Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

“I’m afraid there is. Lady Laeral once traveled with an adventuring group known as the Nine. She discovered a powerful artifact, a crown of some sort, and it twisted her into a madwoman and a menace.”

“This was not widely known, I take it,” she prodded gently, taking great care to hide both her curiosity and her delight

“Until now,” he agreed. “Such things should not be sung on every street corner, for the entertainment of the common people. Laeral’s fall and the intercession of Khelben Arunsun are matters for lords and wizards of power.”

Lucia’s dark eyes narrowed with speculation. That was a strange sentiment for Caladorn, who at a young age had severed ties with his noble family to live a life of adventure. “I agree, my love, but what could you or I do to stop it?”

“Nothing. You’re right.” Caladorn forced a smile onto his face, but his eyes kept drifting back to the gathering crowd. He shifted restlessly, and he absently twisted the silver ring on his left hand. Lucia watched in fascination.

“You know, I’m not really in the mood to sit through a performance at the Three Pearls tonight,” she said in a casual tone. “The party at my Sea Ward villa is just days away, and I have so much shopping yet to do. Would you mind if I finish it now, love?”

“Not at all,” Caladorn replied, just a bit too quickly. He kissed his lady and hurried off through the crowds.

After she checked the hat shop and ascertained that Laeral was nowhere to be found, Lucia crossed the street to an elegant little tavern. She took a seat near the open window, ordered spiced wine, and waited.

She hadn’t long to wait A watch patrol hurried into the crowd, sending the people on their way by order of the Lords of Waterdeep. Lucia leaned back in her chair, her smile one of supreme satisfaction. Caladorn, her handsome and chivalrous love, might be the connection she had long sought! Of course, the timing of the watch’s intervention could well be a coincidence. She glanced over at the Neverwinter water clock on the tavern’s wall. No, the watch was not due on this street for almost ten more minutes. Lucia had made a study of patrol routes, and she knew how much time elapsed between patrols in any given area of Waterdeep. Not, of course, that she would boast of this knowledge in most social circles. She leaned forward and watched the scene eagerly. If Caladorn truly was behind this, he had a great deal to learn about the people he governed. He was a dear, but he was too pure of heart and blue of blood to realize how his actions would appear to most of the people in the crowd. Waterdhavians were an independent lot, and she doubted they would take kindly to this type of meddling.

Lucia’s instincts proved impeccable. The minstrel took loud exception to the order and began to argue the matter with the watch captain. He turned to the dispersing crowd and ordered the people to protest such tyranny, demanding that truth be heard unhindered. It was a far better show than his songs had been, Lucia noted cynically, and the rapidly growing crowd indicated that she was not alone in this opinion.

She watched with amusement as the minstrel leaped onto a bench, the better to vilify the presumptuous behavior of the watch and the Lords of Waterdeep. He even produced a short sword, which he brandished as a counterpoint to his expostulation. He was not sufficiently power-drunk to challenge the watch captain directly, Lucia noticed. Yet the ridiculous gesture galvanized the crowd and a few people began to pelt the watch patrol first with insults and then with goods from nearby shops. Others ran for cover, knocking over vendors’ booths and trampling merchandise underfoot.

The guard, Waterdeep’s more heavily armed militia, arrived promptly to aid the watch patrol. The street was soon cleared of troublemakers and order restored. Lady Thione chuckled as the minstrel was dragged off by two of the guard, singing lusty protests all the while. Shopkeepers and vendors began sorting through the debris, salvaging what had not been trampled or stolen by the thieves and pickpockets who thrived even in the best-run cities.

Lady Thione was ever one to grasp an opportunity. She slipped out of the tavern and quietly approached an elderly woman who stood weeping among her crushed and scattered flowers. Lucia commiserated with the flower vendor for a few moments and then handed her a small purse. Laying a finger to her lips, Lucia Thione slipped away. As subtly as she could, she worked her way down the street, passing out silver coins along with a subtle mixture of sympathy and sedition.

Danilo hurried toward Halambar’s Lute Shop, absently noting that the shopping district on the Street of Swords seemed rather quiet for the hour. Perhaps it was the weather. The night was cool, for a stiff sea breeze set the street lanterns swaying and flickering. Danilo’s purple finery, although well-suited to the hot, dry climate of Tethyr, left him shivering in the damp chill. He ducked into a shop that offered ready-made clothing, and purchased a traveling cloak in deep forest green, a full change of clothing, and a pair of practical leather boots. He gave the shopkeeper an extra coin and bade him burn the discarded purple garments.

Within minutes Danilo could see the elegant townhouse he sought. Like many buildings on the street, it was three stories tall, with whitewashed plaster gleaming between thick dark beams. The large windows on either side of the door had many tiny diamond-shaped panes of leaded glass, and the door itself was constructed of thick, broad-planked oak. The brass hinges and locks on the doors and window shutters were fashioned like small harps—a bit of whimsy with a purpose: any attempt to disturb the locks triggered a powerful magical ward. The nature of this guardian was not widely known, since none of the thieves who’d challenged it had lived to discuss the details.

As Danilo swung open the door, his arrival was announced by the gentle plinking of the door harp. He stepped in, handing his cloak to the servant who greeted him.

The shop was a single room that took up the entire lower floor of the building. To Danilo’s right were displayed an array of instruments for sale, ranging from the justly famed lutes made by the proprietor, to the inexpensive tin whistles of the western Moonshaes. To the left of the entrance was the workshop area, where master instrument builders and apprentices fashioned and repaired the finest instruments in Waterdeep. Kriios Halambar himself was there this evening, bent over a large bass lute known as a theorbo and patiently fitting it with newly carved tuning pegs. Halambar raised heavy-lidded eyes to the door, and his thin face lit up in what Dan took to be a smile. The guildmaster gently laid the theorbo aside and rose to his feet.

“Welcome, Lord Thann! You’ve returned to Waterdeep at last. You of course are here to register, but may we serve you in some other way?”

Danilo blinked. He’d been in Halambar’s shop two dozen times at least, but never had he been invited to add his name to the registry of bards. Nor had he—or anyone else, for that matter—been greeted so effusively by the usually haughty guildmaster.

“I require a new lute,” Dan said. “In my recent travels, I was forced to leave mine behind.”

The guildmaster shook his head in silent commiseration over such a loss. “You play a seven-course lute, if I recall. I’ve one you might find suitable.” He strode to the far side of the room and took an instrument of exceptional beauty down from its hook on the wall.

The lute was fashioned of cream-colored maple wood. An intricate rosette of inlaid rosewood, teak, and ebony surrounded the sound hole. Danilo took the instrument, stripped off his gloves, and seated himself on the stool provided. He played a few notes. The sound carried well, and the action of the strings felt about right.