Elfsong

Seven

The members of Music and Mayhem rose before dawn, and by first light they were well into the High Forest. As they traveled north, the path narrowed until it was completely sheltered by a deep, leafy canopy. On either side grew thick banks of ferns, and the tangle of exposed roots around the ancient trees were shod with velvety moss. From time to time, the road followed near the course of Unicorn Run, whose vivid blue-green waters ran laughing over polished stones. Even the air itself seemed green, for the light filtered through layers of trees and the breeze was scented with the wild mint reputed to be a unicorn’s favorite fodder. Danilo scanned the shadows in search of unicorns, but the morning passed without such a blessing. Perhaps, he mused, the magical creatures sensed the danger the travelers courted, and so kept a wise distance.

Danilo did not for a moment forget that the dragon was just one of the hazards of this mission. Although he had slept but little the night before—memorizing the difficult spell had taken him almost until dawn—the Harper kept alert for danger from any quarter.

His moon elf partner was not to be trusted under any circumstances, and the revelation that Elaith carried a moonblade added to Danilo’s uncertainty. He could not fathom why Elaith carried a reminder of his failure. Actually, very little about the elf’s motives made sense. Danilo could not understand why Elaith would request only a cask of gems from the dragon. The elf had a legendary fondness for magical items, and surely a dragon’s hoard would contain something a bit more compelling than jewelry. Danilo added to this conjecture the very real possibility that Elaith would prove treacherous once he had secured whatever it was he sought.

The riders reached a small clearing before highsun and set to work at Elaith’s direction. Two of the mercenaries built a campfire, while Orcsarmor, their best archer, shot several of the squirrels who chattered and scampered among the ancient oaks. A pot of over-seasoned stew was soon simmering, and the firewood doused with water and strewn with herbs so that the scented smoke might confuse the dragon’s keen nose. This precaution, Elaith explained, was to ensure that no sign of his or Wyn’s presence lingered in the clearing. Since elves were a favorite meal of green dragons, the wyrms were particularly adept at scenting and tracking them, and the urge to do just that might distract the dragon from the riddle challenge. The elf then sent the mercenaries down a narrow path lined with young birch, through a section of forest that Elaith claimed was too densely grown to allow passage to a full-grown dragon. To Danilo’s surprise, Elaith gave the lead reins of his black stallion to Mange, and ordered Orcsarmor to take Wyn and Balindar’s horses, as well.

“We three will remain nearby,” Elaith announced, “Balindar and me to protect my interests, and the minstrel to provide spellsong magic if the need arises.”

Danilo faced down the elf, his gray eyes cold. “That’s not what we agreed. You’ll not put Wyn at risk.”

“By standing here quibbling instead of announcing your intentions to the dragon, you risk us all,” Elaith countered, pointing to the campfire. “How long do you think it will take the dragon to realize that there are travelers in the forest?”

“It’s best to do as he says,” Wyn told Danilo. “He’s quite right about the dragon. We will do whatever we must to retrieve that scroll.”

The Harper conceded with a terse nod, and Balindar and the two elves took cover downwind in a nearby copse of young birch and giant ferns. Morgalla loosely tied the three remaining horses near the escape trail, and Vartain cut a branch of pine and quickly swept the sandy clearing free of footprints.

Then they joined Danilo at the cookfire. To all appearances, they were the only three who had come in the clearing. When all was in readiness, Danilo took his place on a moss-covered rock and began to adjust his lute’s tuning pegs.

“Get on with it!” Elaith hissed from the nearby copse.

“This dragon of yers is gonna be a nice change o’ pace,” Morgalla muttered to Danilo, glaring at the moon elf’s hiding place.

Danilo took a deep breath and began to sing the words to the Ballad of Grimnoshtadrano, adding a new stanza that outlined his demands.

“Now what?” the dwarf asked when the song was done.

“We wait,” the Harper responded. “In a few minutes, I’ll sing it again.”

They waited for nearly an hour, and Danilo sang the challenge several times, before their patience was rewarded.

A huge, winged creature came into view over the clearing. Grimnoshtadrano swooped down along the bank of Unicorn Run, his enormous batlike wings curved to catch the play of sun-warmed air rising from the river. With astonishing grace, the dragon landed lightly on the bank nearby, and he walked toward the clearing on all fours. The three terrified horses tore free of their bindings and raced off down the path. Their riders scarcely noticed.

Danilo watched the dragon’s approach with awe. He had never seen a dragon before, and Grimnoshtadrano was not the creature of legend he’d expected. Danilo had always pictured a dragon as a hulking monster, an imposing presence, deadly but rather ponderous. Rather like his Uncle Khelben, now that he thought of it. Grimnosh was certainly huge—Dan guessed that the dragon was a good eighty feet from snout to tail tip—but he was beautiful and exceedingly graceful, and his long slender tail twirled in the air above him in constant, sinuous motion. The dragon moved through the underbrush as silently as any other forest creature. His scales didn’t clank like some reptilian version of plate armor, and their surfaces reflected every shade of green in the forest. As the dragon approached, Danilo noted that his coloring changed to match the foliage around him. Apparently Grimnosh could change color at will also, for when the dragon fully entered the clearing his scales took on the brilliant, gemlike shades of emerald, jade, and malachite. Crown jewels, Danilo noted, and the analogy fit the regal creature.

When Grimnoshtadrano was fully in the clearing, he began to circle the three adventurers like a wolf closing in, studying them all the while. His eyes were golden green, slashed by vertical pupils and bright with a cold, alien intelligence.

“Well?” the dragon inquired. His voice was a deep, inhuman rumble that reminded Danilo of the reverberation of a kettledrum. Setting aside his lute, the Harper rose to his feet and bowed deeply to the dragon.

“Well met, noble Grimnoshtadrano. I am Danilo Thann of Waterdeep, Harper and bard, and these are my companions, bards both. You know what we seek from the words of my song.”

“This little trifle, I believe?” Grimnosh sat back on his haunches, and with a forepaw he removed a large bag slung over one of his horns. From it he pulled a roll of parchment. He laid it on the ground in front of him, and then placed beside it a small golden cask. With the tip of his tail he flicked open the latch and lifted the lid to reveal a hoard of sparkling gems. “You are prepared to earn this?”

“My talents do not run to riddles,” Danilo said. “I have brought you a more worthy opponent”

Vartain rose, his bald head held high. “I am Vartain of Calimport, a riddlemaster trained in the Mulhorand tradition. I have traveled from southern Shaar to Waterdeep, from the western Moonshaes to the eastern lands of Rashemen, collecting riddles and stories from a hundred kingdoms. From these, I have compiled a three-volume collection of riddles housed with honor in the libraries of Candlekeep. I am a scholar of languages both modern and forgotten, the latter so that I might plumb the wealth of earlier ages. Since an active life offers puzzles as well, I have aided the cause of many a famed explorer and adventurer. Modesty forbids that I name or number them.”

“I can see that it would,” the dragon agreed with a touch of sarcasm in his rumbling voice. “Welcome to the forest, Vartain of Calimport. It isn’t often that I’m gifted with such a challenge. You must give me a minute to think, that I might put forth a riddle worthy of your talents.”

“First, great Grimnoshtadrano, permit me to name my own reward,” Vartain added, earning an incredulous stare from Danilo and Morgalla. “I wish to recover a certain elven artifact, last seen in the village of Taskerleigh.”

The dragon snorted. “You’re too late. I traded it for a song, you might say, and not a particularly successful one at that, considering that you three are the first to respond to it.”

“To whom, if I might ask?”

“One matter at a time, if you please,” Grimnosh returned. “I will give you that information as a reward if you can answer my riddle. Agreed?”

Vartain inclined his head graciously. The dragon tapped at his fang-studded jaw as he reflected, and the metallic click of talon against tooth was a discomfiting sound. Finally, Grimnosh cleared his throat—emitting as he did a small puff of gas redolent of overripe eggs—and gave this puzzle:

“Now tell me, why did King Khalzol’s subjects bury him in a copper coffin?”

Silence hung over the clearing for a long moment Danilo nudged the riddlemaster and leaned close to his ear. “Because he was dead?” the Harper suggested, sotto voce.

Vartain shot a scathing glance at the young man. “Leave these matters to me,” he hissed in a fierce whisper, and he turned to face the dragon.

“This is a classic conundrum, in which a one-word answer is given, piece by piece, in several related riddles,” he announced aloud. “It is an elegant conundrum, to be sure, and unfamiliar to me. Nevertheless, here is its solution:

“What is to mull but to think over? Speaking quite literally, what lies over men’s thoughts but their hair? The word ‘a’ means one of something, as in ‘a pomegranate.’ A hold, or fortress, must be stronger than any force brought against it Put together, one obtains the site of King Khalzol’s grave: Mulharahold, a city to the south of the Mountains of Copper. The copper coffin, of course, is the clue that confirms the conundrum’s answer.” Vartain fell silent, his chin lifted in a expectant pose.

The dragon examined his claws with a satisfied air. “I rather thought you’d say that,” he rumbled.

Vartain reached out to claim the scroll, but the dragon batted the man’s hand away with a flick of his tail. “Humans are always in such a rush,” he purred. “The answer to the question ‘Why did his subjects bury King Khalzol in a copper coffin?’ is far simpler that you would make it, and I regret to say that the reason had nothing to do with his grave site. They buried him, dear riddlemaster, because he was dead!”

“He ain’t the only one,” muttered the dwarf.

“But strictly speaking, your puzzle was not a simple riddle,” Vartain protested in an aggrieved tone. “It was a conundrum!”

Morgalla huffed, exasperated. “But it was a conundrum,” she mimicked softly. “That’ll look good on yer headstone, if’n a mason alive can spell it!”

With two claws, the dragon picked up Vartain by the back of his tunic. He examined the dangling riddlemaster thoughtfully, then with the knuckles of his free paw he shined the man’s bald pate as if polishing an apple. The effect was chilling, the intention obvious.

“Wait!” Danilo shouted. He quickly offered Grimnosh the second challenge. “If you fail to answer the riddle I put to you, we go free, with the scroll our only treasure. But if you succeed, I will remain here in your employ for the remainder of my life.”

“Hmmm. It would be nice to have a musician on hand,” Grimnoshtadrano mused. He held Vartain out at arm’s length and considered him. The dangling riddlemaster’s pot belly and bowed, skinny legs lent him all the dignity and appeal of a captured frog. “And on the whole, this one looks rather unpalatable.” The dragon dropped Vartain, who disappeared with a grunt into a thick bank of ferns.

“The riddle is in song form,” Danilo began, picking up his lute.

“Really! How droll.” Grimnosh settled down like a watchful cat, propping his massive head up on one forepaw. “Riddle away, by all means.”

Danilo began to play the opening chords to the musical spell Khelben had given him, hoping that it would take effect before the dragon recognized the ploy. Hoping, indeed, that it would work at all! He had practiced the lute accompaniment, learned the melody, and memorized the arcane words, but he had not dared to combine them until this moment.

When he sang the first note, a wave of power surged through him and seemed to flow out with the melody. Although Danilo could not say exactly where it came from, the magic felt oddly familiar. He had the peculiar feeling that it had always been there in his favorite songs, like a shadow he had glimpsed from the corner of his eye. Exhilaration filled him as he sang and played, and a sense of fulfillment deeper than anything he had every known.

The effect on the dragon was equally profound. His enormous golden eyes grew dreamy and vacant The long green tail continued to twirl, but the elaborate pattern of movement simplified until just the tip swayed from side to side, moving in time to the music and looking like a languid cobra dancing to the horn of a Calashite snake charmer.

When Danilo thought the dragon safely ensorcelled, he nodded to Morgalla. She eased forward, brown eyes shining with excitement, and tugged the parchment roll out from under the dragon’s elbow.

Too soon! A low rumble came from the dragon’s throat as he struggled to free himself from the charm. Morgalla eased away slowly, and Danilo sang on. For a moment he thought the dragon would subside.

Then the rumpled fern bed rustled wildly, and Vartain poked his head out The riddlemaster looked dazed, and he swayed like a sapling in a gale. Grimnosh began to stir and twitch, as if shaking off a deep slumber. His tail stopped its rhythmic swaying and started an agitated churning motion.

“Get away, you fools,” snapped Elaith from his hiding place.

Before they could respond, Grimnosh’s eyes focused, then filled with malevolence. The creature’s armored chest rose; he drew in a deep breath. Vartain placed the blowpipe to his lips and puffed out his cheeks. A tiny canister flew unerringly toward the dragon. It disappeared into the terrible maw just as the dragon opened his mouth to attack.

The result was immediate and spectacular. An explosion ripped through the clearing, extinguishing the cookfire and stripping leaves from trees. The force of it tore Danilo’s lute from his arms and sent him tumbling to the ground. He struggled to his feet, unable to hear anything but the painful ringing in his ears. When his vision cleared, he saw the stunned dragon lying on his back near the remains of the cookfire. His tongue lolled from his blackened mouth, and the golden-green plates that covered his abdomen gleamed through the dissipating wisps of smoke. Coughing and batting at the foul-scented smoke, the Harper looked around for his companions.

His first thought was for Morgalla; she’d been the closest to the dragon. He needn’t have worried. Morgalla was already up, the scroll gripped triumphantly in one small hand and a broad grin on her face. Legs pumping, she sprinted from the clearing with Elaith and Wyn close on her heels. Balindar moved slower, stumbling a bit and clutching at his ears.

Danilo looked around for Vartain. The riddlemaster had fallen facedown into the ferns, and the bronze dome of his head was barely visible above the battered foliage. The Harper grabbed Balindar’s arm and pointed to the unconscious riddlemaster. The burly man glanced at Vartain. His lip curled, and he shook his head. Danilo stripped an onyx ring from his hand and held it out to the mercenary, then pointed again. With a grin, Balindar pocketed the ring. He slung Vartain over his shoulder and followed the others.

Danilo was the last to leave the clearing. He snatched up his lute and slid the strap over his shoulder, then glanced at the stunned dragon. Grimnosh’s mighty chest rose and fell in a shallow but regular rhythm. Every instinct warned Danilo to flee at once. The bargain he’d just struck with Balindar raised certain practical considerations, however, so he edged closer to the dragon and snatched up the cask, dropping it into his magic bag. The hoard disappeared without a trace, and he jogged down the path, his lute bobbing lightly on his shoulder as he ran.

Music and Mayhem regrouped nearly a mile away. The three spooked horses had been captured and calmed by the time Dan arrived. Vartain had been revived, thanks to repeated doses from Mange’s flask of rivengut. Morgalla’s face was dusty and bruised from the tumble she’d taken, but the tough little woman seemed otherwise unhurt.

Dan shook his head in astonishment and sank down on a large stone beside her. He wrapped an arm around her sturdy shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “Thank the Eternal Forge you’re a dwarf,” he murmured, borrowing a term from the mythology of her people.

“You can bet I do,” Morgalla replied with a wink. “Loud and offen.”

The last silver of twilight faded from the Sea of Swords, and in the Dock Ward district of Waterdeep, business dealings became as dark and mysterious as the sea beyond. Those who knew the city and who wished to see the sun rise the next morning knew what alleys to avoid and which taverns served danger along with watered ale. The watch patrol assigned to the southern tip of the ward was therefore surprised to find a large and vocal group of merchants gathered at the corner of Dock Street and Wharf Street.

“Is there a problem?” the watch commander inquired as politely as possible, considering that she was shouting over the din of some three dozen angry voices.

“I should say!” The speaker was Zelderan Guthel, the head of the Council of Farmer-Grocers, and at his words the crowd quieted somewhat Among its other responsibilities, the guild rented warehouse space to merchants of all kinds. The angry crowd was gathered in front of a large stone and timber warehouse built to provide winter grain storage. In off seasons, it was used to store the exotic goods specially made or imported for sale at the Midsummer Faire.

“This is a common facility, and protecting it is the city’s responsibility! Just what do you intend to do?” An angry chorus of mutters echoed the guildmaster’s question.

The captain scratched her chin. “Do? This area is well patrolled. We check this warehouse every twenty minutes!”

“Then whoever emptied the place went through us faster’n tainted stew,” groused a dwarf in an ale-stained apron. “My tavern had over a hunnerd kegs o’ mead stored here. The city better make good on it, is all I got to say!”

“It always has.” The captain took a small book and a quill from her bag. “I’ll make a full report.” She said, jotting down the dwarf’s name and losses.

Others came forward, shouting out lists of missing goods and demanding action. Within minutes the four members of the watch patrol were hidden from sight, surrounded by irate merchants jostling each other to give their reports. To all appearances, the crowd not been noticeably appeased.

Hoof beats echoed down the nearby alleys as reinforcements rushed in from other beats. The first mounted guardsman to arrive noted the glint of green and gold chain mail in the midst of the angry crowd, and he came to what seemed a reasonable conclusion. Brandishing a stout rod, he rode into the angry crowd, laying about briskly as he cleared a path that would free the beleaguered watch.

The merchants reeled back, revealing the four members of the regular patrol. The “rescued” watch captain stared up at the guardsman in horror and disbelief. In her hands she held not a weapon, but a report book and a quill.

The silence that fell over the crowd was deep and uneasy. The dwarven tavern-keeper was the first to break it. Massaging a knot on his head from the guardsman’s rod, he muttered, “The city better make good for this, is all I got to say.”

Waves lapped at the wooden platform, sending a spray of salty water into the air. Lucia Thione leaped back, pulling her silken skirts away from certain ruin. “Where could this Hodatar be?” she fretted.

“He’s very reliable,” Zzundar Thul assured her, casting a surreptitious glance at the slender ankles revealed by the woman’s quick movement Sun-bronzed and heavily muscled from his labors, Zzundar was a waterman and the son of the same, but he was as quick as any to recognize and appreciate a lady of quality. In Zzundar’s opinion, of all the privileges he’d enjoyed as master of the watermen’s guild, this meeting with Lady Thione ranked highest. A successful merchant and caravan organizer, she was a guild member and had just become their liaison with the mermen who helped keep the harbor clean. For this purpose she came to the guild hall. Zzundar was grateful for an excuse to accompany her down to the merdock, even though it was not the romantic setting he would have chosen.

Actually, the merdock was little more than a large cistern. It opened to a passage that led from the basement of the dockside guildhall into the sea. The reclusive mermen preferred to deal with as few humans as possible, and this particular arrangement suited them well.

The surface of the water dimpled and broke, revealing a gleaming, clean-shaven head. The merman pulled himself partway out of the water, resting his weight on his elbows and leveling an insolent stare at the noblewoman.

“I’ve news,” he said bluntly. “Several ships bound for Waterdeep were attacked this afternoon. One fell to pirates, two more to monsters of the sea. There were no survivors on any of these vessels.” The merman quickly gave the names, owners, and ports of origin of each ship, information his people had gleaned from the logs of the sunken ships.

“And the cargoes?” Lady Thione demanded.

“Lost.”

Zzundar paled beneath his tan. “The vessels you named carried goods for Midsummer Faire! You’re telling me that nothing could be salvaged?”

“We did what we could,” Hodatar said coldly. The gills on his neck flared, betraying his anger.

“I’m sure you did,” Lucia hastened to assure him. In truth, she was disturbed by the merman’s demeanor. Garnet had described him as cooperative, if not exactly respectful, but Lucia disliked the bold and calculating expression in his narrow, sea-green eyes. She paused as if suddenly distracted. “Whatever is that noise from the street, Zzundar? Ah, I was a fool to come to this ward, alone and at such an hour!” she lamented, raising her enormous dark eyes to his.

The guildmaster’s brow creased as he strained to catch the sounds that had distressed the lady. Finally, he made out the faint noise of voices and horsemen. “You needn’t worry. I’ll check it out and be back directly,” he said, patting her arm as if to reassure her. Her protector hastened up the narrow spiral of wooden steps that led toward the street. After a few minutes, the clunk of the heavy wooden trapdoor echoed through the basement chamber.

“Finally,” Lucia said in acid tones. When she turned back to the merman, all the softness had disappeared from her face. “What news of the goods?”

“They’ll be safely stored on Whalebones,” Hodatar said. “Minus the pirates’ share, of course.”

“I told you to take them to Orlumbor!” she protested. “I have agents on that island who can fence the goods. Whalebones is nothing but seal colonies and rock!”

The merman shrugged, unimpressed by her outburst “What I can’t sell to the Ruathym, I’ll send south in small shipments to Alaron. I have contacts with Moonshae merchants there. Your share should be at least a third of the goods’ Waterdeep market value.”

“It should be considerably more than that,” Lucia snapped. “Without the information I gave you, your pirates wouldn’t have known the trade routes and could not have overcome those ships!”

“Information is very valuable,” the merman agreed slyly. “I wonder, for example, what Zzundar might pay to learn that these ships disappeared at your command.”

Lucia’s dark eyes narrowed. “You’re very ambitious, Hodatar,” she observed softly. She took a small silk bag from her bodice and dangled it before the merman. “It is not enough that you take payment both from me and the city of Waterdeep?”

Hodatar snatched the bag from her and eagerly jerked open the purse strings. He smiled with satisfaction and fingered the rare spell components that he’d demanded as payment. “Magic is not inexpensive, and it is rare under the sea. Once I learn to use it, I’ll rule kingdoms that surpass those of your most ambitious conquerors!”

Lucia yawned delicately, patting at her parted lips with the tips of her fingers. “Don’t be tiresome, Hodatar. Future fish kings shouldn’t stoop to blackmail,” she chided him, her derision cloaked in genteel tones. “But Garnet tells me that you’ve been a good ally, and she would like to see you succeed in your study of magic. As a wizard, you’d be even more useful to our cause. I’ve a talisman that will increase the power of your spells.” She slipped a hand into a pocket of her gown, then she paused and bit her lower lip, acting if she’d spoken before thinking and was now reconsidering her action. “Of course, it might be dangerous to one who lacked knowledge,” she added hastily.

“A risk I will gladly take!” the merman said. He sank low into the water, and then with a quick thrust of his tail sprang out at the noblewoman.

Lucia Thione was ready for him. She yanked a curved dagger from her pocket and sank it deep into his underbelly, ripping downward through scales and flesh as if she were gutting a trout Hodatar fell heavily onto the wooden floor, his mouth gaping in shock and pain as he clutched at his spilling entrails.

The noblewoman watched the merman’s death throes with an impassive face. When the treacherous Hodatar lay still, she stooped by the water and splashed some of the briny liquid over her dress. Standing, she raked her fingers through her hair repeatedly, reducing the elegant ringlets to a tousled mass of chestnut curls. Finally she took her money purse and scattered a handful of coins on the floor to make it appear that the merman had tried to rob her and had died in the struggle.

When Zzundar returned, the noblewoman threw herself into his arms, babbling helplessly that she hadn’t meant to kill Hodatar. She sobbed against the guildmaster’s broad chest, allowing him to smooth her hair and murmur inane platitudes about the gods, the fates, and the right of any woman to protect herself from thieves and scoundrels. After a suitable interval she looked up at Zzundar, giving him a small grateful smile and declaring through her tears that she couldn’t bear to be alone that night.

As Lucia had anticipated, the guildmaster was too entranced by this turn of events to question her story. Nor did he think to ask how she knew that a strong undercurrent caused by the morning tides would carry the body far into the harbor.

Hodatar himself had told this to Garnet, and Lucia had tested the theory with the body of Larissa Neathal’s maid. Zzundar was not the only guildmember enchanted by Lucia’s elegant beauty, and it had been a small matter to arrange access to the merdock for two agents of the Knights of the Shield. Of course, she had paid that man in a coin far less personal than that she was using to purchase Zzundar.

She cast a sidelong glance at the guildmaster and repressed a sigh. She was not adverse to using her charm and beauty to serve her own ends, but she bitterly resented doing so to further Garnet’s vendetta against Khelben Arunsun. As she accompanied Zzundar out of the guildhall, Lucia wondered what more the half-elven sorceress might demand of her.