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.