Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

“Wait!” Danilo shouted. He quickly offered Grimnosh the second challenge. “If you fail to answer the riddle I put to you, we go free, with the scroll our only treasure. But if you succeed, I will remain here in your employ for the remainder of my life.”

“Hmmm. It would be nice to have a musician on hand,” Grimnoshtadrano mused. He held Vartain out at arm’s length and considered him. The dangling riddlemaster’s pot belly and bowed, skinny legs lent him all the dignity and appeal of a captured frog. “And on the whole, this one looks rather unpalatable.” The dragon dropped Vartain, who disappeared with a grunt into a thick bank of ferns.

“The riddle is in song form,” Danilo began, picking up his lute.

“Really! How droll.” Grimnosh settled down like a watchful cat, propping his massive head up on one forepaw. “Riddle away, by all means.”

Danilo began to play the opening chords to the musical spell Khelben had given him, hoping that it would take effect before the dragon recognized the ploy. Hoping, indeed, that it would work at all! He had practiced the lute accompaniment, learned the melody, and memorized the arcane words, but he had not dared to combine them until this moment.

When he sang the first note, a wave of power surged through him and seemed to flow out with the melody. Although Danilo could not say exactly where it came from, the magic felt oddly familiar. He had the peculiar feeling that it had always been there in his favorite songs, like a shadow he had glimpsed from the corner of his eye. Exhilaration filled him as he sang and played, and a sense of fulfillment deeper than anything he had every known.

The effect on the dragon was equally profound. His enormous golden eyes grew dreamy and vacant The long green tail continued to twirl, but the elaborate pattern of movement simplified until just the tip swayed from side to side, moving in time to the music and looking like a languid cobra dancing to the horn of a Calashite snake charmer.

When Danilo thought the dragon safely ensorcelled, he nodded to Morgalla. She eased forward, brown eyes shining with excitement, and tugged the parchment roll out from under the dragon’s elbow.

Too soon! A low rumble came from the dragon’s throat as he struggled to free himself from the charm. Morgalla eased away slowly, and Danilo sang on. For a moment he thought the dragon would subside.

Then the rumpled fern bed rustled wildly, and Vartain poked his head out The riddlemaster looked dazed, and he swayed like a sapling in a gale. Grimnosh began to stir and twitch, as if shaking off a deep slumber. His tail stopped its rhythmic swaying and started an agitated churning motion.

“Get away, you fools,” snapped Elaith from his hiding place.

Before they could respond, Grimnosh’s eyes focused, then filled with malevolence. The creature’s armored chest rose; he drew in a deep breath. Vartain placed the blowpipe to his lips and puffed out his cheeks. A tiny canister flew unerringly toward the dragon. It disappeared into the terrible maw just as the dragon opened his mouth to attack.

The result was immediate and spectacular. An explosion ripped through the clearing, extinguishing the cookfire and stripping leaves from trees. The force of it tore Danilo’s lute from his arms and sent him tumbling to the ground. He struggled to his feet, unable to hear anything but the painful ringing in his ears. When his vision cleared, he saw the stunned dragon lying on his back near the remains of the cookfire. His tongue lolled from his blackened mouth, and the golden-green plates that covered his abdomen gleamed through the dissipating wisps of smoke. Coughing and batting at the foul-scented smoke, the Harper looked around for his companions.

His first thought was for Morgalla; she’d been the closest to the dragon. He needn’t have worried. Morgalla was already up, the scroll gripped triumphantly in one small hand and a broad grin on her face. Legs pumping, she sprinted from the clearing with Elaith and Wyn close on her heels. Balindar moved slower, stumbling a bit and clutching at his ears.

Danilo looked around for Vartain. The riddlemaster had fallen facedown into the ferns, and the bronze dome of his head was barely visible above the battered foliage. The Harper grabbed Balindar’s arm and pointed to the unconscious riddlemaster. The burly man glanced at Vartain. His lip curled, and he shook his head. Danilo stripped an onyx ring from his hand and held it out to the mercenary, then pointed again. With a grin, Balindar pocketed the ring. He slung Vartain over his shoulder and followed the others.

Danilo was the last to leave the clearing. He snatched up his lute and slid the strap over his shoulder, then glanced at the stunned dragon. Grimnosh’s mighty chest rose and fell in a shallow but regular rhythm. Every instinct warned Danilo to flee at once. The bargain he’d just struck with Balindar raised certain practical considerations, however, so he edged closer to the dragon and snatched up the cask, dropping it into his magic bag. The hoard disappeared without a trace, and he jogged down the path, his lute bobbing lightly on his shoulder as he ran.

Music and Mayhem regrouped nearly a mile away. The three spooked horses had been captured and calmed by the time Dan arrived. Vartain had been revived, thanks to repeated doses from Mange’s flask of rivengut. Morgalla’s face was dusty and bruised from the tumble she’d taken, but the tough little woman seemed otherwise unhurt.

Dan shook his head in astonishment and sank down on a large stone beside her. He wrapped an arm around her sturdy shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “Thank the Eternal Forge you’re a dwarf,” he murmured, borrowing a term from the mythology of her people.

“You can bet I do,” Morgalla replied with a wink. “Loud and offen.”

The last silver of twilight faded from the Sea of Swords, and in the Dock Ward district of Waterdeep, business dealings became as dark and mysterious as the sea beyond. Those who knew the city and who wished to see the sun rise the next morning knew what alleys to avoid and which taverns served danger along with watered ale. The watch patrol assigned to the southern tip of the ward was therefore surprised to find a large and vocal group of merchants gathered at the corner of Dock Street and Wharf Street.

“Is there a problem?” the watch commander inquired as politely as possible, considering that she was shouting over the din of some three dozen angry voices.

“I should say!” The speaker was Zelderan Guthel, the head of the Council of Farmer-Grocers, and at his words the crowd quieted somewhat Among its other responsibilities, the guild rented warehouse space to merchants of all kinds. The angry crowd was gathered in front of a large stone and timber warehouse built to provide winter grain storage. In off seasons, it was used to store the exotic goods specially made or imported for sale at the Midsummer Faire.

“This is a common facility, and protecting it is the city’s responsibility! Just what do you intend to do?” An angry chorus of mutters echoed the guildmaster’s question.

The captain scratched her chin. “Do? This area is well patrolled. We check this warehouse every twenty minutes!”

“Then whoever emptied the place went through us faster’n tainted stew,” groused a dwarf in an ale-stained apron. “My tavern had over a hunnerd kegs o’ mead stored here. The city better make good on it, is all I got to say!”

“It always has.” The captain took a small book and a quill from her bag. “I’ll make a full report.” She said, jotting down the dwarf’s name and losses.

Others came forward, shouting out lists of missing goods and demanding action. Within minutes the four members of the watch patrol were hidden from sight, surrounded by irate merchants jostling each other to give their reports. To all appearances, the crowd not been noticeably appeased.