Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

A woman’s scream rang out from behind a small hill. Texter nudged his horse into a gallop and raced in the direction of the sound. As he urged the horse over the hillock, he saw below both the river and the source of the scream.

Near the riverbank, two gray-green orcs were toying with a young woman. They had laid their weapons aside, and were spinning her from one to the other in a cruel game of catch. Their eyes glowed red with the reflected first rays of sun, and tusklike teeth gleamed in perverse delight at the woman’s terror.

Texter drew his sword and charged down the hill. The thunder of the mighty horse’s hooves shook the ground, and the startled orcs shoved the woman aside and dove for their weapons. The first orc grabbed its axe and rolled to its feet just in time to meet Texter’s first swing. With that one stroke, the paladin decapitated the orc. Its head flew into the river and was swept downstream by the rushing current.

The second orc charged forward over the body of its fallen brother, holding high a spiked mace. Texter’s battle-trained steed nimbly sidestepped the downward smash. The paladin delivered a backhanded stroke with the blunt side of his blade, catching the orc on the snout and sending the beast reeling away. Texter’s sword cut back, slashing the gray hide of the orc’s chest and sending tufts of coarse hair flying. His final thrust found the creature’s heart, and the orc crashed backward onto the bloodied ground.

Texter dismounted and strode to where the woman lay, crumpled and sobbing. “Be at ease, lady,” he said gently. “You are safe now.”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, the woman raised sea-green eyes to his. She was surprisingly young, not more than fifteen winters, and fair despite her tears. The girl had thick brown braids and a sweet face with apple cheeks and a scattering of freckles.

A farm lass, Texter noted, probably from the village near Yartar, but far from home. The reason for her travels lay beside her; a basket was half full of the fiddlehead ferns that grew in the calmer water at the river’s edge. These greens were a delicacy, steamed and served with a bit of butter, and all the more needed because of the failed crops.

“I will take you back to your home,” Texter offered, holding out his hand. “Galadin is strong and can carry us both with ease.”

The girl let the paladin pull her to her feet “First I must thank you for saving my life,” she said in a voice that was sweet, clear, and remarkably composed. “I regret I have no reward to offer you but a song.”

Clasping her hands demurely before her, the girl began to sing. In her voice was the music of the wind and water, and the lure of an almost-remembered dream. As she sang, her form shifted from that of a farm lass to a rare and magical creature. Before Texter’s dazzled eyes, her face became fair enough to ensnare a man’s soul. Abundant hair the color of kelp flowed over her shoulders, and slender, webbed hands gestured gracefully in time to the music. Only the color of her eyes remained unchanged: the vivid sea green of a lorelei.

As Texter listened with rapt attention to the lorelei’s voice, the landscape that surrounded them began to blur, the shapes and colors melting together like a painting left in the rain. Soon he was aware of nothing but the enchanting, wordless song, and the soul-deep longing that it stirred in his breast.

Not realizing he did so, Texter again mounted his horse. The lorelei beckoned the paladin to follow, and then she dove into the river. Swimming effortlessly against the fast-moving stream, she began to head north, singing all the while.

Entranced by the lorelei’s siren song, Texter rode along the river’s edge, unaware that the creature was leading him ever deeper into the wilderness.

The members of Music and Mayhem rose before dawn, and by first light they were well into the High Forest. As they traveled north, the path narrowed until it was completely sheltered by a deep, leafy canopy. On either side grew thick banks of ferns, and the tangle of exposed roots around the ancient trees were shod with velvety moss. From time to time, the road followed near the course of Unicorn Run, whose vivid blue-green waters ran laughing over polished stones. Even the air itself seemed green, for the light filtered through layers of trees and the breeze was scented with the wild mint reputed to be a unicorn’s favorite fodder. Danilo scanned the shadows in search of unicorns, but the morning passed without such a blessing. Perhaps, he mused, the magical creatures sensed the danger the travelers courted, and so kept a wise distance.

Danilo did not for a moment forget that the dragon was just one of the hazards of this mission. Although he had slept but little the night before—memorizing the difficult spell had taken him almost until dawn—the Harper kept alert for danger from any quarter.

His moon elf partner was not to be trusted under any circumstances, and the revelation that Elaith carried a moonblade added to Danilo’s uncertainty. He could not fathom why Elaith carried a reminder of his failure. Actually, very little about the elf’s motives made sense. Danilo could not understand why Elaith would request only a cask of gems from the dragon. The elf had a legendary fondness for magical items, and surely a dragon’s hoard would contain something a bit more compelling than jewelry. Danilo added to this conjecture the very real possibility that Elaith would prove treacherous once he had secured whatever it was he sought.

The riders reached a small clearing before highsun and set to work at Elaith’s direction. Two of the mercenaries built a campfire, while Orcsarmor, their best archer, shot several of the squirrels who chattered and scampered among the ancient oaks. A pot of over-seasoned stew was soon simmering, and the firewood doused with water and strewn with herbs so that the scented smoke might confuse the dragon’s keen nose. This precaution, Elaith explained, was to ensure that no sign of his or Wyn’s presence lingered in the clearing. Since elves were a favorite meal of green dragons, the wyrms were particularly adept at scenting and tracking them, and the urge to do just that might distract the dragon from the riddle challenge. The elf then sent the mercenaries down a narrow path lined with young birch, through a section of forest that Elaith claimed was too densely grown to allow passage to a full-grown dragon. To Danilo’s surprise, Elaith gave the lead reins of his black stallion to Mange, and ordered Orcsarmor to take Wyn and Balindar’s horses, as well.

“We three will remain nearby,” Elaith announced, “Balindar and me to protect my interests, and the minstrel to provide spellsong magic if the need arises.”

Danilo faced down the elf, his gray eyes cold. “That’s not what we agreed. You’ll not put Wyn at risk.”

“By standing here quibbling instead of announcing your intentions to the dragon, you risk us all,” Elaith countered, pointing to the campfire. “How long do you think it will take the dragon to realize that there are travelers in the forest?”

“It’s best to do as he says,” Wyn told Danilo. “He’s quite right about the dragon. We will do whatever we must to retrieve that scroll.”

The Harper conceded with a terse nod, and Balindar and the two elves took cover downwind in a nearby copse of young birch and giant ferns. Morgalla loosely tied the three remaining horses near the escape trail, and Vartain cut a branch of pine and quickly swept the sandy clearing free of footprints.

Then they joined Danilo at the cookfire. To all appearances, they were the only three who had come in the clearing. When all was in readiness, Danilo took his place on a moss-covered rock and began to adjust his lute’s tuning pegs.