Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [99]
"Done!"
Morgalla loosed her grip on Wyn's arm, and she and Danilo headed toward the black granite wall. As inconspicuously as possible, the elven minstrel flexed his fingers to aid the return of feeling to his hand.
The archmage stared after the retreating Harper.
"You're not serious."
"Actually, I am. Quite a surprise, isn't it?" Danilo tossed the words cheerfully over his shoulder. "Wyn can tell you all about elfsong, and why we need the Morninglark harp. Since we've got less than two days to find it, I'm off. Hot on the trail, as they say. Right after breakfast." So saying, the Harper dragged the dwarf through the invisible door, and they both disappeared into the city.
"What now?" Khelben muttered, shaking his head.
"The scroll claims that a lord would fall on the field of triumph. The young bard is doubtless headed to the city's tournament field to seek clues that will lead him to the elven harp," Wyn said softly.
The archmage met the elf's steady, green-eyed gaze. "The young bard, eh? So Morgalla's sketch came close to the truth?"
"If anything, it fell short of the mark."
Khelben digested this news in silence. "I see," he said finally. "Well that's settled, then."
"Whatever path is given him to walk, your nephew does you credit," Wyn said in a quiet tone. "You have trained him well; his memory is remarkable and his discipline impressive. I assume his command of magic is equally strong."
"It had better be," the archmage said darkly. "Wizard or no, there's Nine Hells of a spell to be cast. And now, what is this elfsong that my boy was talking about?"
*****
The early morning sun sent slanting rays across the farmlands east of Waterdeep, making the scattered whitewashed buddings gleam like so many nesting doves. It was the day before Midsummer, and the fields and orchards should have been lush with fruit and jeweled in the deepest green of the year. From her perch on the asperii, high above the farmlands. Garnet could see that vegetation was sparse. Yet some crops grew, despite her spells and as if in testament to the stubborn resilience necessary to survival in the Northlands. A few farmers were headed toward Waterdeep, their carts laden with produce for sale in the markets there.
Garnet guided her wind steed toward the River Gate, the eastern entrance to Waterdeep's trade district. They landed out of sight of the city-bound travelers and the wall sentries, then joined the other early morning arrivals on the road to the city. She felt more secure once the asperii was on firm ground. The magical horse was becoming increasingly skittish, and Garnet feared that the horse would soon go into open revolt This would result in the asperii's death, for the creature was bound to Garnet for life. She did not wish to go through the trouble of obtaining and training another mount, for asperii were hard to come by. She brushed aside the niggling doubt that no other asperii would accept her as master.
The Trade Ward bustled with activity as Garnet rode down the streets. A stout dairy farmer dipped a large pewter ladle into a barrel of foaming milk, filling the pitchers and jugs held out to him by a small crowd, while a bright-cheeked lass cut wedges to order from wheels of cheese. Nearby, a potter, bare to the waist against the glowing heat and already daubed with the red-brown clay from his morning's work, fired up a kiln. Vendors set up shop at street corners, and tradespeople readied their wares in preparation for the merchants who came to purchase goods for the shops located in the city's vast open-air market. Those who sold their wares themselves were loading carts bound for the marketplace. Taverns dealt a brisk business in morning ale and oatcakes. As Garnet took in scene after scene, she began to wonder if the much-touted Lady Thione had done her part. Commerce seemed to be going on apace.
Yet closer scrutiny showed the signs of distress. The wares displayed were of quality far below the usual standards of the proud Waterdhavians. There were shortages; in particular she