Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

The sun cast long shadows before them as they climbed a particularly high and rocky hill. At the summit, Elaith signaled a halt. The riders came together to survey the land before them. Near the bottom of the hill was a fork in the road. The southern branch, Danilo knew, led toward the town Secomber, where it connected with a major trade route. The northern fork was a narrow path into the High Forest Far to the north Danilo could see the rapid waters of Unicorn Run, and beyond the river lay the dense green wilderness. A section of the road ahead went through marshlands, and the bed had been built up with soil and stone into a narrow causeway. This road had been built many years before by an adventuring party known as the Nine, and it ended at their famed stronghold in the southern part of the High Forest But the Nine had retired long before Danilo’s birth—some rumors had most of them rolling in wealth on another plane—and the causeway had crumbled.

Danilo considered the marshlands with a dubious expression. Sunset was hours away, yet already the songs of frogs and other, unknown swamp creatures drifted toward them. He had fought lizard men once in the dreaded Marsh of Chelimber, and it was not an experience he cared to repeat “I, for one, am for making camp right here,” Danilo said.

“There is no water here, nor fodder for the horses,” Vartain pointed out, predictably enough. No matter what idea was presented, the riddlemaster usually had a better one. “If would seem the best course to ride on. At a good pace, we could be past the wetlands before nightfall. The best and safest campsite would be near the river, but not in the forest itself.”

Elaith gave a curt nod of agreement, and Danilo, despite misgivings, gave in.

They rode hard, reining their horses to a walk only when they reached the narrow causeway. Caution was needed, for though some parts of the path had room for two or three to ride abreast, large chunks of the road had been reclaimed by the marsh. They picked their way along, riding in silence.

The chirping of the frogs grew louder as they rode, with an unearthly, reverberating sound that made the marsh seem to close in around them. Danilo found it unnerving. When they were near the middle of the causeway, he leaned close to Morgalla and whispered, “Reminds me of the effect I get when singing Tantrasan opera in a small bathchamber.”

“Yeah. I don’t like it,” the dwarf responded grimly.

“Tantrasan opera is an acquired taste,” the Harper quipped.

Morgalla nodded absently. “That, too.” Her brown eyes searched the shallow water for anything that might signal danger. After a moment she smacked Danilo’s knee to get his attention, then pointed to their right A stand of thick, oat-colored reeds swayed in the breeze. The tops of many had been partially severed, and they emitted a strange, hollow whistle as the wind blew across them. When the riders passed, the flow of air was interrupted and the mournful sound ceased. “An alarm?” the dwarf suggested.

Danilo was about to demur when he noticed a strange stand of reeds several yards ahead. A thick bank of these reeds seemed to have been arranged in several rows. Those in back were long and thick, and each successive row was shorter. The reeds in each row tapered downward to either side. Something about the arrangement struck Danilo’s memory. He reached down and tugged at one of the reeds that grew near the path, but it would not give. He took a hunting knife from his boot and hacked off the bent top. It was hard and rigid. The tops of these water plants had not broken by a passing breeze, of that much he was certain. Danilo motioned for Wyn, and the elven minstrel reined his horse over to the Harper’s side.

“Look at that bank of reeds ahead,” Danilo said softly. “Is it my imagination, or does it remind you of something?”

The gold elf examined the plants politely, then his green eyes widened in astonishment. “A pipe organ,” he murmured. “Some being has fashioned a musical instrument in this marsh!”

“Damn,” Danilo said with feeling. “I was hoping it was my imagination.”

The Harper caught Morgalla’s eye and rested his hand on his sword hilt. She gave a barely perceptible nod, and urged her pony over to Balindar’s side. She whispered something, and the huge fighter passed the hushed message down the line. The mercenaries readied their weapons with a lack of subtlety that made Danilo wince. The gold elf, however, took his lyre from its shoulder strap and quickly checked the tuning of the strings.

Immediately, the “organ” began to play. At first, the whistling tones were indistinguishable from the random, hollow sounds of the windswept reeds around them. The sounds quickened and became higher in pitch, tumbling together into a dancelike melody that set the bank of reeds ahead quivering merrily. There was something oddly like speech in the music, Danilo noted. A moment later, the song was echoed back from the far side of the marsh. He would have given a great deal to know what the little tune said, and even more to avoid learning to whom the music spoke.

Then the largest reeds began to sound. A deep, resonant call rang out over the marsh in macabre counterpoint to the lilting dance tune. Despite his rising fear, Danilo listened to the marsh music as objectively as he could. The sound was very like that of an enormous hunting horn.

“A call to battle,” Wyn said softly, echoing Danilo’s disconcerting thoughts.

Elaith wrapped his reins around the pommel of the saddle and readied his bow. “What are we fighting?”

“I don’t know,” Wyn replied in a tense voice. “Something new, perhaps.”

The organ’s music stopped abruptly. A grim silence hung over the marsh, broken only by the gentle pop of bubbles rising to the surface of the water. Vartain pointed to bubbles on both sides of the causeway. “Whatever they are, they’re all around us,” he observed.

That observation was too much for Cleddish, and his long gray braid whipped from side to side as he frantically tracked the marsh for the unseen musicians. His dappled gray horse sensed the rider’s rising panic, and it shied and pitched. At that, Cleddish snapped. Dropping his sword into the marsh, he flung both arms around his horse’s neck. This increased the horse’s panic and it reared. Its hoofs came too close to the causeway’s edge. Stone gave way, and horse and rider tumbled backward into the marsh. The horse found its feet quickly and scrambled back onto the path, its eyes wild and white-rimmed. Cleddish thrashed about in the shallow water, shrieking hysterically.

“Pull him out!” Danilo called to those closest the fallen man.

Morgalla leaped from her mount and snatched her spear from its holder. Grasping it near the jester’s-head top, the dwarf held the other end out to the hysterical mercenary and planted her booted feet wide. “Grab ahold,” she hollered, but Cleddish was apparently past hearing or reason.

Then the source of his panic became apparent Green hands rose out of the weeds and water, closing around the frantic mercenary’s throat Danilo caught sight of long fingers ending in bulbous tips before Cleddish was pulled under. The water churned madly for several moments. Morgalla flipped her staff around and bared the spear’s tip, dancing back and forth as she tried to decide where to stab.

“Ride on,” Elaith commanded softly. “Stay as far away from the causeway’s edge as possible. Maybe the creatures are like wolves, only attacking those who weaken and fall away from the herd.”

Morgalla spun on her heel. “Yer gonna leave him?” she demanded.

“Yes,” the elf said curtly. “And quickly, before whatever ate him decides to seek a second course.”

As if on cue, a large green head broke the surface of the water several yards from where Cleddish had disappeared. The creature had the bulging yellow eyes and broad mouth of a frog, but as it rose from the water its body appeared to be roughly shaped like a man’s. Its jowls suddenly bulged outward like those of a giant bullfrog, but with one difference: three long green appendages hung from the lower part of its giant air sack. A shrill, droning sound began to issue from the creature, an unmistakable call to battle that struck Dan as hideously similar to the skirl of bagpipes.