Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [98]
Wyn drew near the giant oak. Danilo was utterly absorbed in his task, his gray eyes closed in concentration as he played and sang.
"Despite all that has happened, despite all the arguments you yourself have put forth, you do not believe that elfsong can be yours," Wyn said softly, breaking into the song.
The Harper jumped and fell silent, startled by the unexpected interruption. Wyn handed him the sketch. "Perhaps you will accept Morgalla's vision, if not your own."
Danilo looked down at the paper. The dwarf usually relied on a few telling, exaggerated details to get her point across, but this drawing was a careful and realistic rendering. As Morgalla depicted him, he was dressed in an adventurer's weathered and practical gear, but the tilt of his head somehow gave the impression that he was a lord traveling in disguise. There was a bit of humor lurking at the corners of his lips, but the eyes were serious, touched with sadness. He played a lute, but surrounding him was an aureole of tiny motes and stars that suggested magic as well as music. Most startling of all was the way Morgalla had managed to portray a man in command of his powers, at peace with his own contradictions. It was captioned only "The Bard."
"The magic is in the music, and also in the heart of the bard. The lady dwarf got the instrument wrong," Wyn said quietly as he pointed to the harp at Danilo's side, "but I believe she's right in all other particulars."
Danilo said nothing, and after a moment the elf added, "The night grows late. You should try to get some rest, for we must leave for Waterdeep at sunrise."
Thirteen
On the day of Midsummer Eve, Khelben Arunsun was up before the sun. The archmage paced the courtyard between Blackstaff Tower and the surrounding wall as he awaited his nephew's return. The day before, Danilo had reconstructed the scroll from memory and had left a copy at the tower. Khelben had studied the scroll well into the night, but finally it had been Laeral who recognized it as a variant of elven spellsong. She was one of the few humans welcome on Evermeet, and she was familiar with the ways of elves. Khelben had never paid much attention to spellsong magic, for there was no music in his hands, and far less in his voice. Laeral was not a musician, either, and neither of the wizards knew a spellsinger.
The task of casting the spell would of necessity fall to Danilo. Whether the lad was up to it, Khelben could not say. His own knowledge of music was insufficient to the challenges of the riddle, and he had no way of evaluating what Danilo and Wyn might be able to discern between them.
"Good morning, Uncle!"
The archmage spun. Danilo stood behind him, an insouciant snide on his face and a rather battered lute slung over his shoulder. With him were Wyn Ashgrove and Morgalla.
Khelben noted absently that the dwarf had not taken well to magical travel: her face was set and pallid, and she gripped her staff with one white-knuckled hand and clung to the elf's arm with the other.
"So you made it," the archmage observed, hiding his relief behind a scowl of stern disapproval.
"As usual you've got a firm grip on the obvious," Danilo quipped lightly. "Bless you, Uncle, are those sweet rolls I smell?"
"Porridge," Khelben said absently, heading toward the tower. "Well, come in, all of you."
"With a welcome such as that before us?" Danilo sniffed. "I think not. Had I known that porridge was on the horizon, I would have teleported to Ackrieg's Bakery, instead."
"We can all discuss the spell while you eat" Khelben said, taking no notice of the young man's teasing.
Danilo elbowed the dwarf. "What would you say to a nice gobbet of roasted venison and a mug of ale for breakfast? There's an inn near the tournament field that understands hospitality and serves a splendid morning feast. Raspberry pastries are a specialty, and the almond cakes are also very good."
"Make it