Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [70]
The agent paused and took a folded piece of paper from his sleeve. "This was taken from the merchant's person. I thought you might find it interesting."
Hhune unfolded the paper and burst into belly-shaking laughter. "Oh, but this is priceless! Who is the artist? I could use a hundred like this one!"
Chachim bowed. "I have anticipated your wish, Lord Hhune. There is a signmaker in the trade ward who will carve this drawing onto a block of wood for the small price of twenty gold pieces. After the block is carved, it is a simple matter to stamp as many copies as you would like."
"Good, good!" Hhune nodded to his steward, who counted out the amount and handed it to Chachim. For good measure, Hhune handed the agent one of his own specially minted coins, commonly given as tribute to an agent who'd rendered a notable service. Chachim bowed again and left the chamber with the sketch and the gold.
The guildmaster chuckled. Although his assigned task was harrying the Lords of Waterdeep through increased criminal activity, he saw only benefit in furthering Garnet's personal goal: deposing the archmage Khelben Arunsun. Circulating a sketch that poked fun at the archmage and stirred controversy could only secure the favor of the powerful half-elven sorceress.
"Let us drink to Waterdeep, my friends," the guild-master said expansively to his cohorts as he hoisted his tankard, "and to the day when the city will become truly ours."
Nine
Late into the night, Vartain and Danilo huddled over the scroll, holding conference amid a circle of sleeping mercenaries. Wyn sat silently nearby, listening to all that was said with an increasingly troubled expression in his large green eyes.
"The first stanza is solved," Vartain said at last. "As we surmised, it refers to the spell placed on the bards at Silverymoon."
"Why do you keep referring to those lines as the first stanza?" Danilo demanded. "There's nothing else on the scroll!"
"Not yet" The riddlemaster pointed to a faint smudge on the parchment like the shadow of words. As the incredulous Harper watched, a second stanza began to take form beneath the first. "This is not uncommon for a riddle spell of such complexity. The first line of the verse refers to one of seven. As each is solved, the next will appear. This is a device to keep the entire riddle from being solved too easily."
"Rather like using a remote dialect of Sespechian to hide the key to the riddle," Danilo observed.
"Precisely. All these obscure details, however, tell us something about the spellcaster. He or she-or it, for that matter-is well versed in the riddlemaster's art. The spellcaster is either a linguist or a native speaker of Sespechian. If the latter is true, that would make our foe at least three hundred years old."
"Which makes sense, considering that the spellcaster has an interest in an elven artifact. Three hundred years is not so old for an elf," the Harper said. He squinted at the text dawning on the page. "What do you make of this?"
Vartain tipped the parchment to catch more of the dancing light of the campfire. "The answer to the first two lines is 'mother.' Many riddles have to do with family relationships. The mention of woodruff puzzles me," he admitted.
"I can explain that" Danilo said with a tight smile. "My family deals in wines, and a large part of our wealth is due to that herb. It is grown in the Moonshaes and is used to make the famous spring wine that lubricates the Midsummer festivities."
"Fascinating. I would therefore suppose that the mother named here is the Earthmother, the goddess who is synonymous with the Moonshae Isles themselves. Where is the herb grown, precisely?"