Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

“What powers did the caster gain?” Danilo asked, returning to the matter at hand.

“In Berdusk, the ability to call up or control monsters who use music as a weapon. That would perhaps explain the frog pipers we met in the marshlands near the High Forest It is interesting to note that there has recently been a marked increase of monster attacks on travelers and farmers to the south of Waterdeep. In many cases, the victims were slain before they could raise weapons in their own defense. These incidents seem to fall along a path between Berdusk and Waterdeep.” The riddlemaster paused and considered. “For that matter, the failure of crops around Waterdeep has been profound this year, and unmatched elsewhere in the Northlands but for that one area in the Moonshaes.”

“Marvelous,” Danilo muttered. “And what happened at Canaith?”

“The caster regained the power to influence crowds through song. Once a common type of bardic magic, it fell dormant during the Time of Trouble.”

Danilo fell silent, moving the pieces of this puzzle around in his mind and trying to fit them into a pattern. After a moment he abandoned the exercise. “What’s going to happen in Sundabar? The old college Anstruth was there.”

“I’ve haven’t gotten that far.”

The Harper scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It is possible that the sorcerer hasn’t, either. Our foe can obviously travel fast, but we might yet precede him.”

Danilo kicked his horse into a trot and rode to the front of the group. The moon elf was riding point guard, as usual, and his silvery hair gleamed in the bright morning light “You’ll have to live without me for a short time,” the Harper announced. “I’m leaving for Sundabar at once. Upon my honor, I will return at daybreak.”

“Upon the dwarf’s life, I believe you,” Elaith said pointedly, then he smiled at the Harper. “I shall strive to withhold my tears during your absence. What benevolent god should I thank for this turn of events?”

“Khelben Arunsun, but don’t refer to him as such. As deities go, he isn’t much for ceremony. Now, all jesting aside. The archmage gave me a ring of teleportation that can transport up to three persons to a site of my choice. I’m going to Sundabar, for there may be a chance of catching up with our spellcaster there.”

“Then let us be off at once,” Elaith said.

“ Us ? As in, you and me?”

“Of course.” The elf smiled pleasantly and produced a plain silver ring from a pouch at his belt “Your magic ring, I believe.”

Danilo’s jaw dropped. He glanced down at his hands. Sure enough, one of his rings was missing. “How?”

“Let us tend to more important matters,” the elf said, returning the ring to its owner. “If it would make you feel more comfortable, by all means bring someone else along with us.”

The Harper nodded reluctant agreement as he slid the ring back onto his finger. “It’s either Wyn or Morgalla. The others are in your employ, and I trust none of them.” He raised his voice to hail the dwarf. “Morgalla, how would you like to teleport to Sundabar with me?”

“How’d you like to kiss an orc?” the dwarf responded sweetly. Dwarves were notoriously leery of magical travel, and Morgalla was no exception.

“Wyn it is,” Danilo said in a matter-of-fact tone. “One problem: I can use the ring but once in any given day or night We will not be able to return until after sunset, and I can only teleport to a place I have been before. We’re about a day’s travel from Taskerleigh: we could meet up with the others there tomorrow morning.”

Elaith agreed. He called a halt and quickly explained the plan to the others, putting Balindar in charge and giving them strict orders to make camp at the nearby creek, away from both the ruins of Taskerleigh and the harpy-infested hills.

When all was in readiness, Danilo twisted the ring. The white whirl of the teleportation spell began to encompass him, and he grasped each of the elves by the wrist to bring them along. There was a long moment of nothing but swirling wind and white light, and then they were in Sundabar.

They were also ankle-deep in slush. Danilo stared agape at the devastation around them. The air was warm, but melting ice flooded the streets, and water flowed in rivulets down the gutters. He stooped and fished a chunk of ice from the slush, partly melted but still nearly the size of a hen’s egg. It must have been quite a hailstorm, he noted, watching the industrious cityfolk as they set about righting the damage. A small army of workers replaced shattered glass windows, physicians and healers scurried about with herbs and amulets, and city workers dragged off dead and battered animals. Only the children seemed pleased by the novelty, and they darted about, shrieking and tossing balls of hard-packed slush.

For a moment, Danilo wondered if his transportation spell had misfired and taken them to a city farther to the north: perhaps Sossal or some other cold land.

Elaith apparently harbored similar misgivings. “Where the Nine Hells are we?” he demanded.

The Harper turned to the building behind them and squinted up at the heavy wooden sign. The Lusty Wench. Yes, that was the name of the inn he’d patronized on several occasions, and it was the site he had chosen as the destination for his teleportation spell.

“This is definitely Sundabar,” he said.

“In that case,” Elaith said smoothly, “I think it’s safe to assume that we’re a bit too late.”

When Garnet awoke that morning, the sun was already well into the sky above Sundabar. Exhausted from her long flight and drained by the miscast spell, she had taken a room at an inn not far from the warehouse. Her asperii needed rest as well, for the return trip to Waterdeep would take two days of almost constant flight.

The sorceress dragged herself to the window of her bedchamber and looked down at the street Almost a day had passed since the freak hailstorm, but the streets were still clogged with slush. Garnet heaved a profound sigh and glanced at the elven harp. It was proving more difficult to control than she had imagined.

She quickly dressed and made her way down to the taproom. As she ate a breakfast of fruit and oatcakes, she noted absently that the other patrons could speak of nothing but the storm. It was widely regarded as a portent of disaster, coming so close to Midsummer. Garnet observed this with satisfaction. At least her spell had succeeded at that much!

Three of the inn’s patrons seemed unusually curious about the storm. Two of them were elves, the third a tall young man with long blond hair and an engaging smile. This he turned upon a servant girl, flirting extravagantly while he gently extracted information about the freak storm.

“Try to remember why we’re here, Lord Thann!” grumbled the silver-haired elf when the girl left to fetch their order. His voice was soft, but Garnet’s sharp elven hearing picked up the words. “While you waste your charm on a serving wench, our sorcerer is long gone.”

Thann! Could it be? Garnet studied the young man with growing trepidation, noting the lute on his shoulder and the travel-worn state of his clothes. If this was Khelben Arunsun’s nephew, what was he doing in Sundabar? Even such a fool as Danilo Thann was reputed to be should have found his way to Grimnoshtadrano by now. The possibility that he could have survived the dragon encounter was too ludicrous to consider. After all, Garnet had studied and altered Danilo’s songs, and she knew what the young “bard” was capable of doing. He was hardly the musician and mage needed to outwit wily Grimnosh.

“Tavern servants hear a great deal,” the young man told his elven companion. “Many people speak freely in front of them, as if they were invisible or deaf, or at the very least of no consequence. You would be surprised, my dear Elaith, at how much information they usually possess.”