Rising tide - Mel Odom [123]
"Tweul Silverstrings," Pacys said automatically. A bard was trained to give every master his due. Otherwise, how would a true bard worthy of the mantle gain fame?
"-had his heart ripped out by a peryton up in the Cloud Peaks. 'Onyx Eyes' is unfinished because the bard-"
"Lohyis Tautsham," Pacys supplied.
"-was found drained of blood in a spider's web in Un-dermountain. 'Sandcastle Kings In Flight' is only a fragment left by the composer-"
"Harbier Funnelmouth."
"-who hasn't been seen in one hundred and twenty years." Hroman frowned. "I could go on."
"Because your father, Oghma rest his soul," Pacys said, "saw to it you had a good education without being cloistered away in priest's vestments."
Hroman took another bite of his sandwich. "All I'm saying is that we were fortunate to live through the bloodletting the other night, and there are enough people jumping at shadows in this city."
Pacys knew that was true. In response to the attack, all the land-based entrances into Waterdeep had been battened down with a siege mentality. The guard's rakers patrolled well past the harbor. There would be no more surprises.
Yet with all the might and ferocity that earmarked the attack, Pacys knew that whatever enemy the city faced didn't have to depend on surprise. The sahuagin could only come from the sea, but there were no guarantees that the sea devils hadn't aligned themselves with the ores or goblin hordes that occupied the hill country and forests beyond Waterdeep.
Carefully, Pacys steered the conversation onto safer ground, discussing the events and people of the last few days that weighed heavily on Hroman. Several of the junior priests leaned on him for guidance. Few had experienced such a vicious attack before and it left many with their faith shaken.
During the talk, the bard sliced up the small loaf of sweetbread he'd been given in the basket and added grapes and chunks of apple to the repast. His wineskin, thankfully, was plentiful. When the meal and the conversation was completed, Hroman excused himself, nearly asleep as he sat there.
Pacys bade his friend good-bye and took up the yarting again. He decided to allow himself only the small luxury of a few more minutes of playing before he returned to the work he'd volunteered for.
As he walked out to the splintered end of the dock, he noticed a small skiff putting in at Arnagus's. The crowd awaiting news of their loved ones hurried down to meet the skiffs crew, and the wailing and weeping of the grief stricken ones who learned the final fate of family members and friends rolled over the bard. Their sadness and despondency struck a chord in him. Effortlessly, his fingers plucked the strings, finding the resonance in himself that matched their grief. He wasn't surprised when new notes and chords emerged, tying in with those that had already come to him.
He sat on the end of the dock and gave himself over to the music, building what he'd already figured out to the new sections. Words came to tongue quickly, and he sang of the trouble Waterdeep faced, of the fears and the uncertainties that lie ahead.
His mind searched ahead as his eyes roved over the harbor. He'd been speaking truly to Hroman: things were missing. The song was epic in scope, but it wouldn't be complete without all the ingredients. To be epic, the song had to have the touch of darkness, the schemer who'd designed the raid and marshaled the magic against Water-deep had to be known. But where did this darkness lie? There had to be a hero, someone who took the fight to that encroaching darkness. Waterdeep, he knew, was filled with heroes of every stripe; adventurers and warriors who dared and risked their lives countless times. It was those people who were even now rebuilding all that had been lost, promising that the city would flourish again. Still, as his fingers massaged the yarting's strings, none of their names rang true. He felt certain it would be someone no one had heard of, but where was this person? His shook his head in an effort to