Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

Vartain nodded, his black eyes shining as he followed the Harper’s logic. “Your reasoning is sound. Shieldmeet is not part of any mooncycle, or counted as a day in the roll of the years. It is a day that is not a day.”

“Am I missing something important?” Morgalla asked.

“Shieldmeet is an extra day that occurs once every four years, right after Midsummer. After the tournaments of Midsummer Day, contracts are renewed, betrothals announced, allegiances sworn. Even the Lords of Waterdeep are reaffirmed every four years,” Vartain explained.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Danilo added. “You notice that each of these curses has been brought to bear on Waterdeep. Between crop failures and monster attacks on merchant caravans, Midsummer Faire will be a rather dismal event. A storm on Midsummer Day will play into the people’s fears and superstitions, and a bard who can influence crowds might be able to convince them that the Lords of Waterdeep are no longer able to govern. Rightly done, it could be a near-bloodless coup!”

“But why fuss around with Harpers and dragons? What do the Lords of Waterdeep have to do with a bunch o’ bards?”

“Enough,” Danilo said succinctly. “The two groups work together. Bardcraft and politics are intrinsically enjoined. We must leave for Waterdeep at once! Where is Wyn?”

“Here.” The elf minstrel called, striding quickly down the hilltop holding the leading reins of three horses. The elven hermit followed close by Wyn’s side. “We recovered only three horses, but I found my lyre of changing.”

At that moment, Elaith crested the hill behind Wyn at a run. “Then use it!” he shouted as he dashed toward the others. “A flock of harpies, coming from the north!”

Wyn shaded his eyes against the sun and scanned the skies. As Elaith had said, far to the north were several dark shapes. The minstrel looked helplessly at Danilo. “There are no harpies on Evermeet I’ve learned no spellsong to combat them!”

Danilo patted the sword at his right side. “Not to worry. I carry a singing sword whose music will negate the effect of the harpies’ song. This shouldn’t be any more difficult than fighting any other flying monster. Teeth, talons, that sort of thing.”

The adventurers’ relief was palpable, and even Elaith’s grim visage relaxed somewhat Seeing that, a seed of mischief took root in Danilo’s fertile mind. He drew the magic weapon and with a solemn face handed it to the elf.

“If I were to be killed or disarmed during the battle, the sword’s music would cease at once, and all would be lost You’re by far the best swordsman among us. You’d better use this.”

Elaith’s silver brows rose in a skeptical arc, but he accepted the magic weapon. “Very sensible of you,” he said, question and sarcasm blending in his words.

Danilo shrugged. “First time for everything.” The thin, outer edge of the keening waves of sound began to reach them. “The sword will sing as soon as you take your first strike. Mind that you don’t put it down once it begins, though. It can be touchy, and it might not start up again.”

The elf made a few experimental passes to test the sword’s balance and to activate the song. Immediately a rollicking baritone voice began to sing:

Elaith turned an incredulous stare toward the Harper. Danilo responded with a bland smile and drew his own blade. “Here they come,” he said, pointing with the sword in the direction of the approaching monsters. There were nine of them, granting the fighters below one-to-one odds.

The harpies were close enough now that their hideous faces were clearly visible, fangs gleaming from mouths flung wide open with their magical song. Although the unearthly music chilled the adventurers, the harpies’ fell magic could not compete with the enchantment of the singing sword. Meanwhile, the sword rolled on through the chorus.

Elaith held the sword at arm’s length, glaring as if it were an ill-trained puppy that had just puddled his best boots. He had little choice but to continue wielding the weapon, though, and he slashed viciously at the first harpy to venture within range. The stroke cut deep into the creature’s arm, nearly severing the filthy gray limb. Shrieking with pain and rage, the harpy flapped out of the elf’s reach and circled back for a second attack. Its teeth bared, it dove, screaming, toward the elf. Elaith pulled a knife from the sleeve of his sword arm and threw it at the oncoming monster. It caught the harpy in the throat, abruptly cutting off its screams. The creature plummeted straight toward its killer. Elaith threw himself to one side and rolled, taking care not to lose his hold on the magical sword.

Again the sword went into the chorus, admonishing the fighters in jovial tones to beware of wishes lightly made. The harpies, too, seemed to take this advice to heart Perhaps the creatures recalled their last battle with these fighters, or at least had learned to be wary of prey who wouldn’t obligingly hold still. The harpies circled the clearing, keeping carefully out of reach of the flashing swords as they sang their deadly, beautiful song. Clearly audible above the harpies’ charm song was the sword’s cheerful baritone:

Morgalla chuckled briefly, then her brow furrowed in frustration. This fight was not going to the dwarf’s liking, for her opponents stayed out of reach. Using her spear like a javelin, she hurled the weapon at a low-flying harpy. The point tore through the creature, and the sheer force of the dwarf’s throw carried it along for the flight. The spear struck a tree trunk and bit deep. Impaled upon the spear, the dying harpy writhed and shrieked. Morgalla nodded with satisfaction and drew her axe in readiness for the next attack.

“Shoot them down!” Danilo shouted, taking the dwarf’s lead. He put away his sword and snatched up a bow. The Harper’s first arrow missed. He grimaced and nocked another, noting that Elaith gritted his teeth in helpless frustration as he continued to slash ineffectually at any monster that came close. Elaith’s mercenaries sent volley after volley of arrows into the sky. By the end of the chorus all of the remaining harpies had been downed, some of them still alive despite the arrows jutting from their rank bodies.

One of the wounded harpies flung itself at Mange. The canny mercenary grabbed the creature’s flailing wrists, knowing that a scratch from its talons would render him immobile. At the same moment he kicked its hideous face with a heavy-booted foot. The creature reeled backward, pawing at its shattered nose.

The furious Elaith dove at the wounded harpy, burying the magical sword up to the hilt in its throat The expression on the elf’s face suggested that he strove to quench the sword’s song with blood. Undaunted, the sword sang on:

Morgalla’s axe flashed as she battled a club-wielding harpy. She feigned a stumble, going down onto one knee. The harpy raised its bone club and flung itself forward for a killing blow. At the last moment, the nimble dwarf dove to the side. She leaped up, coming behind the off-balance harpy and burying her axe deep into the back of the creature’s neck. Dark blood spurted through the thick mat of tangled hair, and the creature dropped onto its face. At that moment, Elaith gutted the final monster. With the death of the last harpy, the deadly song charm faded into silence. The singing sword, however, continued merrily: