Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

The bard took the Morninglark harp into her arms and began to play, singing the words that had laid waste the Moonshaes’ vineyards and the farmlands around Waterdeep. In response to her song, the trees surrounding the encampment shuddered and died. It was as if autumn came in the span of two heartbeats, and a hundred trees cast their leaves.

Next, Garnet struck a single string on her harp and pointed a finger at the camp. A stream of air spiraled downward toward the clearing.

“Damn,” Danilo said emphatically, as he and Wyn squinted up at the circling asperii. “If you know an elfsong suitable for the occasion, I suggest you sing it!”

Wyn looked dubious, but he took up the lyre. The first blast of wind tore the magical instrument from his hands and knocked his feet out from under him. Danilo threw himself flat and gripped the elf’s ankle. He barely had time to lock his own ankles around a young birch before the maelstrom began in earnest.

Howling as if in torment, the wind tore through the trees, growing in volume and speed until it threatened to suck the slight elf into its vortex. Danilo closed his eyes against the churning dust and debris, and he held on to the airborne minstrel with all his strength.

“As Mielikki is my witness, I hope this elf has a competent cobbler,” Danilo muttered as he clung to Wyn’s boot with both hands.

Flying high above the wind, Garnet watched as the giant whirlwind engulfed the clearing. The tiny figures huddled together in the eye of the magical storm, while the tunnel of air around them sucked in leaves and broken branches. The sorceress waited until the whirling debris formed a massive wall. Then, with a quick snapping motion, she clenched her outstretched hand. The wind tunnel collapsed, burying the dangerous riddlemaster and his traveling companions in a pile of rotting foliage.

Garnet commanded the asperii to swoop down closer, and she nodded in satisfaction at the size of the pile. No one could survive in there for more than a few minutes. She urged the asperii away from the clearing, and as they flew she sang the song that twisted living creatures into music-wielding monsters. A cricket the size of a moor hound crawled out of the blighted woodlands, burrowing into the pile of debris in search of food.

Not yet satisfied, Garnet flew northwest toward the hills that hid the harpy lair. She could command musical monsters as well as create them. If someone managed to crawl out of the pile, it wouldn’t hurt to have a flock of vengeful harpies guarding the perimeter. When Danilo Thann and his elven companions arrived, they would have more than one surprise awaiting them. With that thought, the sorceress turned her path toward Waterdeep.

The windstorm ended as abruptly as it began, and Wyn and Danilo fell face-forward onto the hillside. The Harper groaned and spat dust Every joint and muscle ached from his struggle against the buffeting wind. He rose slowly and painfully to his feet, flexing stiff fingers. He gave his birch tree anchor a grateful pat, and then offered a hand to the gold elf, who looked as dusty and battered as Dan felt

“By the sea and stars!” Wyn spoke the oath softly as Dan pulled him to his feet.

Danilo followed the line of the elf’s gaze. “Moander’s mountain,” he swore in turn, for the heap of rotting, steaming vegetation that covered the clearing looked like the handiwork of the erstwhile god of corruption.

The moment of shock passed quickly. “Morgalla’s in there,” Wyn said in a hollow voice. He took off after Danilo, who was already hurtling down the hillside, half running, half sliding.

When they reached the camp they began frantically tossing aside the branches that covered the pile, then they dug into the rotting leaves. Danilo’s hand closed on something soft, and he held up Morgalla’s jester doll in triumph. He and Wyn tore at the loamy mass with their hands, and in seconds they’d uncovered a pair of small, iron-shod boots. They each grabbed an ankle and tugged. Morgalla slid out of the pile gagging and choking, but still holding fast to the oak staff of her spear. She wiped slime from her face and waved Wyn aside, motioning for him to keep digging. As soon as she could stand, she started working beside them.

A high-pitched giggle momentarily distracted the workers. Standing by the pile was the elven hermit of Taskerleigh. He regarded their labors with a wide, mocking grin on his emaciated face, and his bony hands settled on his hips.

“That be not the way,” the mad elf insisted. He darted forward and deftly snatched the dwarf’s spear from her. Before Morgalla could protest, the hermit climbed the pile and began poking experimentally into the rubbish.

“Use the blunt end, you daft, orc-sired scarecrow,” she shouted.

“Oops!” The hermit giggled again and flipped the spear around. He jabbed a few more times and then nodded with satisfaction. “Soft,” he proclaimed. “Squirmy! Dig here.”

It took all four of them to pull Balindar out of the sludge. “Elaith’s in there, real close,” the huge mercenary gasped out, raking hunks of rotting foliage from his beard.

Morgalla huffed and folded her arms over her chest “Can we pretend we didn’t hear that, bard?”

“Stop tempting me, and dig!”

They found the moon elf, who came out sputtering curses in Elvish. Wyn gritted his teeth at this latest outrage and kept digging, the hermit working close at his side. Mange was recovered, and then Vartain. The riddlemaster was dragged, senseless, from the pile. While the others continued to dig, Danilo bent over Vartain. He put his ear against the riddlemaster’s filthy tunic and heard the faint beating of Vartain’s heart

“Use this,” Mange suggested, thrusting a flask of cheap whiskey into Danilo’s hands. “Should bring him right around. It worked on ’im before, anyways.”

The Harper took out the stopper and sniffed. “Cure or kill,” he muttered as he poured some of the fluid into Vartain’s slack mouth. With one hand he held the riddlemaster’s mouth shut, and with the other he massaged the man’s throat until finally he swallowed. After several tense seconds, the riddlemaster coughed.

Danilo’s relief was short-lived. Two thrumming booms tore through the ravaged clearing, rattling the dead trees and sending bone-deep agony through the Harper with each blast. Incongruously, Dan thought of the musical parlor trick in which glass was shattered by a high, clear note. The explosive pain in his teeth and bones made him certain that this sound, in time, could yield similar results. Struggling against the pain, Danilo drew his sword and whirled to face their latest attacker.

Crawling from the rotting pile was an enormous black cricket, roughly the size of a hunting dog. The monster chittered, its antennae twitching furiously this way and that, and it turned its incurious, multiple eyes on the filthy travelers. Its hind legs, notched like a washboard, rose and moved together like a bow against a fiddle. Again the killing blasts tore through the clearing. The waves of searing pain seemed to melt Danilo’s strength; his knees buckled and his hand lost its grip on the sword. All around him, the fighters fell helpless to the ground. The giant cricket skittered toward its prey.

Elaith was on his feet first The elf drew his sword and slashed at the monster. His strike severed an antenna, but the creature continued to advance. Elaith struck again and again, but the cricket’s hard shell deflected any blow to its body. He shouted for the others to help. The fighters ringed the cricket and hacked at it from all sides. The insect whirled and lunged with jerky movements, seemingly unhurt by the repeated blows.

Leveling her spear and bellowing a cry to the dwarven god of battle, Morgalla charged. The tip of her spear found a vulnerable spot between the plated armor of the cricket’s head and thorax, and it sank deep. The cricket reared up, yanking the dwarf off her feet.