Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

“Get on with it!” Elaith hissed from the nearby copse.

“This dragon of yers is gonna be a nice change o’ pace,” Morgalla muttered to Danilo, glaring at the moon elf’s hiding place.

Danilo took a deep breath and began to sing the words to the Ballad of Grimnoshtadrano , adding a new stanza that outlined his demands.

“Now what?” the dwarf asked when the song was done.

“We wait,” the Harper responded. “In a few minutes, I’ll sing it again.”

They waited for nearly an hour, and Danilo sang the challenge several times, before their patience was rewarded.

A huge, winged creature came into view over the clearing. Grimnoshtadrano swooped down along the bank of Unicorn Run, his enormous batlike wings curved to catch the play of sun-warmed air rising from the river. With astonishing grace, the dragon landed lightly on the bank nearby, and he walked toward the clearing on all fours. The three terrified horses tore free of their bindings and raced off down the path. Their riders scarcely noticed.

Danilo watched the dragon’s approach with awe. He had never seen a dragon before, and Grimnoshtadrano was not the creature of legend he’d expected. Danilo had always pictured a dragon as a hulking monster, an imposing presence, deadly but rather ponderous. Rather like his Uncle Khelben, now that he thought of it. Grimnosh was certainly huge—Dan guessed that the dragon was a good eighty feet from snout to tail tip—but he was beautiful and exceedingly graceful, and his long slender tail twirled in the air above him in constant, sinuous motion. The dragon moved through the underbrush as silently as any other forest creature. His scales didn’t clank like some reptilian version of plate armor, and their surfaces reflected every shade of green in the forest. As the dragon approached, Danilo noted that his coloring changed to match the foliage around him. Apparently Grimnosh could change color at will also, for when the dragon fully entered the clearing his scales took on the brilliant, gemlike shades of emerald, jade, and malachite. Crown jewels, Danilo noted, and the analogy fit the regal creature.

When Grimnoshtadrano was fully in the clearing, he began to circle the three adventurers like a wolf closing in, studying them all the while. His eyes were golden green, slashed by vertical pupils and bright with a cold, alien intelligence.

“Well?” the dragon inquired. His voice was a deep, inhuman rumble that reminded Danilo of the reverberation of a kettledrum. Setting aside his lute, the Harper rose to his feet and bowed deeply to the dragon.

“Well met, noble Grimnoshtadrano. I am Danilo Thann of Waterdeep, Harper and bard, and these are my companions, bards both. You know what we seek from the words of my song.”

“This little trifle, I believe?” Grimnosh sat back on his haunches, and with a forepaw he removed a large bag slung over one of his horns. From it he pulled a roll of parchment. He laid it on the ground in front of him, and then placed beside it a small golden cask. With the tip of his tail he flicked open the latch and lifted the lid to reveal a hoard of sparkling gems. “You are prepared to earn this?”

“My talents do not run to riddles,” Danilo said. “I have brought you a more worthy opponent”

Vartain rose, his bald head held high. “I am Vartain of Calimport, a riddlemaster trained in the Mulhorand tradition. I have traveled from southern Shaar to Waterdeep, from the western Moonshaes to the eastern lands of Rashemen, collecting riddles and stories from a hundred kingdoms. From these, I have compiled a three-volume collection of riddles housed with honor in the libraries of Candlekeep. I am a scholar of languages both modern and forgotten, the latter so that I might plumb the wealth of earlier ages. Since an active life offers puzzles as well, I have aided the cause of many a famed explorer and adventurer. Modesty forbids that I name or number them.”

“I can see that it would,” the dragon agreed with a touch of sarcasm in his rumbling voice. “Welcome to the forest, Vartain of Calimport. It isn’t often that I’m gifted with such a challenge. You must give me a minute to think, that I might put forth a riddle worthy of your talents.”

“First, great Grimnoshtadrano, permit me to name my own reward,” Vartain added, earning an incredulous stare from Danilo and Morgalla. “I wish to recover a certain elven artifact, last seen in the village of Taskerleigh.”

The dragon snorted. “You’re too late. I traded it for a song, you might say, and not a particularly successful one at that, considering that you three are the first to respond to it.”

“To whom, if I might ask?”

“One matter at a time, if you please,” Grimnosh returned. “I will give you that information as a reward if you can answer my riddle. Agreed?”

Vartain inclined his head graciously. The dragon tapped at his fang-studded jaw as he reflected, and the metallic click of talon against tooth was a discomfiting sound. Finally, Grimnosh cleared his throat—emitting as he did a small puff of gas redolent of overripe eggs—and gave this puzzle:

“Now tell me, why did King Khalzol’s subjects bury him in a copper coffin?”

Silence hung over the clearing for a long moment Danilo nudged the riddlemaster and leaned close to his ear. “Because he was dead?” the Harper suggested, sotto voce.

Vartain shot a scathing glance at the young man. “Leave these matters to me,” he hissed in a fierce whisper, and he turned to face the dragon.

“This is a classic conundrum, in which a one-word answer is given, piece by piece, in several related riddles,” he announced aloud. “It is an elegant conundrum, to be sure, and unfamiliar to me. Nevertheless, here is its solution:

“What is to mull but to think over? Speaking quite literally, what lies over men’s thoughts but their hair? The word ‘a’ means one of something, as in ‘a pomegranate.’ A hold , or fortress, must be stronger than any force brought against it Put together, one obtains the site of King Khalzol’s grave: Mulharahold , a city to the south of the Mountains of Copper. The copper coffin, of course, is the clue that confirms the conundrum’s answer.” Vartain fell silent, his chin lifted in a expectant pose.

The dragon examined his claws with a satisfied air. “I rather thought you’d say that,” he rumbled.

Vartain reached out to claim the scroll, but the dragon batted the man’s hand away with a flick of his tail. “Humans are always in such a rush,” he purred. “The answer to the question ‘Why did his subjects bury King Khalzol in a copper coffin?’ is far simpler that you would make it, and I regret to say that the reason had nothing to do with his grave site. They buried him, dear riddlemaster, because he was dead! ”

“He ain’t the only one,” muttered the dwarf.

“But strictly speaking, your puzzle was not a simple riddle,” Vartain protested in an aggrieved tone. “It was a conundrum!”

Morgalla huffed, exasperated. “But it was a conundrum,” she mimicked softly. “ That’ll look good on yer headstone, if’n a mason alive can spell it!”

With two claws, the dragon picked up Vartain by the back of his tunic. He examined the dangling riddlemaster thoughtfully, then with the knuckles of his free paw he shined the man’s bald pate as if polishing an apple. The effect was chilling, the intention obvious.