Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [43]
The Swordmaster produced a small curved knife from his leather pouch and slapped it down on the table in front of her. "Ever seen one of these?"
Kitten picked it up and examined it frowning in puzzlement at the dozens of tiny marks carved into the blade. "Looks like someone's keeping score on this thing."
"That's precisely right" Khelben said, taking the knife from her hands, his face set in tight grim lines. "Southern assassins often use such knives. The more marks, the more illustrious the career. How did you get this, Brian?"
The man shrugged. "Got me a new apprentice. The boy needed work. He can't swing a hammer worth a tin coin just yet, but he can pick pockets quicker'n a halfling. The man he lifted this off ordered six of those scimitars."
"Which are favored weapons in the southern lands," Khelben added wearily. "So we may have an influx of southern assassins. Someone should tell Piergeiron at once; he's the usual target"
Kitten chugged the rest of her ale, then rose to her feet with a rustle of brocade and lace. "I'll go; I dressed for the palace, since I planned to look in on Larissa." She disappeared through one of the room's four doors.
"That's it for tonight then," the archmage said, rising from his chair.
"Before you go, Khelben, there's something you ought to hear," Durnan said. The innkeeper opened the door that led into the tavern's storeroom Khelben and Brian exchanged puzzled glances, but followed him. They made their way past barrels and neatly stacked crates to the taproom Durnan cracked open the door and beckoned the men closer.
"I say it be truth!" argued one drunken voice from beyond the door.
"Nay,how could it? That'd make the wizard more long-lived than a dragon," countered a second man.
"It's true, all right," stated a petulant female voice, "and Danilo ought to know. He's kin to Khelben, and he loves family history. He tells the most amusingly ribald story, don't you know, about his great aunt Clarinda Thann-"
"Shut up, Myrna." Galinda Raventree's distinctive husky voice was unusually sharp as she silenced her rival. "Khelben isalways chastising Dan for those cute, harmless little spells, and this song is just Dan's way of tweaking the old man's beard."
"Well said, miss," agreed a rumbling voice with a touch of Cormyrian burr. The young bard tells a good story, I'll grant you, butthe songis nothing more or less than that."
"Let'shave it again!"demanded another.
The sounds of a lute stilledthe debate, and after a few rippling notes a woman began tosing in a deep, raw voice that was uniquely seductiveand feminine. Khelben recognized thedark voice asthat of the Masked Minstrel, a mysterious woman who wandered the Castle Ward, often giving open-air concerts in Jester's Court of a nice summer's eve. Her name and origin were matters of heated speculation in the city: she was variously thought to be a mad noblewoman, aZhentish spy, or a Harper agent. Whatever else she might be, her song left no doubt in Khelben's mind that she had succumbed to the curse upon the bards.
"In the Year of the Tomb a magical flight Took the sage to a land where the shadows held sway.
And the Malaugrym, armed with their shapeshifling might
Followed him back to the light of the day. The Harpers gathered to force the beasts back, Using magic, and steel, and a staff strong and black."
Durnan probed Khelben's ribs with an elbow. "They say your nephew wrote that song, but I can't believe it of the lad. It has a lot to say about you, and Elminster as well and it puts you both back some two hundred years. Who would do such a thing?"
"I wish I knew," Khelben muttered, gesturing for silence so that he might hear the words. The verses that followed were not reassuring. The song was indeed based on one of Danilo's,