Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [48]
"Deeply troubled, the two brothers took shelter at an inn. There they shared wine and discussed their troubles. Each man was wealthy by his own labors, and each had business affairs and families to tend. The task their father had given them had no clear end in sight. In pursuing their inheritance, the men were in very real danger of perishing in the desert that lay between the inn and the town of Kad-disht. The men told the innkeeper their dilemma. After a moment's thought the innkeeper gave them two words of advice.
"The next morning the brothers again set forth for Kad-disht but this time they rode as fast as they could. Tell me, then, what advice did the innkeeper give them?"
There was a long silence around the campfire as the companions thought this over. One after another, they shrugged their defeat.
"The two words where these: Change camels," Vartain said. The father specified that the son whose camel arrived last would become heir. Therefore, whoever won the race would now win the fortune as well."
"Good tale," Mange admitted. The scrawny mercenary took a swig from a tin flask and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Me, I've always liked riddles. Second best way to pass the time of a cold winter night."
"Riddles are far more than that," Vartain countered severely. "In ancient times, battles were fought through riddle challenges, and heirs to kingdoms selected. Magic can be cast through the giving or the solving of riddles." His cleared his throat, and continued in a pedantic tone. "There are many types of riddles, conundrums, puzzles, and mysteries. All of these challenge the mind, develop the character, and train one to observe keenly and to think with clarity and precision."
"Here's a good one," Mange continued as if Vartain had not spoken at all. "How many halflings can a troll eat on an empty stomach?" He punctuated the question with a resounding belch.
Several guesses ensued, and Mange shook his head at each. Finally he turned to Vartain with a smug grin. "You wanna take a stab, riddlemaster?"
Vartain lifted his beaky nose. "Base jests have nothing to do with a riddlemaster's art."
"One!" Mange answered gleefully. "A troll can eat one halfling on an empty stomach. After the first, his stomach ain't empty!"
"I got a good one!" put in Orcsarmor, a thin archer named for the rusty hue of his graying whiskers. "Whad-daya call a contest between two wizards?"
"That one, I know," Danilo said. "A spelling bee."
Every member of the circle groaned, and several of the men pelted the would-be riddler with travel biscuits. Orcsarmor ducked the good-natured missiles and grinned.
Vartain looked far less happy. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I shall retire," he said in a stony voice. The riddlemaster stalked over to his bedroll and lay down, his back to the revelers.
"Retire, eh? He don't take competition real well," Morgalla quipped. The mercenaries guffawed, all too happy to share a laugh at the riddlemaster's expense.
"Time for a song," Danilo said to Wyn, nodding toward Vartain's rigid back. As intelligent as the riddlemaster was, he seemed to have no idea how he was perceived by others. This, Danilo mused, was definitely not the time to enlighten him. Perhaps he would speak to Vartain about it someday, but the riddlemaster needed all his confidence and concentration focused for the challenge ahead.
So the minstrel took his lyre and sang an air about the elven homeland, an island of beauty and magic and peace. During the first part of the song, Elaith leaned against a tree at the edge of the encampment, with practiced ease twirling a small jeweled knife through and around his fingers. As Wyn sang on, the moon elf's angular face softened, taking on an almost wistful expression. At the song's end. Elaith came into the circle of firelight.
"I notice you carry a crystal flute, of the sort that is grown in the caves of Evermeet's