Jannaxil pondered the matter for a long moment, then he smiled. A certain thief of his acquaintance had recently married into a clan of wealthy North End merchants. This family was newly come to wealth and were very conscious of their social position. Jannaxil knew the clan matriarch; she prized respectability above all and would not be accepting of her son-in-law’s colorful past Jannaxil was certain the erstwhile thief would do him this little favor, in exchange for continued discretion.
As Jannaxil had noted before, the secret to a fence’s success was knowing the right price of everything.
Music and Mayhem rode hard throughout the rest of the day, for they wanted to put as many miles as possible between themselves and the High Forest The afternoon fled, and by sunset they had left the marshlands behind.
The moon was high before they found a campsite that Elaith considered reasonably safe and defensible. While the elf and Balindar directed the care of horses and the making of camp, Danilo settled down by the campfire and removed the hard-won scroll of parchment from his magic bag. When Wyn Ashgrove saw what was in the Harper’s hands, he hurried over, with Morgalla close on his heels.
“Open it!” the elf urged, impatience and excitement in his dark green eyes. “Perhaps it will reveal who enspelled the bards!”
Danilo shook his head and pointed to the blob of dark red wax sealing the scroll. “Many spell scrolls are protected. Breaking this seal could set off something lethaclass="underline" a fireball, a mind-blank spell, an irate redhead.…” Danilo illustrated the last possibility by tugging at one of the dwarf’s long auburn braids, teasing the fierce warrior as if she were a favorite younger sister. Morgalla rolled her eyes skyward and tried not to look pleased.
“So now what, bard?” she asked.
“There are tiny runes pressed into the wax,” Danilo said, holding the scroll close and squinting at it “The writing itself isn’t arcane, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a spell of some sort I don’t recognize the language.”
“Let me see.” Vartain strode over, extending one hand in a peremptory fashion. “Riddlemasters are of necessity students of linguistics and lore.”
Danilo gave him the scroll. “Read it if you can, but don’t disturb the seal,” he said firmly. “I like to limit myself to one explosion a day.”
The riddlemaster glanced at the runes. “This is a contrived dialect of middle Sespechian, a court language developed some three centuries past but long since fallen into disuse,” he announced in dry, didactic tones. “Upon the death of the ruling Baron of Sespech, the baroness took a young consort from Turmish. The man was reputed to be handsome beyond compare, but lacking facility in language. This bastardized dialect of Sespechian, which every member of court was required to learn, was the queen’s attempt to draw her new consort into the social and diplomatic concerns of court life.”
“The nice thing about dwarves and elves,” Morgalla interrupted plaintively, “is that generally we come to the point after an hour or two.”
“The words on this seal appear to be a riddle, and its title suggests that it is the key to the scroll,” Vartain continued in a stiff tone. “Translated into the Common tongue, making the necessary allowances for rhyme and meter, it would read something like this:
Wyn and Danilo exchanged puzzled glances. “Unriddling can be yet another form of magic,” Vartain informed them. “Solve the riddle, and you will very likely unseal the scroll.”
“By all means,” the Harper urged him.
“The answer,” Vartain said without hesitation, “is the letter E.”
Even as the riddlemaster spoke, the wax dissolved into red mist and disappeared. Vartain unrolled the scroll. After a moment’s study, he laid it out before the Harper.
The scroll contained only a few lines, written in the Common trade language. Danilo scanned the words. “This seems to be a single stanza of an unrhymed tale or ballad,” the Harper noted. “The meter has a definite pattern. I have absolutely no idea what the words mean.”
“The meaning has been carefully obscured,” Vartain said. “These lines contain several small riddles, woven warp and weft like a cloth. If I am not mistaken, this verse is but a part of the entire puzzle.” He read aloud several of the lines:
The riddlemaster stopped and looked up from the scroll. “The phrase ‘first of seven’ suggests that this stanza is but a part of a larger puzzle. ‘Silent strings’ is, I believe, another way of referring to a Harper pin, is it not?”
“Yes,” Danilo agreed quietly. “That is not widely known.”
“Indeed. I would therefore surmise that the author of this is either a scholar, such as myself, or more likely a Harper. Or perhaps both, although that combination is exceedingly rare.”
“No offense intended, of course,” Morgalla said pleasantly.
The riddlemaster pointed to the third line of text and continued with his explanation, showing a remarkable immunity to sarcasm. “Magic is oft referred to as a weave or a web. Perhaps the author is also a mage of some sort.”
Danilo reclaimed the scroll and rolled it up. “I agree. I’m taking this to Khelben Arunsun at once, so that he can trace the spellcaster. Wyn, Morgalla, let’s be off.”
“The horses need rest,” the dwarf pointed out, “and it’s a mite far to walk.”
The Harper touched a plain silver ring on his left hand. “This can magically transport up to three people and their mounts—quickly and painlessly, I assure you—to the courtyard of Blackstaff Tower.”
Morgalla blanched. “Did I say it was too far to walk?”
“Take ease, dwarf. You’re not leaving yet” Elaith’s cold voice cut short Morgalla’s protest.
Danilo turned, recoiling at the sight of the armed and ready mercenaries who had formed a close ring around them. Firelight glinted from their bared weapons. The Harper stood and confronted the grim-faced moon elf. “What is this about?”
“You and I had an agreement,” Elaith said. “Until the end of the search, we are partners and will work together.”
“But my search is complete; we have the scroll we sought”
“Maybe so. But our original agreement was that I would get a share of the dragon’s hoard. According to Vartain, the author of that scroll possesses the treasure I seek.”
“How do you come to that conclusion?” Wyn demanded.
“I think I can tell you that,” Dan said slowly. “When we challenged Grimnosh, Vartain requested that the dragon turn over an elven artifact he’d taken from Taskerleigh. Grimnosh said that he’d already traded the item ‘for a song,’ and commented that we were the first to respond to it. Vartain has evidently concluded that the song the dragon mentioned was the Ballad of Grimnoshtadrano, the one that brought us to the High Forest Since this ballad first appeared after the Silverymoon Spring Faire, I assume it was the handiwork of the spellcaster we seek.”
“That is the logic behind my assumption,” Vartain agreed.
“Obviously,” Danilo continued, nodding toward Elaith, “our well-armed partner here does not wish us to take the scroll to Waterdeep. If Khelben tracks down the spellcaster, Elaith would not be likely to retrieve this mysterious treasure. He no doubt wishes to find the spellcaster himself.” Danilo turned to the watchful moon elf. “My question is this: why do you need us? You needed a Harper to get the scroll from the dragon, but why now?”