Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

“It has been many years, Iriador,” he said softly.

The half-elf continued to play. “Much has changed, Khelben, and not for the better,” she said. She looked up at him and smiled. “Attack me,” she suggested. “Or try. If you do, you will not be able to move. Nor will you be able to speak, although there is little you could say that would matter now.”

Magic, with the full force of the power he had wielded for centuries, welled up within the archmage in response to his silent command. Khelben willed his fingers to shape the spell, but his mortal frame proved to be less obedient than his magic. With astonishment and growing rage, he realized that the former Harper had spoken the truth.

The air around the archmage might as well have been solid stone, for he could neither move nor speak. The magic he had summoned had no place to go and it coursed through his body like captured lightning.

Only once before had Khelben known such pain. It circled endlessly through the conduits of power in his mind and body; it burned him as if molten steel filled his veins. With each pulse of anguish, the room dissolved into white light, and even his formidable will began to lose its grip upon consciousness.

Iriador Wintermist saw this, and triumph flared in her brilliant blue eyes. She rose with the harp in her arms and walked over to the man who was imprisoned by her magic and tortured by his own.

“You did not recognize the spell in my song, Khelben Arunsun, or you would have fled from this place. Always you have held bardcraft in little regard, and in your ignorance you prepared no defense against the power of spellsong.”

She moved a step closer. “You deserted the bards, Khelben, and if you do not know your error by now, you soon shall. This I will prove, not by destroying you outright, but by removing you from power through the very force you scorned.”

The woman spun toward the window. A white horse came galloping from the garden in response to her silent command. Quickly she mounted the asperii, and horse and rider disappeared through the arched doorway into the night.

A snatch of melody floated back into the room. Khelben fell to the floor, partially released from the powerful song charm. His release set free the remnants of his own spell, and magic exploded like an alchemist’s nightmare. Pulse after pulse of unchanneled magical energy rocked the ballroom, sending multicolored light streaking into the garden beyond.

From the roof of a nearby mansion, Elaith Craulnober witnessed the light show with growing rage and frustration. He peered down the Street of Whispers. Already, members of the vigilant watch were approaching in response to the disturbance. With a smothered oath, he ran across the roof and leaped into the night, landing lightly on the next building.

With grace and balance that an acrobat might envy, he ran across a high wooden fence and leaped onto the triangular roof that topped the steam house of the Urmbrusk family’s sybaritic villa. He raced across the roof, then summoned all his strength and threw himself into flight The elf soared over Diamond Street, tucked at the last moment, and rolled onto the roof of a low building across the way. Within minutes he had made his way to Lady Thione’s enclosed villa.

Elaith dropped over the wall and rushed through the garden. An armed guard came threateningly toward him. The elf tossed a knife into the man’s throat without breaking stride. He followed the curling, glowing wisps of smoke into the ballroom. The fumes roiled through the room and stung his eyes, but he could see well enough to know that the room was empty but for himself and the man slumped nearby.

He was too late! The sorceress Garnet had gone, and with her was his hope of restoring his child’s birthright.

The elf snatched a throwing knife from his sleeve, thinking to vent his frustration by hurling it into the body. At the last moment, he recognized the fallen man and sent his knife skittering harmlessly across the blackened marble floor.

Elaith knelt beside Khelben Arunsun and turned the wizard onto his back. The man yet lived, but his heart beat faintly. As the elf debated his course, the archmage’s black eyes opened and fixed upon him. The archmage did not speak or move, but he seemed dimly aware of his surroundings.

“A charm spell,” the elf muttered. He rocked back on his heels and ran his hand through his hair. The best person in the city to tend the wizard would be the mage Laeral. He should take the fallen man to Blackstaff Tower at once. A delay, however, could cost Elaith the harp he had sought for so long.

The elf decided. He reached into the bag at his belt and took out a plain silver ring. Vartain was not the only skilled thief in Music and Mayhem, and Elaith had once again relieved his Harper partner of the magic ring when they’d met at the Broken Lance tavern. He quickly slipped the ring on his own hand and twisted it as he’d seen Danilo do.

As the watch patrol burst into the room, they saw the fading outline of a tall slender elf and the archmage of Waterdeep.

In the hours before dawn, clerics of Mystra gathered at Blackstaff Tower to pray for the favor of the goddess of magic. Under their care and through the favor of his goddess, Khelben Arunsun’s battered body began to heal. Nothing could touch the charm spell that held him, though, and after several hours the weary and heartsick Laeral made her way down to the reception hall. After bringing Khelben to her, Elaith Craulnober had left the tower. He’d recently returned and sent up word that he wished to see her as soon as circumstances permitted.

The elf stood when Laeral entered the room. “How is the archmage?”

“He will live,” the beautiful wizard replied.

Elaith nodded, a look of profound relief on his face. He handed Laeral a large, square box. “You may consider this a gift, a wish for Lord Arunsun’s recovery.”

Puzzled, Laeral peered inside. Within the box was one of the magical helms worn by the Lords of Waterdeep.

“I recovered the helm from Lady Thione. Perhaps you would see that it is returned to its rightful owner.”

“Indeed we will,” the mage said. She affixed Elaith with a penetrating gaze. “Forgive me, but—”

“This seems to be out of character?” the elf finished with an amused smile. “Not at all, dear lady. My own business interests are best served by preserving the status quo in Waterdeep.”

“And Lady Thione?”

“She is in hiding, and under my protection,” Elaith said. “My men will help her escape from Waterdeep.” He smiled pleasantly. “Of course, I have not bothered to mention to her the destination. I’ve arranged to have her escorted back to Tethyr to face the locals.”

Laeral’s eyes flashed silver fire, and she nodded grim agreement with the justice that the elf’s treachery meted out. “Elaith Craulnober, under different circumstances I believe we could have become very good friends.”

High above the canopy of the High Forest, the sky faded to the pale silver that preceded dawn. It was still dark in the Endless Caverns, but the green dragon Grimnoshtadrano felt the coming of day. He eased himself up onto his haunches and flexed his wings experimentally. The stiffness caused by the explosion and the smoke had finally eased, and at last he would be able to fly again. Never would he forget the indignity of crawling back to his cavern after he awoke in the clearing. He was determined that someone would pay dearly for the insults dealt him.

Grimnosh inhaled deeply and blew a long blast of air into his cave. A satisfying stench filled the chamber as poisonous chlorine gas flowed from his fanged maw. For days, he had been unable to muster his breath weapon. Now, it was back and ready to bring to bear on the treacherous bard. The dragon threw back his head and let out a roar of satisfaction.