Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [83]
Garnet commanded the asperii to swoop down closer, and she nodded in satisfaction at the size of the pile. No one could survive in there for more than a few minutes. She urged the asperii away from the clearing, and as they flew she sang the song that twisted living creatures into music-wielding monsters. A cricket the size of a moor hound crawled out of the blighted woodlands, burrowing into the pile of debris in search of food.
Not yet satisfied, Garnet flew northwest toward the hills that hid the harpy lair. She could command musical monsters as well as create them. If someone managed to crawl out of the pile, it wouldn't hurt to have a flock of vengeful harpies guarding the perimeter. When Danilo Thann and his elven companions arrived, they would have more than one surprise awaiting them. With that thought the sorceress turned her path toward Waterdeep.
* * * * *
The windstorm ended as abruptly as it began, and Wyn and Danilo fell face-forward onto the hillside. The Harper groaned and spat dust. Every joint and muscle ached from his struggle against the buffeting wind. He rose slowly and painfully to his feet, flexing stiff fingers. He gave his birch tree anchor a grateful pat, and then offered a hand to the gold elf, who looked as dusty and battered as Dan felt.
"By the sea and stars!" Wyn spoke the oath softly as Dan pulled him to his feet.
Danilo followed the line of the elf's gaze. "Moander's mountain," he swore in turn, for the heap of rotting, steaming vegetation that covered the clearing looked like the handiwork of the erstwhile god of corruption.
The moment of shock passed quickly. "Morgalla's in there," Wyn said in a hollow voice. He took off after Danilo, who was already hurtling down the hillside, half running, half sliding.
When they reached the camp they began frantically tossing aside the branches that covered the pile, then they dug into the rotting leaves. Danilo's hand closed on something soft, and he held up Morgalla's jester doll in triumph. He and Wyn tore at the loamy mass with their hands, and in seconds they'd uncovered a pair of small, iron-shod boots. They each grabbed an ankle and tugged. Morgalla slid out of the pile gagging and choking, but still holding fast to the oak staff of her spear. She wiped slime from her face and waved Wyn aside, motioning for him to keep digging. As soon as she could stand, she started working beside them.
A high-pitched giggle momentarily distracted the workers. Standing by the pile was the elven hermit of Taskerleigh. He regarded their labors with a wide, mocking grin on his emaciated face, and his bony hands settled on his hips.
"That be not the way," the mad elf insisted. He darted forward and deftly snatched the dwarf's spear from her. Before Morgalla could protest the hermit climbed the pile and began poking experimentally into the rubbish.
"Use the blunt end, you daft, orc-sired scarecrow," she shouted.
"Oops!" The hermit giggled again and flipped the spear around. He jabbed a few more times and then nodded with satisfaction. "Soft," he proclaimed. "Squirmy! Dig here."
It took all four of them to pull Balindar out of the sludge. "Elaith's in there, real close," the huge mercenary gasped out raking hunks of rotting foliage from his beard.
Morgalla huffed and folded her arms over her chest. "Can we pretend we didn't hear that, bard?"
"Stop tempting me, and dig!"
They found the moon elf, who came out sputtering curses in Elvish. Wyn gritted his teeth at this latest outrage and kept digging, the hermit working close at his side. Mange was recovered, and then Vartain. The riddlemaster was dragged, senseless, from the pile. While the others continued to dig, Danilo bent over Vartain. He put his ear against the riddlemaster's filthy tunic and heard the faint beating of Vartain's