Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

Lucia shook her head adamantly. “I know Danilo. He is a bit of a fool, but there is no malice in him. He will not stand by to see his uncle discredited. Neither can I picture him as a master bard, and I’m sure many others suffer from a similar lack of imagination.”

Garnet tucked a loose strand of graying brown hair behind one slightly pointed ear. “Fair concerns, both of them, but I assure you that neither will be a problem. The young ‘bard’s’ fame has become well established, and it will continue to grow— posthumously . Now, have we an agreement?”

It was clear to Lucia that she had little choice in the matter, but she saw that the scheme could redound to her own benefit If they succeeded in removing Khelben Arunsun from power, she could name her reward, and the Knights would be delighted to grant it. As for her own deepest secret, she would handle Garnet the same way she had dealt with her superiors for years: pretend to be a Lord of Waterdeep, and pass along as privileged information things she garnered through business deals, social gossip, and her network of spies. And perhaps, if her suspicions were correct, her liaison with Caladorn might prove useful, as well as entertaining. The young man was besotted with her and trusted her completely. If he had any secrets, they were hers for the taking.

“I believe we can work together,” Lucia agreed. “Now, tell me a little more about your plan.”

“That is not necessary. We shall proceed one step at a time. When I require your services, I will detail what is expected.”

That was more than a descendant of royalty could abide. Lucia rose slowly to her feet. Trembling with anger, she glared down at the half-elf. “I am servant to no one. Remember, you need my political power.”

“Less than you need the magic I wield through music,” Garnet returned. For a long moment their eyes held in silent challenge. Lucia was the first to look away.

“Then it is settled,” Garnet said with a smile. “Bardcraft and politics will join forces once again, and that is as it should be. Now, let us show Khelben Arunsun what can be done when there is a proper balance between the two.”

Now that he was face-to-face with Elaith Craulnober, Danilo began to doubt the wisdom of his decision to confront the elf and bargain for Vartain’s services. When they’d first met, some two years earlier, Elaith had taken an instant dislike to Danilo and, for that reason alone, had ordered his death. Judging from the vexation on Elaith’s handsome, angular face, Danilo supposed that the elf was regretting his decision to rescind that order.

A wild giggle shattered the tense silence, and a ragged elf capered through the garden. The setting sun cast a long, emaciated shadow behind him as he whirled and leaped. Danilo watched the elf disappear around a corner, then turned a bland smile toward Elaith. “Friend of yours?”

The moon elf ignored Danilo’s needling and pointed to the Harper pin. “How did you come by one of those? I know many who would pay dearly to obtain it, should you choose to sell.”

“One must earn a Harper pin,” Danilo said quietly.

The elf chuckled. “And you have?”

“Let’s just say that if I haven’t already, I’m about to.”

Elaith folded his arms and cocked a silver eyebrow. “You have my attention.”

“The Harpers require the services of a bard. Since most of these have fallen under a spell that affects their music and memories, I was drafted to help.”

“Really! Thank you for sharing such welcome news,” the elf said with a cordial smile. “Many of my associates will be delighted to learn that the Harpers have fallen to such depths. I shall dine out on this tale for months to come.”

“So glad to be of service. Now, if I may present my companions: Morgalla the Mirthful, a bard of astounding talents, and Wyn Ashgrove, a minstrel from Evermeet. Perhaps you’ve met him before?” Danilo’s choice of words was not entirely without malice; he knew of Elaith’s self-imposed exile from the island homeland of the elves.

Wyn greeted the moon elf with a polite ritual bow, which Elaith simply ignored. He shot an incredulous glance at the stout, short, brown-clad woman who’d come to stand at Danilo’s side. “A dwarf, Lord Thann? Your taste in traveling companions has sadly deteriorated. Where is Arilyn these days?”

“Elsewhere,” Danilo said curtly. “Now, if we’ve exhausted our present supply of verbal stilettos, I have a business proposal for you.”

Elaith looked intrigued. “A deal that brought the son of a Waterdeep merchant this far afield might prove interesting.”

“It’s unusual, at the very least,” the Harper said. “Sing him the ballad, Wyn.”

The minstrel took his silver lyre from its shoulder strap and sang the Ballad of Grimnoshtadrano . Elaith seemed irritated by this development and gave the gold elf scant attention, but as Wyn sang, Vartain came to stand at his employer’s side. The riddlemaster listened with deep interest, and his prominent black eyes were lively with intelligence and curiosity.

“I believe I see this path’s destination,” Vartain said when the song was done. “These three wish to answer the dragon’s challenge, which means they must answer a riddle, read a scroll, and sing a song. Since the words ‘reading a scroll’ most likely indicate the casting of a spell, this young man is probably a mage. He travels with two bards. What he yet lacks is the talents of a riddlemaster, and he has come here to bid for my services. With all three skills, they have a chance at success, or, at the very least, survival.”

“Well, you’re not going,” Elaith said flatly. “You signed on for the duration of this hunt, and you will remain in my service.”

Vartain nodded, but he pulled Elaith aside. Turning his back to the newcomers, he began to spell out his argument in the silent hand language of thieves’ cant “As a riddlemaster, I collect lore of many kinds. Recently I’ve noted that ballads by and about Harpers have changed. When I questioned the bards who sang them, they all insisted that the songs were as they had always been. It is likely that what this young man says is true. No available Harper bards were unaffected by this spell, yet the dragon’s challenge specifies that a Harper must come. This would explain why the young man so openly touts his affiliation with this usually secret organization. Perhaps the Harpers are undergoing difficult times, but they are generally quite effective. If they have given assent to this quest, I believe it is because it has a fair chance of success.”

“So?” Elaith asked aloud.

“So you can make his success your own,” Vartain spelled out, his bony fingers gesticulating with fluid, practiced ease. “You were not listening to the ballad, but it stated that those who successfully challenge Grimnoshtadrano can choose their reward from the dragon’s hoard.”

Elaith glared at the riddlemaster for a moment, then a strange glint entered his amber eyes. He affixed Danilo and his bardic companions with a measuring, speculative gaze.

“Of course, I will recompense you for the loss of Vartain’s services,” Danilo said hastily, seeing the expression on the elf’s face and eager to press any advantage. “You’ve little need for money, but rumor has it you’ve a fondness for magical items.”

Danilo pushed up the full sleeve of his shirt, revealing a jeweled knife in an elaborately tooled leather wrist sheath. Turning away so that pulling the blade could not be construed as a threat, Danilo flicked the knife toward the peppergum tree. It quivered in the soft bark for five heartbeats. Then, suddenly, it was gone. Danilo held out his wrist for the elf’s inspection. The knife had returned to the sheath.