Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [6]
"And you usually do," grumbled Mirt but he softened his words with a good-natured wink.
"Problems in the South Ward, too," said Brian quietly, folding his callused hands on the table. Brian the Sword-master was the only one of their number who lived and labored among Waterdeep's working folk, and his practical voice and keen eye made him the most down-to-earth of the secret Lords of Waterdeep. "Caravans are losing goods to brigands. Outside the city walls, travelers and whole farm families have been found torn to bits with never a sword drawn in their own defense. Looks like monsters at work, and monsters with magic. Game has fled the woods to the south, and there's too many empty stew pots. The fisherfolk have troubles, too: nets slashed, catches looted, trap lines cut What say you about that, Blackstaff? Are the merfolk falling off the job, and letting those murdering sahuagin too close to the harbor?"
Alleyes turned to Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun, the most powerful-and the least secret-of the Lords of Waterdeep. His age was impossible to guess, but his black hair and fulldark beard were shot through with silver, and his hairline was definitely in retreat. There was a distinctive streak of gray in the middle of his beard that emphasized his learned, distinguished air. Tall and heavily muscled, he was an imposing man, even seated. Tonight the archmage seemed oddly preoccupied. His goblet sat untouched before him, and he gave scant attention to the concerns of his fellow Lords. "Sahuagin? Not to my knowledge, Brian. No sahuagin have been reported," Khelben replied in a distracted voice.
"What's stuck in your craw tonight wizard?" demanded Mirt. "We've troubles enough already, but you might as well put yours on the table along with the rest"
"I have a most disturbing story," Khelben began slowly. "A young elven minstrel stumbled upon a mystery at the Silverymoon Spring Faire, and he has been traveling these three months trying to find someone who would listen to his tale. It seems that the ancient ballads performed at the Spring Faire, especially those written by or about Harpers, have all been changed."
Larissa let out a peal of silvery laughter. "Now, there's news indeed! Every street and tavern singer changes a story, adapting the tune and words to suit his own whim and the tastes of the listeners."
"That is so," the archmage agreed. "At least that is the custom of street and tavern performers. True bards are another matter entirely. Part of a bard's training is memorizing the traditions and lore, which are passed down, precise and immutable, for generations. That's why so many Harpers are bards: to preserve a knowledge of our past."
"I don't often disagree with you, Blackstaff." Durnan, a retired adventurer and the owner of the tavern in which they met, spoke for the first time. "Seems like we've got enough to concern ourselves with in the here and today. Let the past take care of itself." The other Lords of Water-deep murmured agreement.
"Would that it were so simple." Khelben said. "It appears that the bards themselves have fallen under some sort of powerful enchantment. Magic that far-reaching can only mean trouble to come. We need to know who cast the spell, why, and to what end."
"That's your end of the ox, wizard," Mirt pointed out The rest of us know little enough about magic."
"Magic can't provide the answer," Khelben admitted. "I've examined several afflicted bards. They are telling the truth as they know it, and magical inquiry yields