Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [47]
The dwarf began to play, hesitantly at first but with growing delight as she picked out one tune after another. The instrument was uniquely suited to her, combining the dwarven love of percussion instruments with Morgalla's craving for melody. The tiny beaters fit in her hands as if made to order.
Danilo listened to Morgalla's music with pleasure and more than a little guilt. The dwarf had come to him wanting to learn more of bardcraft, and he'd done little to fulfill her expectations or to earn her loyalty. Granted, he'd invited her to sing a couple of times, but he was quick to accept her refusal and too preoccupied to wonder what might be behind her hesitation. Wyn Ashgrove had proven to be more perceptive and thoughtful, and Danilo was grateful to the gold elf.
Dan leaned closer to Wyn and murmured, "That was kindly done. You seem to have made a conquest."
The elf let the teasing remark pass. "Morgalla's love of music was plain to see; her talent you can judge for yourself. She needed but the means and a tittle encouragement. As for the others"-Wyn nodded toward the mercenaries-"this music will help keep their minds from the dangers ahead."
Morgalla finally stopped, heaving a sigh of deep satisfaction. So absorbed in the music had she been that she'd forgotten about the others, and at the applause she looked up, flushed and flustered.
"Take a bow," Danilo advised her, smiling. "Surely one with your gifts knows how to acknowledge an appreciative audience."
"It's been awhile," the dwarf said wryly. "You play, bard."
Sensing it best not to push her, Danilo got out his lute and regaled the adventurers with a ribald tale about a priestess of Sune-the goddess of love and beauty-who aspired to become the most infamous and popular hostess in Faerun. The priestess was well satisfied with her success until a visiting ranger, unimpressed by her wild party, advised her to seek out the satyrs and take a few lessons on debauchery. She did so on a Midsummer night, and the rest of the song told about the competition of priestess and satyrs to outdo each other in merriment. It was, without doubt the most obscene song in Dan's considerable repertoire of off-color tales.
After the laughter and bawdy comments had died away, Danilo played a very different ballad. This was a historical tale about a long-ago battle between the Harpers and a drow elf queen who enslaved humans to work her mines. He sang the old song as it had been passed down in to him in strict bardic tradition, and doing so was an act of defiance against the power that had enspelled the bards and altered their record of the past Wyn nodded slowly, understanding the Harper's gesture and approving.
When the tale was told, Danilo put aside the lute and motioned for Vartain, who sat just beyond the circle of firelight gnawing at a bit of dried meat "Your turn, riddlemaster. Give us a story."
Vartain wiped his fingers on his tunic and came into the circle. His bald pate reflected the firelight like some small, bronze moon, and the play of light and shadows across his face exaggerated the gaunt angles and prominent features. Morgalla nudged Danilo and handed him a scrap of paper. Sometime during the trip, she'd sketched Vartain as a potbellied vulture. Danilo swallowed a chuckle.
'There is an ancient tale from my homeland," Vartain began in a rich, carefully modulated bass voice, "about a wealthy man who was blessed with two sons. As do we all, the man grew old, and he knew his time was short. He called his sons to him, saying he could not decide which of them would be his heir. This they would determine by a race. The sons were to set forth the next morning for Kad-disht, a town some twenty miles away. The son whose camel was the last to arrive would be accounted his father's heir.
"When the sun arose, it found the two men ready for the race, dressed for travel and mounted upon their best camels. Their father gave them his blessing and wished them well and the race was on. Each son employed every method he could think of