Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

Morgalla held on to her staff and swung herself hard toward the monstrous insect. The momentum drove the spear deeper still. Grimly she held on as the cricket thrashed and twisted, vainly trying to rid itself of its dwarven tormenter. Using each bruising tumble to her advantage, the dwarf dug and twisted her spear in search of a vital spot Danilo and the others circled with drawn swords, but they could not strike the cricket without harming Morgalla.

The monster dropped its weight onto its front four legs and marshaled its last defense. Again its hind legs rubbed together, and again its thrumming song boomed through the clearing.

Morgalla shrieked in anguish and clapped her hands over her ears. She flung herself away from the cricket and rolled several times, putting as much space as possible between herself and the killing song. The cricket leaped after her and seized her boot in its pincherlike mandible. It backed away toward the pile, dragging the dwarf along. Morgalla grabbed at the fallen branches that littered the ground, trying to find a handhold. Both Wyn and Danilo instinctively reached for their instruments and found no help there: the elf’s had been carried away in the windstorm, and two strings on Danilo’s lute had snapped. Balindar rose and staggered after the dwarf, shouting and slashing at the monster. Even his vast strength could not stop the cricket’s retreat.

A remembered image flashed into Danilo’s mind as he cast aside the worthless lute and rose to his feet: Arilyn slicing through the inch-thick skull of an ogre with her moonblade. Even without magic, the elf-forged swords were stronger than any steel. Not thinking of the consequences, he turned and snatched Elaith’s dormant moonblade from its sheath. Raising it high overhead with both hands, he raced forward and slammed the sword down on one of the creature’s deadly hind legs. The elven blade bit deep and severed the limb at the joint. The monster released Morgalla and lurched away, listing to one side like a sinking ship.

Balindar pulled Morgalla to her feet The single-minded dwarf brushed him aside and charged after the cricket She grabbed her spear and jerked it free, and with a second quick movement she plunged it into the cricket’s eye. Using the spear like a lever, she flung herself forward. Under the force of her assault, the hard shell gave way with a sickening crack. Morgalla leaped back, wiping a splash of gore from her face as the cricket toppled over onto its side. It twitched a few more times, then finally lay still.

As soon as the immediate danger was past, Danilo dropped the moonblade and turned to Elaith, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. The moon elf took no notice. His face was set in a mask of fury, and he sprang silently at the Harper.

Danilo dropped to the ground and rolled left, hearing as he did the swish of a dagger dangerously close to his right ear. He leaped to his feet and drew his own sword, crouching in a defensive stance. Elaith was already up, the dagger in one hand and a long silver dirk in the other.

Wyn Ashgrove stepped between the fighters. Although nearly a half foot shorter than either Dan or Elaith, the slight elf had a commanding mien that neither could ignore. The fighters involuntarily lowered their weapons.

“In what way, Lord Craulnober, has this human defiled the elven sword?” he demanded, his cool green eyes fixed upon the angry moon elf. “Were not the moonblades forged for great deeds? The Harper saved a life, perhaps all our lives. If his task was unworthy, even a dormant sword would have struck him down. Do not judge where the moonblade did not, for in doing so you dishonor the sword.” The unspoken words more than you have already hung in the air.

Elaith sheathed his weapons and picked up the ancient blade. Without a word, he turned and strode from the camp into the blighted forest

“You’ll fight that one yet,” Morgalla observed. She wrenched her spear free of the monster and came to stand at Danilo’s side. “I owe you, bard.”

“Repay me, then, by letting me fight him alone when the time comes.”

The Harper’s voice was quiet and uncharacteristically grim, and the dwarf nodded once in understanding. With a deep sigh, Danilo turned back to the pile.

They dug until all the men had been recovered. Orcsarmor was not found in time, and several other mercenaries—whose names Danilo had never learned—had been slain and partially eaten by the giant cricket After the survivors laid the men in shallow graves, Wyn went in search of the runaway hermit, and the others bathed in the cold, deep waters of the creek.

Following a cursory dip in the stream, Vartain pulled the scroll out of his leather pouch and resumed his study. Danilo came out of the creek dripping and chilly. He discarded his wet tunic and began to remove dry clothing from his magic bag. The others watched agape as he took from the bag a fine linen shirt, a dark green tabard, leggings, linens, and stockings, even a spare pair of boots. The Harper looked up and noted his audience.

“It’s a bag of holding,” he commented, and continued to rummage. “An especially roomy one. You wouldn’t believe all the stuff that’s in here. I’ve got something that should suit you, Morgalla, at least until Wyn gets back with your pony and your travel bag. It’s fortunate that you folks had readied the horses and supplies before the sorceress struck. Ah, here it is.”

Danilo drew forth a loose shirt of pale green silk. “This is hardly the gown I would have chosen for you, but it should serve for the time. Here’s a scarf, too, and a gold clasp with a rather nice cluster of peridots—”

“Fancy stuff like this don’t hold up to the road,” Morgalla pointed out, but she took the luxurious garments and headed for the privacy of a cluster of rocks.

The Harper dressed quickly and passed out what articles of clothing he thought might fit the others. Mange looked almost a gentleman in a fine shirt and leggings, with his patchwork scalp covered by a rakish bandanna. Balindar teased his friend unmercifully, and Mange’s self-conscious grin sat oddly on his weathered and battle-scarred face. The riddlemaster, however, absently waved away Danilo’s offer of a fresh tunic.

“The next of the barding colleges is in Waterdeep. I know of no such site,” Vartain said, looking up at last

“The school was called Ollamn. There is no barding college now, but as you know most people involved in the bardic arts register at Halambar’s Lute Shop. Halambar is the master of the musicians’ guild, and this practice gives local and visiting bards a service once provided by the college. What will happen in Waterdeep?”

“According to the riddle, a lord will fall on the field of triumph, on a day that is not a day.”

Morgalla emerged from the rock cluster, clad in green silk. The shirt hung past her knees, and she’d girded it at the waist with the sash and the gold and peridot pin. With her damp, unbraided auburn hair curling about her face and her feet bare, she looked a bit like a very stocky wood nymph.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Danilo said solemnly, and the circle of mercenaries nodded in avid agreement

“I have a question,” the unimpressed Vartain broke in. “Waterdeep is a big town.”

“That’s a question?”

“Enough, Lord Thann!” the riddlemaster snapped. “I am not a man who appreciates levity. During the Midsummer Faire, every traveling entertainer in the north heads for the city. I’m assuming that the sorceress will not flaunt her asperii, and nearly every singer in Waterdeep has a harp of some sort, so how are we to recognize her?”

“Midsummer Faire,” Danilo repeated in a distracted voice. “ ‘The lord falls on a field of triumph, on a day that is not a day.… ’ ” The Harper smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand. “Shieldmeet. That’s it!”