Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [44]
The archmage searched his memory for the names of the Harpers who had survived those times, and those who might still live. Perhaps one survivor of that long-ago war had turned away from the Harpers' path, becoming so twisted that he or she outlived death as a lich. That would explain much, for an extremely powerful undead wizard might be able to command a spell that could change the minds and memories of the bards.
The ballad raised another concern as well. Khelben had done all he reasonably could to suppress the ballad about Laeral's misadventure with an evil artifact, but the song was everywhere, spreading speculation and distrust. There were many other things in Khelben's life that were best left untold, yet someone seemed determined to air them. Although Khelben's parentage was a matter of record and his genealogy open to all who cared to inquire, his history had in fact been borrowed from another. Few knew his true age, or the secrets of his past, or the extent of his power. In truth, Khelben controlled the affairs of Waterdeep much less than he was capable of doing, but few would believe this if all his secrets came to light.
The final stanza of the Masked Minstrel's ballad took Khelben's troubled thoughts and put them to music:
"Like a milkweed pod whose seeds wander far On the breath of the wind, or the arms of the sea, Magic can't be recalled once the gate is ajar, And the pod can't be mended once all the seeds flee. So beware of all those who could open such doors And bring Hellgate Keep to our deepwater shores."
The tavern fell into deep, ominous silence. History and legend were full of tales that admonished vigilance against magic grown too proud and powerful, and the final line of the ballad contained a common watchword for disaster. All knew the story of Hellgate Keep, and the ambitious wizards who opened a door into the Abyss. Fiends, imps, and other fell denizens flooded into the light, destroying a kingdom and remaining even to this day, attacking travelers and waging occasional war on Silverymoon. The danger of powerful magic gone awry was real, the possibility soberingly close to home.
"It's true, I tell you," Myrna insisted. This time, no one contradicted her.
Durnan laid a hand on Khelben's shoulder. "If I were you, old friend, I'd be sure to leave by the back door."
* * * * *
Wyn Ashgrove continued singing the adventurers to safety until the causeway was far behind them and the first stars winked into light. Danilo was the first to break the awed silence.
"That was remarkable, whatever it was. Whatever was it?"
"Spellsong," Elaith whispered at his elbow. For once, the moon elf's silky composure seemed shaken, and he gazed at the minstrel with naked awe. "A rare elven magic that can charm any creature that draws breath. I see now why you dare to hunt dragons with an army of three! Few among the elves have such a gift, and never have I seen a feat to rival this one."
Danilo rode closer to Wyn and asked, "Can the art of spellsong magic be taught?"
"As in any other sort of magic, a certain aptitude is required," the elf replied. "Likewise, just as in all magic, spellsong is learned through practice and study."
Danilo nodded, taking this in. "So you're saying that humans could learn it too?"
"No, he isn't!" Elaith snapped, his head held at a haughty angle. He drew a deep breath as if to say more, but his offended expression froze, then disappeared behind an expressionless mask. The moon elf wheeled his horse aside and rode hard toward the banks