“Let us tend to more important matters,” the elf said, returning the ring to its owner. “If it would make you feel more comfortable, by all means bring someone else along with us.”
The Harper nodded reluctant agreement as he slid the ring back onto his finger. “It’s either Wyn or Morgalla. The others are in your employ, and I trust none of them.” He raised his voice to hail the dwarf. “Morgalla, how would you like to teleport to Sundabar with me?”
“How’d you like to kiss an orc?” the dwarf responded sweetly. Dwarves were notoriously leery of magical travel, and Morgalla was no exception.
“Wyn it is,” Danilo said in a matter-of-fact tone. “One problem: I can use the ring but once in any given day or night We will not be able to return until after sunset, and I can only teleport to a place I have been before. We’re about a day’s travel from Taskerleigh: we could meet up with the others there tomorrow morning.”
Elaith agreed. He called a halt and quickly explained the plan to the others, putting Balindar in charge and giving them strict orders to make camp at the nearby creek, away from both the ruins of Taskerleigh and the harpy-infested hills.
When all was in readiness, Danilo twisted the ring. The white whirl of the teleportation spell began to encompass him, and he grasped each of the elves by the wrist to bring them along. There was a long moment of nothing but swirling wind and white light, and then they were in Sundabar.
They were also ankle-deep in slush. Danilo stared agape at the devastation around them. The air was warm, but melting ice flooded the streets, and water flowed in rivulets down the gutters. He stooped and fished a chunk of ice from the slush, partly melted but still nearly the size of a hen’s egg. It must have been quite a hailstorm, he noted, watching the industrious cityfolk as they set about righting the damage. A small army of workers replaced shattered glass windows, physicians and healers scurried about with herbs and amulets, and city workers dragged off dead and battered animals. Only the children seemed pleased by the novelty, and they darted about, shrieking and tossing balls of hard-packed slush.
For a moment, Danilo wondered if his transportation spell had misfired and taken them to a city farther to the north: perhaps Sossal or some other cold land.
Elaith apparently harbored similar misgivings. “Where the Nine Hells are we?” he demanded.
The Harper turned to the building behind them and squinted up at the heavy wooden sign. The Lusty Wench. Yes, that was the name of the inn he’d patronized on several occasions, and it was the site he had chosen as the destination for his teleportation spell.
“This is definitely Sundabar,” he said.
“In that case,” Elaith said smoothly, “I think it’s safe to assume that we’re a bit too late.”
When Garnet awoke that morning, the sun was already well into the sky above Sundabar. Exhausted from her long flight and drained by the miscast spell, she had taken a room at an inn not far from the warehouse. Her asperii needed rest as well, for the return trip to Waterdeep would take two days of almost constant flight.
The sorceress dragged herself to the window of her bedchamber and looked down at the street Almost a day had passed since the freak hailstorm, but the streets were still clogged with slush. Garnet heaved a profound sigh and glanced at the elven harp. It was proving more difficult to control than she had imagined.
She quickly dressed and made her way down to the taproom. As she ate a breakfast of fruit and oatcakes, she noted absently that the other patrons could speak of nothing but the storm. It was widely regarded as a portent of disaster, coming so close to Midsummer. Garnet observed this with satisfaction. At least her spell had succeeded at that much!
Three of the inn’s patrons seemed unusually curious about the storm. Two of them were elves, the third a tall young man with long blond hair and an engaging smile. This he turned upon a servant girl, flirting extravagantly while he gently extracted information about the freak storm.
“Try to remember why we’re here, Lord Thann!” grumbled the silver-haired elf when the girl left to fetch their order. His voice was soft, but Garnet’s sharp elven hearing picked up the words. “While you waste your charm on a serving wench, our sorcerer is long gone.”
Thann! Could it be? Garnet studied the young man with growing trepidation, noting the lute on his shoulder and the travel-worn state of his clothes. If this was Khelben Arunsun’s nephew, what was he doing in Sundabar? Even such a fool as Danilo Thann was reputed to be should have found his way to Grimnoshtadrano by now. The possibility that he could have survived the dragon encounter was too ludicrous to consider. After all, Garnet had studied and altered Danilo’s songs, and she knew what the young “bard” was capable of doing. He was hardly the musician and mage needed to outwit wily Grimnosh.
“Tavern servants hear a great deal,” the young man told his elven companion. “Many people speak freely in front of them, as if they were invisible or deaf, or at the very least of no consequence. You would be surprised, my dear Elaith, at how much information they usually possess.”
“Spoken like a true Harper,” Elaith replied, and the moon elf’s tone made clear that this was not a compliment
“What do you propose we do now, Danilo?” asked the gold elf.
Garnet caught her breath. It was indeed Danilo Thann, and he was counted among Those Who Harped! Somehow the young man she had thought to use as a tool had become an adversary. She leaned forward and listened intently.
The young Harper paused to consider. “We cannot return to Ganstar’s Creek until after sunset, and the others will not reach that site until well after dark, anyway. I propose that we spend the day and most of the night in Sundabar and return just before daybreak. That will give Vartain time to work on old Grimnosh’s scroll, and us time to glean some information from the townspeople. Our sorcerer struck recently, and perhaps we can get some idea of his identity. Perhaps he is still in the city.”
Not for long, Garnet added silently. She rose from the chair and tossed some coins onto the table. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she moved through the taproom.
Vartain, the young Harper had said. That could only be Vartain of Calimport, a riddlemaster of well-deserved fame. And he had in his possession her riddle scroll! Her situation could only be worse if one of Danilo Thann’s elven companions was a spellsinger.
The sorceress hurried up to her room. She snatched up the Morninglark harp and took the back stairs out of the inn, then she ran across the courtyard to the stables. Her asperii looked up with a question in its sleepy eyes as Garnet cinched on the saddle with shaking hands.
“We’re leaving at once. We fly to Ganstar’s Creek with all haste, throughout the whole night if we must. It is imperative that we make it there before tomorrow’s dawn!”
The early show at the Three Pearls theater opened to a large crowd. Outside the large stone and mud-brick building, a queue of people stretched down Pearl Alley. Several troupe members strolled along the narrow street, entertaining those who waited. Vendors hawked oranges and sweets, and there was a hum of curious anticipation.
“Lucia, I really haven’t time for this,” Caladorn told his lady, an uncustomary touch of impatience in his voice as they edged closer to the entrance. “The Midsummer Festival is almost upon us, and the practice sessions have been plagued by mishaps and injuries. I should be at the arena”
“I would not keep you from your work, but for something important,” Lady Thione said in soft tones. “You know that guilds or other groups sometimes hire the theater for private performances. A private party is paying for this show, yet the performance is open to all who care to come.”