Authors: Elaine Cunningham
Lord Piergeiron walked to the center of the platform, raising his hands for attention. Two mages stepped forward, casting the spells that would send the First Lord’s voice throughout the arena. The crowd fell silent, for no other individual in Waterdeep could command their attention as could Piergeiron. The First Lord was not given to oratory, but he had a simple direct way about him to which people responded.
“I declare that the tournament games are over, and that the Midsummer festivities are at an end. We will begin Shieldmeet with the traditional affirmation of the Lords of Waterdeep.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” Elaith murmured, gazing intently into the clouds.
Danilo followed the elf’s gaze. “Don’t tell me: it’s an asperii.”
“I’m afraid so. With Lady Thione out of the way, the sorceress will no doubt try to depose Khelben herself.”
“The sorceress has the power to influence crowds through song,” Danilo murmured, remembering the riddle spet “Let’s get down there.” He began to elbow his way through the crowd.
Elaith followed him, but he looked doubtful. “What do you propose to do?”
“Don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”
The asperii swooped down over the arena, drawing _gasps of wonder from the crowd and diverting all attention from Piergeiron. The noble wind steeds were rare and considered a blessing from the gods, No one thought of attacking the horse and its rider any more than they would have fired upon a unicorn that suddenly appeared in their midst. Even on the dais, the city dignitaries fell back to give the magical horse room to land.
The white horse landed lightly on the dais. Its rider dismounted and took her harp from its fastenings.
“With your leave, Lord Piergeiron,” she said in a clear voice that carried to the farthest corner of the arena, “by law and by custom, until sunset the day is to be given to contests, festivity, and song. Shieldmeet does not begin until that time, and any contracts and agreements made before that time do not bear the force of law.”
“That is true, lady bard,” Piergeiron responded, and bowed to the half-elven woman. “We await your song.”
“We’ve got to stop that song!” Danilo exclaimed, pushing aside a pair of rough looking half-orcs. One of the thugs bared his tusks in a scowl, and then quickly subsided when he caught sight of the silver-haired elf at the human’s side.
“I challenge the bard!” demanded a resonant bass voice.
The afternoon sun glinted off Vartain’s bald pate as the riddlemaster pushed his way toward the platform. He spoke to the guards and was allowed to come forward.
Challenge the mage and riddlemaster Iriador Wintermist of Sespech, who is currently known as Garnet the bard, to a challenge of riddles.”
“That orc-sired buzzard!” Elaith muttered as he and Danilo pushed forward. “What in the Nine Hells is he doing?”
“Don’t complain. He’s stopping the song,” Danilo retorted.
While the two made their way toward the stage, Vartain announced his terms: he would put forth a riddle, and if Garnet failed to guess it she would forfeit her harp. After a moment’s hesitation, the bard agreed.
Morgalla fought her way over to Danilo’s side, with Wyn in’ er wake. “What’s that fool up to?” she demanded as
they continued their struggle toward the dais.
“Saving face. We four will have to get the harp if Vartain fails, or if the bard does not honor the terms of the challenge.”
“What fourr Morgalla demanded. “That silver serpent o’ yers took off afore we got over to you.”
Danilo scanned the crowd. There was no sign of Elaith. At that moment, Vartain cleared his throat and gave the riddle challenge:
“King Khalsors kingdom is long gone. Take five steps to the site of his grave: The first means to think over,
The second is over your thoughts, The third means one of something,
The last must be stronger than anything, The whole reveals everything.
“Now tell me, why did King Khalzol’s subjects bury him in a copper coffin?”
“He’s daft to try that one again!” Morgalla exploded.
“Wait a minute,” Danilo said, noting the thoughtful absorption on the sorceress’s face. She was doing precisely what Vartain had done: she was giving the complex riddle all the consideration that a traditional conundrum required Sure enough, she gave the same intelligent and incorrect answer that Vartain had given the dragon.
Vartain smiled broadly, vastly increasing his resemblance to a buzzard. “The answer to the question, “Why was King Khalzol buried in a copper coffin?’ is far simpler that you would make it, and I regret that it has nothing to do with the site of his grave. They buried him because he was dead.”
Garnet snatched up the harp. She struck a single ringing note and flung a hand toward the sky. Instantly the
clouds began to gather, and a familiar rumbling sounded over the arena. The people nearest the exits fled at once in search of cover.
Suddenly a vast, green form burst from the roiling purple clouds. With a roar, a full-grown green dragon swooped down upon the city. Pandemonium struck the arena. People shrieked, shoving and pushing for the exits.
In the confusion that followed, Danilo caught sight of the rogue elf. Elaith was at the head of a band of rough-looking fighters. The mercenaries pushed toward the platform where the bard stood. Piergeiron’s personal guard moved forward to protect the First Lord. Within moments, a nasty gutter-fight melee surrounded the platform, obscuring the bard and her harp from view.
“Now this is a proper fight,” the dwarf announced with relish. She bared her spear and charged into the fray. Dan and Wyn exchanged a dismayed glance and then drew their swords, guarding the dwarfs back as she plowed a path toward the center of the battle. Morgalla worked her way forward, yelling colorful dwarven insults as she clobbered a brawling tough with the blunt end of her spear.
Before they could reach the platform, the sorceress mounted her steed and urged it into the sky. With a roar of rage, the dragon bore down. The asperii darted to the side like a huge white hummingbird, barely evading the dragon’s lunge. The horse rose straight up into the-air, away from the dragon, but into the midst of the gathering storm.
A streak of lightning flashed past the wind steed. The horse went into a panic-stricken dive, with the half-elf dinging to its neck Hail began to pelt the frightened wind steed, and the horse’s whinny of fear and protest shrilled through the screams of the people and the regular, thumping whoosh of the dragon’s beating wings.
The asperii reared in midair, sending the sorceress and
her harp falling toward the crowd. As she tumbled toward death, Garnet flailed helplessly in a futile attempt to regain the enchanted instrument.
With the precision of a bat snatching a flying insect from the air, Grimnosh swooped down and grabbed the sorceress in his talons. The dragon’s laughter rolled over the city like thunder as he flapped off toward the east with his prey. The harp plummeted to the ground and was lost hit the brawl beside the dais.
Garnet was gone, but her spell raged on. Hail bounced off the platform and pelted those who still remained in the arena.
“We’ve got to get the harp!” Danilo said, pressing toward the dais. Their process was easier now, for the crowd was rapidly dissipating. Clerics and healers carried off those who had been trampled in the first rush to escape, Most of Elaith’s ruffians had been subdued, and members of the guard were dragging off those who still showed an inclination to fight. Vartain remained near the platform his hands folded over his paunch in a triumphant pose and a smile on his bronze face.
Morgalla shoved her way through and leveled her spear at Vartain’s throat. “Where’s the harp, you overgrowed halfling sneak-thief?” she demanded.
It’s not Vartain this time,” Danilo said. “Elaith has the harp.”
The sun was setting as Danilo raced toward the elven temple. Wyn and Morgalla followed close on his heels. Huge gray and indigo clouds continued to rove the sky, pelting parts of the city with rain and hail. The western horizon was streaked with spires of vivid purple and crimson, and the sun peered over the Sea of Swords like a single flaming red eye.
The three friends rounded the corner to the temple courtyard just as Elaith started up the broad, white marble steps of the main building. He was alone, and the Morninglark harp was tucked under one arm. Danilo pulled his sword and hailed the moon elf. Elaith spun about and fixed a look of pure malevolence upon the Harper.
“Do not hinder me, fool! Too much is at stake.”
“My point precisely,” Danilo said in a voice that was equally cold. “The Knights of the Shield are earning a foothold in the city, the archmage has been brought low by a charm spell, music-wielding monsters feed upon farmers and travelers, and the bards have become unwitting tools of evil.”
“That is a problem for you and yours, Harper. It has nothing to do with me.”
Dan& advanced a step. “Really! Then you are content to rear the Lady Azariah in the type of world I’ve just described?”
The elfs face turned white with rage. “You must never speak that name,” he commanded. “No one in Waterdeep can know of her I have many enemies who would pay dearly for such information. Many of my associates, for that matter, would not hesitate to seize her for ransom or harm her in revenge against me.”
Elaith put down the harp and drew his own sword, advancing with menacing slowness down the steps. “I have the harp now. By the terms of our agreement, my search is over. Our partnership is at an end.”
“No, it isn’t,” Danilo responded, taking a battle stance and raising his sword in guard position. “By your word, I was to undo the spell before turning over the harp to you. Or doesn’t your word matter?”
“Azariah is all that matters.”
The Harper brought his sword up in time to meet Elaith’s first lightning-fast strike. “So she’ll be our little secret, is that what you’re saying?”
“In a manner of speaking.” The elf’s smile was grim, and he advanced with a flurry of blows that stretched Danilo’s swordsmanship to its limit and beyond. The Harper had little doubt that Elaith could kill him at will, but the elf was not content with a fast strike. The battle between them had been too long in coming.
“Why isn’t your faithful dwarven guard dog coming to your aid?” the elf taunted, tossing his silver head in the direction of the grim and watchful warrior.
“This is between you and me. Morgalla understands the concept of honor.”
Elaith laughed unpleasantly. “If that allusion was intended to draw blood, you failed sadly, Harper.” He drew a long dirk and advanced on the Harper, keeping his attacks deliberately slow so that Danilo could fend off both blades. The elf was openly; blatantly toying with his prey.
“Honor,” Danilo repeated pointedly. “Consider the nature of your quest. Can your daughter’s honor be won through dishonor?”
The elf recoiled, glaring at the Harper with naked hatred. He snapped his blades into their scabbards and pulled the magic knife from its wrist sheath. Slowly, he raised his arm for a killing throw.
Wyn wrapped a restraining arm around Morgalla’s shoulders, and for a long moment all four stood frozen in tense indecision.
Elaith flung the blade at Danilo. It hit the street at the Harper’s feet, embedding itself in the narrow crack between two large pieces of marble. The magic knife quivered there for the span of five heartbeats, then it disappeared.
“Take the accursed harp, then, and cast the spellif you can.” The elf stalked to the edge of the temple courtyard and folded his arms.
On a gusty sigh of relief, Morgalla released the breath she’d been holding, and Wyn’s lips began to move in prayer to his elven gods.
The Harper sheathed his sword and walked slowly up the stairs to the ancient harp. He sat down on the step and tentatively stroked the strings. With a quick intake of breath he snatched away his hand, unprepared for the shock of power that had coursed through the silent strings at his touch.
“Get on with it!” Elaith demanded.
The memory of Khelben’s stern face filled Danilo’s mind, and the young bard immediately took the harp in his arms. Whatever became of him through the casting of this spell, Dan resolved to do whatever he could for his uncle and his mentor.
Danilo rested the Morninglark harp against his shoulder. Quickly he tried the strings, learning their arrangement and ensuring that all were in tune. One misplayed note, one out-of-tune string, and the powerful spell could fail. If that were to happen, the patriarch Erindal Duirsar might find the temple burdened with yet another mad ward.
“You can do it,” Morgalla said softly
He gave his dwarven friend a reassuring nod, and raised his hands to the strings. The lilting dance melody filled the courtyard. He played it through to the end, then began to sing the riddle-filled spell in harmony with the harp’s melody. Once again, Danilo felt the full power of the music course through him, as it had in the High Forest
From the corner of his eye, the Harper saw a flash of silver in the alley. Six men, clad in the light-eating black garments favored by the southern assassins, burst into the temple courtyard. Each man wielded a long, curved scimitar.
“Keep singing. We got ‘em,” Morgalla assured him. She tossed aside her spear and pulled her axe. Wyn, too, drew his long sword. The two took a stand at the foot of the stairs, determined that none would get past them.
Danilo’s friends fought hard, but they were badly outnumbered, and the assassins were skilled fighters. Morgalla fought with an abandon that was at nonce grim and gleeful, but even the fierce dwarf was not equal to the assassins. Over to the side of the courtyard, Elaith stood with his arms crossed, watching the fight with apparent amusement
“You could help out, you long-eared, orc-souled cur!”
Morgalla shouted at him. “Yer still partners the spell is done!”
Her words struck home, and indecision shimmered over the elf’s face. Elaith’s chest rose and fell with a resigned sigh, and he drew his magic knife. A flick of the wrist, and the assassin battling Wyn fell to the ground clutching his chest. The moon elf then waded into the thickest part of the battle, his blades flashing in streaks of silver and streams of red.