Rising tide - Mel Odom [122]
Hroman accepted it with thanks.
"On every street corner," Pacys said, "you'll find a bard. They're all composing songs about the raid, even those who weren't in Waterdeep that night. They've come from far and wide, trailing word of the story back."
"This is what you believed you were called for?"
"Yes," Pacys said, "and I still believe that, but there is something missing."
"What do you mean?"
"I've worked on the song about the raid for days," the old bard replied, "and have it shaped much as I want it, but there's more."
"More? You're sure of that?"
"Yes. Even as much work as I've done on it, the song yet remains unfinished."
"How do you know?"
Pacys smiled at the younger man. "How do you know a prayer is left unfinished?"
"Every priest is trained on the elements of a prayer," Hroman replied. "There's the invitational, the declaration-, the body of the message, and the closing."
"Sadly," Pacys said, "many bards believe it's the same with a song or a tale. Jokes, however, may be so mechanically inclined, but even within that art there are a number of allowances. In your vocation, my friend, the mind trains the ear, but in mine it's the ear that trains the mind."
"You remain hopeful, then."
Pacys smiled. "I yet live, and my song is undone. I've been following it for fourteen years. I can't allow myself to believe that I've been led this far and there will be no crescendo."
Quietly and efficiently, Hroman bowed his head and asked a blessing on the meal. Pacys joined him, finding his spirits even further lifted by the sincere belief in Hroman's words as he asked for peace and healing to descend on the city.
When the priest finished, the bard glanced up and out at the harbor. The morning sun was nearer to noon now, and the water glinted with diamond-bright highlights. He watched as a small group of mermen surfaced beside a large fishing boat with a boom arm hanging out over the water. Ropes led down into the harbor, letting the bard know they were going to attempt another underwater salvage.
"We're missing so many things," Pacys mused.
"They'll be replaced," Hroman stated. "Oghma willing, and if the need for whatever's been lost is strong enough."
"I'm not talking about city things." The old bard offered the small cup of cherry tomatoes that had been packed in the basket. They were exotic, grown in Maztica, and proof that the most exclusive of larders had opened to feed the people who worked in the city. Hroman took a couple with a nod of thanks. "I'm talking about the song. We don't know who arranged the attack on Waterdeep, or why."
"It was the sahuagin," Hroman pointed out. "We all saw them. As to why, the sahuagin have never gotten along with people living on the surface."
"The sahuagin don't use magic," Pacys pointed out. "They don't like it, and they don't trust it. That night, of all things that can be said about it, was filled with magic. It's more than the sahuagin. There's an enemy out there who has aligned himself against Waterdeep… maybe more than just Waterdeep."
"I can only pray that you're wrong," the priest said.
Pacys nodded. "I pray that as well, but in my heart I know I'm right. This song is far bigger than any I've ever done. When I finish, we'll have to know who has commanded this thing and why."
"Not all songs are as neatly sewn," Hroman objected. "In Temdarc's Folly' the hero is kept constantly in the dark as to who's controlling the events in his life, as is the audience. Likewise with 'Lillinin' and 'The Calling of Three Shadows.' There are dozens of songs that don't fit the criteria you're saying exists."
"Not epic songs," Pacys objected in a soft voice. He popped one of the cherry tomatoes into his mouth and chewed. The fruit was pulpy and delicious. "Those all have the same ingredients."
Hroman was silent for a moment, as if hesitant. "Not all of those songs are finished, old friend. 'Cask of Torguein' remains