Elfsong

Eleven

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:

Elaith hurled the sword to the ground; its song broke off with a choked “Erp!” that suggested the magical singer had been throttled by unseen hands. The moon elf stalked over to Danilo. Shaking with barely contained rage, he thrust a finger into the Harper’s chest

“You fool!” he thundered. “No one, no one but you would wield such a ridiculous weapon!”

Danilo crossed his arms and leaned back against a tree. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought you did rather well.”

A silver dagger flashed in the elf’s hand. With a quicksilver motion, Elaith lunged forward and held the point against the Harper’s throat Danilo merely cocked an eyebrow.

“Now really, my dear Elaith. I should hate to see you change your methods at this late hour. Wouldn’t you rather I turned my back first?”

“Might I remind you both that we have business in Waterdeep?” Vartain’s emotionless voice broke in. “Our foe is bound there and will strike on Shieldmeet That is three days from now.”

The elf glared at Danilo with undisguised hatred, but with a visible effort he eased the dagger away. “We made an adventurer’s pact. I will honor it. Once the harp is recovered, though, I make no guarantees.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Danilo picked up his singing sword and tucked it back into its scabbard. “I’m off for Waterdeep. I can take two people with me now and return after sunset for two more. Vartain, you should come now. Perhaps if you and Khelben Arunsun were to put your resources together, you might be able to come up with the identity of our bardic foe.”

The riddlemaster bowed. “It would be my honor.”

“I’m coming, too,” Elaith stated. “I have information sources in Waterdeep that the archmage himself would envy.”

“Modestly put,” Danilo said dryly. He studied those who would remain behind. There were Wyn and Morgalla, the elven hermit, Balindar, Mange, and Cory, a dark-skinned youth who was the youngest of Elaith’s sell-swords. “First off, try to find the other horses, then head toward the Goldenfield temple farms. Once you find the stream, follow it to a calm, deep pool and set up camp. I’ll meet you there shortly after sunset”

Danilo motioned Vartain and Elaith to his side and set in motion the spell of teleportation. Swirling white light filled their vision, solidifying into solid black granite.

The trio stood in a courtyard before the tall, smooth cone of Blackstaff Tower. A twenty-foot wall loomed behind them. Neither structure had any visible doors, gates, or windows. Both of the Harper’s companions surveyed the archmage’s home with intense interest.

The solid wall of the tower blurred for a moment, and the archmage stepped out to greet his visitors. Danilo sped through the introductions. Khelben Arunsun proved himself a master of diplomacy when he received the news that the rogue elf Elaith Craulnober was his nephew’s partner.

“Welcome to Blackstaff Tower. Please join my lady and me for midday meal. We have much to discuss, and can talk while we eat.”

Elaith responded with a cryptic smile. “A pleasure deferred, Lord Arunsun. If you’ll show me the way out, I have inquiries to make.” After promising to meet Danilo at a tavern the following day at highsun, Elaith slipped through the wall’s invisible door.

“It’s a long story,” Danilo said dryly, nodding his head in the direction the elf had taken.

“It’ll wait Now, what have you two got?”

Over a midday meal of lentil stew and smoky cheese, Danilo filled his uncle in on the events of the last several days. Vartain gave the archmage a brief summary of the encounter with the dragon, and he went over the scroll’s contents in detail. He then offered his profile of the sorceress.

“Our enemy is a bard and a mage of considerable power. She is a speaker of Middle Sespechian, which means she is either a specialist in obscure dialects, or a native of Sespech who is at least three hundred years old. She is also a skilled riddlemaster, and the wording of the riddle suggests that she is—or at least was at one point—a Harper.”

Khelben nodded, his face grim. “Some of the altered ballads suggest that you are right about the last point. This bard was seen in Sundabar, you say? Is she an elf?”

Danilo shook his head. “No one who saw her could say one way or another, but the age Vartain suggests makes it seem likely. Wyn seems to think she is, too. Why do you ask?”

“I can think of one person who might fit this pattern. Iriador Wintermist was the daughter of a famous elven minstrel and a human baron of Sespech. She was a noted mage and an up-and-coming bard. She joined forces with Finder Wyvernspur’s band and traveled with him for a time. By all reports, she fell in battle during the Harpstar Wars.”

“A half-elf, eh? What did she look like?”

“Iriador was a famed beauty with brilliant red hair and vivid blue eyes. She was very slender, not much over five feet in height, and delicate of feature. If she is alive today, even with a potion of longevity she would no doubt appear ancient Three hundred years is very old for a half-elf.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Danilo said ruefully, rising from the table. “We’ve got to alert Kriios Halambar. If we can keep this sorceress from entering the site of the barding college Ollamn, perhaps we can purchase a little more time. At the very least, we can have the shop watched for someone who fits that description. Vartain, you’re the one to handle this. Come, I’ll see you out”

The riddlemaster walked with him in silence out of the tower and onto the street. “If I may ask, why do you entrust this mission to me?” he asked.

“You see things most men miss,” Danilo said with no thought of flattery.

“In recent days, I seem to have missed a great deal,” the riddlemaster in a glum voice.

Danilo looked at him sharply, for such introspection seemed uncharacteristic of Vartain. “Actually, your accuracy is astounding. You’ve a remarkable mind. Never have I seen anyone with your breadth of knowledge or attention to detail. I’ve noticed that when you do miss something, it is because you are too involved with sorting through facts and fitting things together. If I may ask, how would you define ‘humor?”

Vartain looked puzzled by the apparent change in topic. “Levity, that which is lighthearted and amusing.”

“Well, that’s good, as far as it goes. I’ve got another definition: humor is looking at the broad picture, and then finding the incongruous detail. Humor is another word for looking at life from a slightly different angle. It means not taking yourself too seriously. In addition to all that, it adds a bit of fun to the process of living.”

“Fun?”

Danilo slapped the riddlemaster on the back. “Fun,” he repeated. “When all this is over, I suggest you look into it”

Vartain seemed unconvinced, but he bowed and hurried off in the direction of Halambar’s Lute Shop. The Harper retraced his steps into the tower’s reception hall.

“Let’s see the scroll,” Khelben demanded at once.

Danilo reached into his magic bag. His eyebrows met in a puzzled frown. “That’s odd,” he mused as he rummaged around. “It was right here on top.” The Harper began to remove one item after another from his bag, until the pile on the floor was nearly knee-deep.

“Enough!” Khelben said in exasperation. “The scroll is obviously gone.”

His nephew nodded to concede defeat. “Elaith Craulnober has struck again. I’ve no idea how he does it, but he got a ring off my finger without my noticing.”

“What does he want with the scroll?”

“He wants to keep it away from you, for fear that you’ll find the sorceress before he does. That’s why I didn’t return at once with the scroll,” Danilo admitted. “Apparently our sorceress possesses an elven artifact, a powerful magic harp known as the Morninglark, and Elaith would very much like to possess it”

The archmage received this news in silence. “So Elaith Craulnober will be searching the city, making inquiries about this magic harp.”

“Most likely. Can you have him picked up?”

“I’ll see to the elf,” Khelben said firmly. “Why don’t you go to Halambar’s and see if Vartain is coming up with any useful information.”

The Harper hurried to the guildmaster’s shop. Kriios Halambar received Danilo politely but looked puzzled when Dan asked for Vartain. “The riddlemaster has not been here since he was hired by Elaith Craulnober, many days ago. Why?”

“You answered my question, I’m afraid,” the Harper said ruefully. “Vartain is still working for Elaith.” He told Halambar an abbreviated version of the story, and asked if the shop could be closed and guarded so that the sorceress could not cast a spell at the site of the college of Ollamn.

“Visiting bards come here to sign the register, but the actual college stood on the site of the guildhall,” Halambar corrected him. He reflected on that possibility. “It would be unprecedented to close the guildhall during the Midsummer festivities. Many visiting bards take lodgings there.”

“But it could be done?”

“Oh, yes. I admit to having placed magical wards around the hall. In addition to normal precautions, events in Waterdeep have made such seem prudent”

“Our bard packs a good deal of magical muscle,” Danilo said, and reached into his bag for the dragon’s cask. It held fewer jewels that he remembered, but he selected several nice gems and handed them to Halambar. “Augment the guard on your shop and the guildhall with as much magic and steel as these stones will purchase. Have the place watched for anyone who fits the description I gave you.”

The guildmaster bowed. “All will be done as you say. Lift the curse on the bards, Lord Thann, and your name will be remembered as foremost among us.”

Danilo had reason to believe otherwise. Once the magical delusion was lifted, he would again be regarded as an amusing and inept dabbler, a typical idle nobleman of great wealth and little substance. At the moment, Danilo truly regretted the role he had lived for years. If he had not played the fool, if he had taken Khelben’s advice and served openly as a mage of promise, he would have been able to share his vision of elfsong’s importance. As Khelben’s acknowledged apprentice, he could have accomplished much. But who would listen seriously to Danilo Thann, dandy and dilettante? Now knowing what else to do, the Harper politely returned Halambar’s respectful bow.

Even during the bright summer afternoon, in the basement tavern known as the Crawling Spider it was dark as night The plaster walls had been molded to look like the hewn stone of underground tunnels, and glowing mosses and lichen gave a faint green light to the room. Stuffed spiders hung from the ceiling, and realistic sculptures of more frightening deep-dwelling beasts decorated the odd taproom. In one corner stood a wooden illithid, holding the hat some waggish customer had hung on a purple tentacle. The tavern catered to those who missed their subterranean homes—mostly dwarves, half-orcs, and a few gnomes—as well as clerics who enjoyed an occasional respite from respectability. The servants were dressed to resemble drow elves, wearing tight black leggings topped with the briefest of chain mail, black masks with pointed ears, and flowing white wigs. These servants were exclusively beautiful human women. No elf, Elaith Craulnober noted with disdain, would submit to such an indignity. The moon elf found this tavern abhorrent, but one of the serving wenches was a former employee and a reliable source of information.

Elaith came in through the back entrance and slipped into one of the tavern’s curtained booths. Although the servants were all dressed alike, he recognized Winnifer, a former thief and a diverting companion, by her undulating walk and tiny red mouth. He caught the woman by the wrist as she passed, and he pulled her into the booth.

Winnifer plopped onto his lap, and her lips parted in a delighted smile. “Elaith! How wonderful to see you again.” She curled up against him like a contented kitten, and her slim, black-gloved hands ran down his arms. “When you pulled me in here like that, I was afraid you were another naughty cleric!”

He captured the hand roaming his chest and gave it a warning squeeze. “I need some information, Winnifer.”

The woman pouted until she checked her hand and noted the small red gem in her palm. “I got a job offer yesterday,” she purred, stroking his face, “and this time, it was not from a cleric! Someone is trying to get a thieves’ guild going.”

It was not the first time Elaith had heard this rumor. It troubled him, as did the influx of foreign talent in the city. Imported thieves at the festival and market seasons were nothing new, but the sheer number of thieves currently in Waterdeep could not be explained by Midsummer Faire alone. Even more disturbing was the plentiful supply of assassins, and the vigor with which both these groups sought converts. Assassins as a rule were not concerned with winning friends and influencing people. They were far more likely to attempt to thin their own ranks than to deliberately enlarge them. This trend indicated the hidden hand of some powerful organization.

“Who is behind this?”

Winnifer shrugged and wriggled her fingers under the tight black leather of her knee-high boots. She dug out a large gold coin and handed it to the elf. “I want it back,” she warned as she twined her hands around his waist and began to nuzzle at his neck. Elaith blew aside a lock of her white hair and examined the coin.

“Much good may it do you,” Elaith responded. “Spend this in Waterdeep, and you’ll most likely end up hanging from the city walls. This coin bears the symbol of the Knights of the Shield.”

Winnifer swore and sat up straight. “Buy it from me, won’t you? You can pass it more easily than I could.”

“Thank you, no,” the elf responded, slipping the coin back into her boot. “You haven’t seen more of these around, have you?”

“Not me. But you know my sister, Flowna? She dances at the Three Pearls? Well, she said that coins like this one paid for a concert A lot of visiting bards sang stories about the Blackstaff and that witch wench he lives with. It was pretty funny, Flowna said.”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh. What I can’t see is what the Knights—this spy group—expect to do using a bunch of bards and thieves.”

“A temporary alliance, perhaps.” Elaith eased the woman off his lap and slipped out of the booth, promising to meet her soon.

Winnifer waited in the curtained booth for several minutes. When she felt certain that the elf was gone, she hurried to the dressing room, pulled off the drow mask and wig, and wrapped herself in a loose cloak to cover her costume. Leaving the underground tavern behind, she hurried to a nearby shop.

Magda, a dark-eyed crone who sold fanciful wooden toys and small statues, was alone in the shop. She ushered the beautiful thief into a back room, which was furnished only with a small table that held a low, round basin of water.

The old woman tossed a handful of herbs into the water and spoke the words of a spell. Winnifer stepped back as the water roiled and steamed. In minutes, the herbs had dissolved into a smooth, dark surface. Reflected in it was the face of the mage Laeral.

“Greetings, Magda Someone has located the elf for us?”

“I have Winnifer Fleetfingers with me,” the crone said, and stepped back to make room for the thief.

Winnifer leaned over the scrying bowl. “I told Elaith everything I was supposed to say,” she reported. “He identified the Knights’ mark on that coin, and from what he said, I think he believes that the Knights and your sorceress may be in alliance.”

“Good work,” Laeral said. “Elaith Craulnober knows the dark side of Waterdeep better than anyone. If the elf can’t ferret out the Knights’ agent, no one can.”

“That spell scroll you’re looking for? He doesn’t have it on him,” Winnifer added.

Laeral’s silver brows flew up. “You’re certain?”

The beautifully thief sniffed scornfully, and Laeral acceded to Winnifer’s expertise with a nod.

“All right He doesn’t have it Magda, get in touch with all those in the network and change their instructions. Elaith Craulnober is not to be stopped. He must be observed, but allowed to go wherever he will. Make note of everyone he contacts. As for the scroll, start looking for one Vartain of Calimport”