Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

Garnet, a bard.

Entered Waterdeep the final day of Flamerule.

That was today, Vartain noted.

The riddlemaster sank slowly down on the stool, staring with unseeing eyes at a display of unique magical instruments. Khelben Arunsun’s suspicions about the sorceress’s true name and nature were almost certainly correct The name Iriador was derived from the Elvish word for “ruby,” and it seemed fitting that the proud woman would take another precious stone as her name.

He pulled the scroll from his belt and unrolled it, looking over the possibilities and fitting together the pieces in a way that reflected this understanding. As he read, the details of her plot became clear to him. He knew exactly where Garnet would strike, who would be the target of her harp-given power, and what weapons she would employ.

Vartain scratched his chin, troubled by the dilemma this presented. By all accounts, he should hurry to the designated meeting place and tell his employers, Elaith Craulnober and Danilo Thann, all that he had learned. He was bound in honor to serve them with all his powers. That the two clearly had different goals in mind was of no concern to Vartain and did not enter into his internal debate. Something more basic and compelling guided the riddlemaster’s hesitation.

Once before on this quest he had failed. In missing the dragon’s riddle, he for the first time had fallen short of expectations. As Danilo Thann had so intuitively noted, Vartain longed for the chance to match wits with the person who had devised the riddle spell. Not only would it exonerate him of this failure, but it presented a challenge such that he might never again encounter. Could he bear to cast aside such an opportunity? Confiding in his employers would be doing precisely that: Danilo Thann was determined to overcome the sorceress with magic, and Elaith Craulnober would certainly attempt to kill her, that he might obtain the valuable artifact needed to purchase his child’s inheritance. No, this opportunity Vartain must have for himself.

Then doubt, an emotion almost unknown to the riddlemaster, edged into his mind. In many ways, he and this Garnet were much alike: she was a riddlemaster, a master of lore and language, a traveler and a teller of tales. Yet she was also a mage, and she wielded an artifact of great power. In addition, she had lived more than six of his lifetimes, and although he had learned and accomplished much, he could not be sure that it would be enough. If he kept the knowledge of her identity to himself, and met the bard Garnet on the field of intellectual combat, what was to say he would fare better against her than he had against the wily Grimnoshtadrano?

A notion entered Vartain’s mind, an idea so unexpected and droll that he blinked in astonishment He would overcome Garnet the same way that the dragon had deceived him ! If he and Garnet were as much alike as he suspected, she would also be hampered by an abundance of intellectual pride and a dearth of humor.

A chuckle escaped him, a rusty and experimental sound that drew stares from the shop’s other patrons. Then, for the first time in his adult life, Vartain burst into unrestrained laughter.

By the glyphs of Deneir, it was worth a try! thought Vartain as he laughed, holding his sides against the unaccustomed twinge in his shaking ribs.

Garnet rode up to Lady Thione’s Sea Ward villa and threw the reins of her horse to a servant Unannounced, she walked into the parlor where the noblewoman held conference with several merchants.

Lucia looked up at the interruption, imperious anger in her dark eyes. When she saw Garnet, however, her face instantly become a calm, expressionless mask. She rose and politely greeted the sorceress. She drew her out of the room, carefully closing the heavy oak door behind them.

“Get rid of them,” demanded Garnet “We have much to discuss.” She thrust a handful of papers at the noblewoman.

Lucia glanced at the top page and grimaced. She quickly leafed through the papers: all were identical. “Lord Hhune’s work. He was acting on his own initiative, I assure you.”

“Good.” The sorceress nodded. “I would not want this traced back to you. On the other hand, I am glad he did this. This drawing of the archmage is another type of bardcraft, a new way of telling a story. It is fitting that such a weapon be brought against Khelben Arunsun. Hhune will most likely be found out, but he is expendable. Now, we must move on to other things.

“Midsummer Day will be a disaster,” Garnet continued. “You have played your part well in the disruption of commerce. Other agents of the Knights of the Shield have ensured that the traditional tournament games will go badly. Above all this, there will be a violent storm of rain—and possibly hail—on Midsummer Day. These northern barbarians will take the storm as an evil omen.”

“But the weather has been fine all week,” Lucia said, a question in her voice.

“All the better! The wizard weather will be blamed on the archmage, and when Shieldmeet begins, the people will be ready to listen to your suggestion.”

“ My suggestion?” Lucia hedged.

“Oh, yes. Shieldmeet begins at sunset with a vast meeting open to all the citizens of Waterdeep. At this time the Lords of Waterdeep are reaffirmed by popular acclamation. When the meeting begins, you will reveal yourself as one of the Lords, argue that the city’s woes are due to the ambitions of Khelben Arunsun, and demand that he resign from the Council of Lords.”

Lucia paled.

“You are well connected with the guilds, popular with the nobility, and beloved of the tradespeople. The only major faction in Waterdeep that is not in your pocket is the collective clergy.” Garnet paused for a hard smile. “How fortunate for us that Waterdeep is not a deeply devout city.”

Lucia Thione stared at the sorceress, her eyes enormous with shock. She licked her lips nervously and tried to speak, but the words would not come.

The half-elf noted this with growing suspicion. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes! That is, you realize of course that Lord Piergeiron will deny that I am one of the Lords of Waterdeep. This is standard practice whenever a Lord is unmasked, much as the Knights of the Shield disavow any of our members who are caught.”

Garnet did not look convinced. “I wonder,” she said softly, her sapphire eyes searching the noblewoman’s pale face. She smiled suddenly. “You know, I have always been curious about the magical properties of those helms that you Lords of Waterdeep wear in public. Might I examine yours?”

Lucia’s heart thudded painfully, and she struggled to keep her panic from her face. “I do not keep it in my Sea Ward villa. It is safely locked away, but I will be happy to retrieve it for you later in the day.”

“You do that,” Garnet said, pushing past Lucia and making her way up the stairs. “I will be staying here until Shieldmeet is past. Kindly send some of your servants to attend me,” she called over her shoulder.

The noblewoman slumped against the wall. Her worse fears had come to fruition. Garnet’s demands had placed her in an impossible situation. She could not openly claim to be a Lord of Waterdeep, for the penalty for impersonating a Lord was death. Yet if she refused, Garnet would make sure that the Knights of the Shield learned of Lucia’s deception. The best she could do was stall for time and hope that a solution would come to her. Always before, Lucia had been able to untie the Gordian knots that came with her life of intrigue, but this time there seemed to be no way out.

“Lady Thione? Are you ill, madame?”

The question snapped her back into the present. She recognized the deep, charmingly accented voice of Bergand, a merchant lord of the faraway island of Nimbral. A possible solution presented itself to Lucia. Nimbral lay southwest of the Jungle of Chult, and it was far beyond the reach of the Knights of the Shield. The land was rich, and trade was busy and diverse. Bergand himself had vast holdings and a thriving business, and he was not immune to her charm.