Danilo sighed heavily. “You left Evermeet when you were very young, did you not? Since then you have traveled exclusively among mankind.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“The eyes of youth perceive only sunshine and shadows. A thing is right and good, or it isn’t.” The Harper smiled ruefully. “I am prone to that sort of thinking myself, so I do not judge you. As I am fast learning, sometimes one must simply do the best thing possible under the circumstances. If humans have a strength that sets us apart from elves, it is that knowledge. Of course, that is also our weakness,” he added in a wry tone. “You’d do well not to trust the moon elf, but perhaps you should understand why he is what he is.”
In a few words, Danilo told the story of Elaith’s dormant moonblade and his self-imposed exile from Evermeet. “What drives him now I do not know, but of one thing I’m sure: in his heart Elaith Craulnober is as deeply and fully elven as you are. No one who saw him dance the magic linking star and steel could doubt that. Unfortunately, being an elf and being virtuous are not necessarily one and the same. Most people tend to forget that, and this is one reason why Elaith’s career has been so successful.”
“You have made your point.” Wyn studied the Harper. “You seem to know and understand a good deal about the elven people.”
“I ought to. For two years, I traveled with a half-elf who was raised in Evereska, amid elven people and customs. She considers herself more elf than human, although in my opinion she embodies the superlatives of both races.”
“I see.” Wyn smiled faintly. “It can be difficult to love someone so different from oneself.”
“Wait a minute. Did I say that?”
“You didn’t need to. Your loss is recent and deep, and it is in your eyes whenever you sing. Perhaps that accounts in part for your wisdom.”
“If I were all that wise, I wouldn’t be standing around in a place like this, blathering on like a five-copper sage,” Danilo said, distinctly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. “Let’s get back to the others. Come with us, friend elf,” he called, and at his summons the hermit promptly crawled out from his hiding place in the bushes.
The three of them walked in silence for some time, each deep in his own thoughts. At the crest of a large hill, the camp came into sight, nestled in a clearing bounded by Ganstar’s Creek to the west, and thick woodland to the east. Apparently Elaith was impatient to be off, for the horses were saddled and the gear packed. The cookfire had been doused, but the scent of woodsmoke and roasted fish lingered in the air.
Wyn paused at the crest of the hill and laid a hand on the Harper’s shoulder. “Elaith Craulnober was correct about one thing: it is time for me to reconsider my thinking about elves and humans. You would wield the Morninglark with more honor than either Elaith or the elf who now possesses it I will do all I can to help you recover the artifact And if you still desire to learn elfsong, Danilo Thann, then it would be my honor to teach you.”
Before the startled Harper could answer, Wyn’s face turned ashen, and he pointed to the sky. “The asperii! There it is!”
Danilo squinted in the direction Wyn was pointing, but his eyes were not as keen as the elf’s. He thought that the small moving spot could just as well have been a bird. “You’re sure?”
“He’s sure,” the elven hermit said, peering up at the sky. “Flying horse, no wings. See you later!” He scampered off into the woods nearby.
Wyn’s golden face clouded with concern. “The campsite below is surrounded with trees. From this hillside we can see much farther than the others! If this is an attack, they’ll never see it coming.”
“Maybe the sorceress is just passing by on her way to Waterdeep?”
Wyn shook his head and ran one hand through his ebony curls in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “Look. The asperii is circling.”
High above Ganstar’s Creek, Garnet ordered her exhausted asperii to circle the camp. From her vantage point in the sky, the adventurers looked like so many ants as they moved busily about the clearing. The half-elf’s blue eyes narrowed as she considered the site. The camp was surrounded by verdant woodland. She smiled slowly, and silently bid the asperii to begin a spiraling descent.
The bard took the Morninglark harp into her arms and began to play, singing the words that had laid waste the Moonshaes’ vineyards and the farmlands around Waterdeep. In response to her song, the trees surrounding the encampment shuddered and died. It was as if autumn came in the span of two heartbeats, and a hundred trees cast their leaves.
Next, Garnet struck a single string on her harp and pointed a finger at the camp. A stream of air spiraled downward toward the clearing.
“Damn,” Danilo said emphatically, as he and Wyn squinted up at the circling asperii. “If you know an elfsong suitable for the occasion, I suggest you sing it!”
Wyn looked dubious, but he took up the lyre. The first blast of wind tore the magical instrument from his hands and knocked his feet out from under him. Danilo threw himself flat and gripped the elf’s ankle. He barely had time to lock his own ankles around a young birch before the maelstrom began in earnest.
Howling as if in torment, the wind tore through the trees, growing in volume and speed until it threatened to suck the slight elf into its vortex. Danilo closed his eyes against the churning dust and debris, and he held on to the airborne minstrel with all his strength.
“As Mielikki is my witness, I hope this elf has a competent cobbler,” Danilo muttered as he clung to Wyn’s boot with both hands.
Flying high above the wind, Garnet watched as the giant whirlwind engulfed the clearing. The tiny figures huddled together in the eye of the magical storm, while the tunnel of air around them sucked in leaves and broken branches. The sorceress waited until the whirling debris formed a massive wall. Then, with a quick snapping motion, she clenched her outstretched hand. The wind tunnel collapsed, burying the dangerous riddlemaster and his traveling companions in a pile of rotting foliage.
Garnet commanded the asperii to swoop down closer, and she nodded in satisfaction at the size of the pile. No one could survive in there for more than a few minutes. She urged the asperii away from the clearing, and as they flew she sang the song that twisted living creatures into music-wielding monsters. A cricket the size of a moor hound crawled out of the blighted woodlands, burrowing into the pile of debris in search of food.
Not yet satisfied, Garnet flew northwest toward the hills that hid the harpy lair. She could command musical monsters as well as create them. If someone managed to crawl out of the pile, it wouldn’t hurt to have a flock of vengeful harpies guarding the perimeter. When Danilo Thann and his elven companions arrived, they would have more than one surprise awaiting them. With that thought, the sorceress turned her path toward Waterdeep.
The windstorm ended as abruptly as it began, and Wyn and Danilo fell face-forward onto the hillside. The Harper groaned and spat dust Every joint and muscle ached from his struggle against the buffeting wind. He rose slowly and painfully to his feet, flexing stiff fingers. He gave his birch tree anchor a grateful pat, and then offered a hand to the gold elf, who looked as dusty and battered as Dan felt
“By the sea and stars!” Wyn spoke the oath softly as Dan pulled him to his feet.
Danilo followed the line of the elf’s gaze. “Moander’s mountain,” he swore in turn, for the heap of rotting, steaming vegetation that covered the clearing looked like the handiwork of the erstwhile god of corruption.
The moment of shock passed quickly. “Morgalla’s in there,” Wyn said in a hollow voice. He took off after Danilo, who was already hurtling down the hillside, half running, half sliding.
When they reached the camp they began frantically tossing aside the branches that covered the pile, then they dug into the rotting leaves. Danilo’s hand closed on something soft, and he held up Morgalla’s jester doll in triumph. He and Wyn tore at the loamy mass with their hands, and in seconds they’d uncovered a pair of small, iron-shod boots. They each grabbed an ankle and tugged. Morgalla slid out of the pile gagging and choking, but still holding fast to the oak staff of her spear. She wiped slime from her face and waved Wyn aside, motioning for him to keep digging. As soon as she could stand, she started working beside them.