The weapon sank deep, just below Kornith’s rib cage. The thief slumped against the wall of the warehouse, grasping the hilt with both hands. Bubbles of blood formed at the corner of his mouth, and he slid slowly to the filthy walkway. His lips twisted into an expression of self-contempt, and he sought the elf’s face with eyes that were rapidly glazing over. “I shoulda run. Forgot what … you was,” he gasped out.
Elaith stepped closer, and with a vicious kick he drove the knife still deeper. Kornith’s last breath was swallowed in a blood-drenched gurgle.
The elf stood over the fallen man, eyeing his handiwork in silence. “For a moment,” he said softly, “so did I.”
At Morgalla’s request, Balindar, Mange, and Cory dragged a log into the circle of light cast by a roaring campfire. Bribing the burly mercenary captain had put a considerable dent in Danilo’s supply of gems, and the Harper had learned it was more economical to channel his requests through Morgalla. Balindar had grown so fond of the dwarf—and he was so guilt-ridden over Elaith’s order to hold her hostage to ensure Danilo’s cooperation—that Dan had little doubt that the mercenary would dive into the pond and catch fish with his teeth if Morgalla expressed a desire for seafood. For her part, Morgalla lingered with the three surviving sell-swords, repaying the favor with a tale of battle waged against a horde of orc invaders. Left alone, Danilo and Wyn studied the copy of the ballad by the dancing firelight
“The final stanza gives more hints about the song’s performance,” the elf noted. “Here, for example. ‘First the harp, then the singer circles twice.’ Does that make sense to you?”
“I think so,” Danilo said thoughtfully. “That would indicate that the ballad must be sung as a round, with the harp beginning the melody. The entire song must be sung twice.”
“What’s a round?” Morgalla put in, coming to sit beside Wyn.
“It’s a type of simple harmony,” Wyn told her. “One person begins a song, the second begins at a certain point, and so on. Dwarven music is not much given to such devices, as I understand.”
“So how d’you know where to join in?”
“I can answer that one,” Danilo broke in. “The melody determines that, but usually the round begins after the first line of verse. For example.” Danilo cleared his throat and began to sing:
The Harper paused. “Then the second time through, you would join in after I sing the first line. Now then, altogether!”
The dwarf eyed him with a dour expression. “Yer gittin’ a mite punchy, bard.”
Wyn nodded in agreement. “This discussion does raise a valid point, though. We must know the melody to which these words were set”
“I think the riddle gives that, as well,” Danilo said, getting back to the scroll with reluctance. “Look at the final line of the ballad. It says the song must be sung to the armed man of Canaith.”
“Who’s that?” Morgalla demanded.
“That is not a who. That’s a what. If I’m not mistaken, this refers to an old song, L’homme arme—the armed man—which is attributed to Finder Wyvernspur. He was sentenced by his fellow Harpers to centuries of isolation on another plane of existence, and his music was wiped from the land by powerful spells. Our bardic foe used this particular melody as another safeguard.”
“That fits everything we suspect to be true,” Wyn said. “Iriador Wintermist traveled with Finder Wyvernspur and would be familiar with his fate. In fact, his sentence probably gave our foe the inspiration for her own spell against the bards! But how is it, Danilo, that you know this song?”
“In my travels, I ran into Olive Ruskettle, a halfling bard and fellow Harper. Don’t call her that to her face, though, as she has mixed feelings toward the Harpers. When Finder returned to Faerûn, they became friends. Now that the sentence against him has been lifted, she is making a point of singing his music everywhere she goes.”
“And the reference to Canaith?”
“The barding college, of course. The tune was quite popular and was often borrowed as the foundation for other music. I’m assuming that the spell is set to whatever version was popular at Canaith.”
“And you’re sure the halfling sang that particular version?” Wyn asked.
“Wouldn’t that be nice! I’ll be sure after I attempt to cast the spell,” Danilo said with a grim smile. He studied the words of the ballad, humming as he read. He nodded slowly. “The meter fits the melody, that much we know. Apparently I’m to play the first line of the song on the harp, then start to sing in harmony with the harp’s continuing melody.”
“Hmmph. Sounds like yer trying to dig one tunnel east and another west, hopin’ to meet in the middle.”
“Indeed it does, lady dwarf. If I might borrow your lyre of changing, Wyn, I suppose I ought to start practicing,” Danilo said with no discernible enthusiasm as he rose to leave the campfire.
“Hold on, bard. I’ll walk with you a bit,” Morgalla said, hopping down from her perch beside Wyn.
Danilo turned, ready to decline her offer. Something in the set of her face held him back, and he motioned for her to join him. They left the campfire and walked in silence for several minutes. A small path cut through a wooded area on its way toward the travel route, and here Morgalla paused.
“Got a story to tell you,” the dwarf began, keeping her eyes averted. “I come from the Earthfast Mountains, far to the east o’ here. Since my great-grandsire’s time, orc wars have whittled my clan down to so much kindling. My mother was Thendara Spearsinger, a captain in the hearth guard and as fierce a fighter as ever you’d see. Soon as I was old enough to stand up on my own, she put a staff in my hand and teached me to use it. My clan is Chistlesmith, an’ I learnt the clan trade of carving wood into useful stuff. That was my life: I fought an’ I carved, like folks expected, but in me was a wantin’ for more. Had me a taste for adventure, and for the learning of new tales and songs. Dwarves like these things well, but with troubles like ours, there wasn’t much daylight to spare to ’em.
“Times was grim, but of a night folks gathered in the great clan hall for song and stories. I was knowed throughout Earthfast for my singing and stories—and my dancing.” The dwarf cast a sidelong glance at Danilo as if daring him to smirk. The Harper nodded gravely, and she took a deep breath to continue.
“You may know that Princess Alusair—King Azoun’s girl—tarried in the Earthfast, fighting orcs and just generally hiding out She could spin a good tale, and after the war with the horselords, I took me to Cormyr to see with my own eyes the wonders of her father’s kingdom. My craft apprenticeship was almost up, you see, and my fifty-year celebration right around the bend. When that passes, I gotta choose me a mate and set up my own hearth. My time for music and adventure was running short. So I thought to go to the cities of Cormyr, and there make me a name big enough to earn me a place alongside a bard who could learn me what I couldn’t get in Earthfast.
“Full of myself, I was,” Morgalla said with a grim smile, “and sure that all o’ Cormyr would soon know my name. Didn’t work out that way. Tall people can’t picture a dwarf doing aught but swingin’ a hammer or a weapon. Decided I was funny, they did, without takin’ time to listen and watch.”