So?”

  “The person behind this performance is Lord Hhune, a merchant visiting from Tethyr. The city’s bards are unhappy about attempts to censor their songs, and Hhune is paying them to air their discontent at a concert satirizing the Lords of Waterdeep, particularly the archmage.”

  Caladorn stared at Lucia. “How did you come to know of this?”

  The noblewoman shrugged. “Some of my servants understand the language of Tethyr. I have done business with Hhune in the past, and I trust him not, so I had him followed and watched. My servant overheard Hhune talking to one of his men. What Hhune hopes to gain from this, I cannot begin to imagine.” She lifted enormous, haunted dark eyes to her lover’s face and whispered, “You know what became of the royal family when men such as Hhune took power in Tethyr. There are many in the south who would see me dead, although my connection to the royal family is admittedly distant. Now that Hhune seeks to influence affairs in Waterdeep, I cannot help but fear.”