Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [110]
"I will do what I can," Piergeiron said once Khelben had related the story, "but it's hard to believe that Lucia Thione is connected with Knights of the Shield. We will need more proof of guilt before taking steps against someone so powerful and popular. A quick sentence by the Lords of Water-deep could bring about a good deal of resentment and unrest. Our decision to censor the bards was notoriously unpopular, and it backfired most decisively."
"At least have Lady Thione followed," the archmage insisted.
Piergeiron grimaced and pointed to the arched window of the audience chamber. "That will be difficult at present I doubt that she, or anyone else for that matter, will be going anywhere until that storm passes."
Khelben glanced toward the window. Blue lightning flared against roiling purple clouds. "Wizard weather," he muttered. A roll of thunder punctuated his words.
"In that case, can you undo it?" the First Lord asked anxiously.
"Not without a certain elven harp."
"Really! I didn't know you played."
The archmage responded with a grim smile. "I don't, but I'm beginning to think that perhaps I should have learned."
*****
By midafternoon the sky was as dark as night. Rain pelted the outdoor market, sending merchants and shoppers, street performers and pickpockets scurrying for cover. Taverns, festhalls, and shops filled to capacity and beyond as the townspeople and visitors sought shelter from the violent thunderstorm. On and on the rain went, past the time of sunset and the official beginning of Midsummer. In every tavern and festhall in the city, bards and performers recited to their captive audiences tales of past evil that had been foretold by Midsummer storms.
Danilo was alone on the street as he dashed through the rain toward the Elfstone Tavern. It seemed a likely place for a half-elven bard to go. At the very least, perhaps he could get some information about the Morninglark harp. He entered the crowded taproom-for once, the tavern had opened its doors to member of all races-and handed his sodden cloak to an elven servant.
Danilo made his way through the crowds to the hearth. He was soaked to the skin, tired to the point of exhaustion, and becoming increasingly uncertain of his success. All efforts to find Vartain had met with failure. Danilo and his friends had searched every likely place and made inquiries throughout the city. It was as if the riddlemaster had been snatched into another plane of existence. Finally, Danilo had left the exhausted Wyn at his townhouse to rest. Morgalla had elected to stay behind, as well, not sure of her welcome in the elven tavern. With a profound sigh, Dan stretched his hands toward the hearth fire, hoping that the heat would restore a measure of feeling to his numb fingers.
"Well met, young bard," said a dry, ancient voice at his elbow. Danilo looked down into the thin, patrician face of the elven priest Evindal Duirsar. "I would rise to greet you, but I fear that someone would steal my place from under me," the elf said with a touch of humor as he regarded the mixed crowd. The tavern was strictly standing room only, and few of the surly, sodden patrons would respect the patriarch's age or position. At the elf's invitation, Danilo upended a log of firewood and made it into an impromptu chair at the small table.
"Your fame has multiplied since last we met," the patriarch noted.
"Not as fast as the challenges," Danilo murmured. He remembered another of his responsibilities: the rest of Elaith's mercenaries would be arriving in Waterdeep in a few days, and with them would be the mad elven hermit of Taskerleigh. Dan asked Evindal if the temple would accept the elf as a ward. The patriarch listened to the story with keen interest.
"By all means, the unfortunate soul is welcome in the temple. Now, tell me more about your recent journey."
To the wise and sympathetic elf, Danilo