On the way to the house, she said to Shandril, “So what is so strange about me?”
Shandril giggled. “Such muscles” she said admiringly, turning to point at the bard’s flat, tanned midriff. Corded muscles rippled on her flanks and arms as she walked. Storm shook her head.
“It’s just me,” she said lightly, leading them through a stout wooden door that swung open before she touched it, into cool dimness within. “Sit here by the east window and tell me what brings you here on such a fine morning. Most seek Storm in fouler weather/’
“Urrhh… as bad as Elminster? Narm said in response. She handed him a long, curving horn of blown and worked glass, in the shape of a bird. He held it gingerly, in awe. “It’s real glass!”
“Aye… from Theymarsh in the south, where such things are common. It breaks easily,” the bard said, filling another. Shandril held hers apprehensively, too. One of the guards backed away when offered one.
“Ah, no, lady,” he said awkwardly. “Just a cup, if you have one. I’d feel dark the rest of my days if I broke such as that.” Shandril murmured in agreement. The bard smiled at them all, hands on hips, and then turned and spoke softly to the guardsmen.
“We must be alone, these two and I, to talk. Bide you here, if you will. The beer is in that cask over there; it is not good to drink more sweetwater so soon. Bread, garlic butter, and sausage is at hand in the cold-pantry. Come with speed if you hear my horn.” She took down a silver horn from where it hung on a beam near her head, and turned to Narm and Shandril.
“Drink up,” she urged simply. “There is much to talk about.” She went to the back of her kitchen and swung open a little arched door there, into the sunlight. “Follow the path into the trees, and you shall find me.” Then she was gone.
The visitors from the tower looked around at the low-ceilinged kitchen, the dark wooden beams, and hanging herbs. It was cozy and friendly, but ordinary, not the wild showplace of art and lore one might expect in the home of a bard. A small lap harp rested half-hidden in the shadows on a shelf near the pantry door. Narm almost dropped his glass when suddenly, and all alone, it began to play.
They stared at it as the strings plucked themselves. One of the men-at-arms half rose from his seat with an oath, clapping hand to blade, but a veteran turned on him. “Peace, Berost! It is art, aye, but no art to harm you, or any of us.” The harp played an unfamiliar tune that rose and fell gently, and then climbed and died away to a last high, almost chiming cluster of notes.
“Sounds elven,” Narm said quietly.
“Let us ask,” Shandril said, standing her empty glass carefully upon the table. “I’m done.” Narm drained his with a last tilting swallow and set it down with care beside hers.
They nodded to their guards, went out the little door, and found themselves on a path that twisted down a little ravine, around herbs and beneath overhanging trees. Down they followed it, to emerge at last by a little stream amid the trees that widened into a pool.
Storm stood beside it in a robe, hair wet. She was still damp from bathing, and as they came, she sat upon a rock and beckoned them to two other rocks at the pool’s edge. Close by her head, the silver horn hung from a branch.
“Come and sit,” she said, “and bathe, if you would… or just dabble your toes in the water. It is soothing.” She turned serious eyes upon them, and said, “Now tell me, if you will, what it is that hangs upon your hearts.”
“The harp that played by itself,” Narm asked innocently, “was that an elven tune?”
“Aye, a tune of the Elven Court that Merith taught me. Is that all that troubles your mind?” she teased, shaking water from her silver hair.
“Lady,” Shandril said hesitantly, “we think we would like to join the Harpers. We have heard only good of those who harp from all whom we respect. Yet we have heard only little. Before we set foot on a new road that we may follow most of our lives-and that may well lead us to life’s end sooner than not- we would know more from you of what it is to be a Harper. If your offer still stands. Well, does it-?”
Storm held up her hand. “Hold, hold! No more queries until we’ve seen these clear between us. I shall try to be brief.” She drew up her bare feet beneath her on the rock, and looked at the woods all around. Then she nodded, as if reaching a decision, and held out a hand to them.
“A Harper is one of a company of those with similar interests-men, and elves, and half-elves. Most bards and many rangers in the North are Harpers. More women than men are Harpers. We have no ranks, only varying degrees of personal influence. Our badge is a silver moon and a silver harp, upon a black or royal blue field. Many female mages, and most druids, are our allies, and we are generally accounted ‘good.’
“A Harper is one who tolerates many faiths and deeds, but works against warfare, slavery, and wanton destruction of the plants and creatures of the land. We oppose those who would build empires by the sword or spilled blood, or work art heedless of the consequences.
“We see the arts and lore of fallen Myth Drannor as a high point in the history of all races, and work toward the careful preservation of history, crafts, and knowledge. We work toward that which made Myth Drannor great-the happy and willing sharing of life with all races.
“We work against, and must often fight, the Zhentarim; the Cult of the Dragon-who plunder the lore and art of the Realms to enrich their revered dracoliches; the slavers of Thay; those who plunder and willfully destroy tombs and libraries everywhere; and those who would overturn the peace and unleash fire and sword across the land to raise their own thrones.
“We guard folk against these, when we can. We also guard books and their lore, precious instruments and their music, and art and its good works. All these things serve hands and hearts yet unborn, those who will come after us.
“We seek to keep kingdoms small, and busy with trade and the problem of their people. Any ruler who grows too strong and seeks to take knowledge and power from others is a threat. More precious knowledge is risked when his empire falls, as fall it must.
“Only in tavern-tales are humans wholly evil or shiningly good. We do what we can for all, and stand in the way of all who threaten knowledge. Who are we to decide who shall know or not know lore?
“The gods have given us the freedom and the power to strive among ourselves. They have not laid down a strict order that compels each of us to do exactly thus and so. Who knows better than the gods what knowledge is good or bad, and who shall have it?”
Narm regarded her thoughtfully. “Does that mean, good lady, intending no disrespect,” he asked quietly, “that there should be no secrets, and that wild six-year-olds should be tutored in the destroying spells, because knowledge should be denied to none?”
Shandril looked at him fearfully. Would Narm’s tongue lead them into Storm’s anger, losing any chance of aid-or welcome-from the Harpers?
Storm laughed merrily, dispelling the spellfire-maid’s fear. “You have chosen well, Shandril,” the bard said. “Unafraid, and yet polite. Inquiring, not hostile and opinionated. Well said, mage-to-be.” She got up, drew on her soft, battered old boots, and rose to pace thoughtfully.
“The answer to your question is no. All in the Realms hold and guard knowledge as they see fit. That, too, we have no right to change, even if we had the art to alter every creature’s mind. Much should be secret, and much revealed only to those who have the right or ability to handle it. If that sounds too simple, think on this: Harpers seek not to reveal the truth to all, but to preserve writings, art, and music for later years and beings. We work against things that threaten the survival of such culture, or erode its quality by influencing it with unchallenged falsehood.
“Harper bards always sing true tales of kings, as far as truth is known. They do not, for any reward, sing falsely of the grand deeds of an usurper, or falsely portray as bad the nature and deeds of his vanquished predecessor. Even if such would make good tales and songs, a Harper cleaves to the truth. The truth-a thing slightly different for everyone-must be the rocks that the castle of knowledge and achievement is built upon.
“Strong words, eh? I feel strongly. If you come to do so, too, you will truly be Harpers. If one falls out of such belief, they should leave the struggle and our ranks. They will do themselves, us, and our cause ill.
“I hope only that whether you walk with us or no, or join and then leave us thereafter, that you walk always together, and take joy in each other’s company. It is through such love -or longing, when in lack of it-that much learning and celebration comes about. It adds to the culture that we strive to save and nurture. More than that, whether you be Harpers or not, I would be your friend.”
Shandril and Narm looked at each other, and then at the bard, and spoke together. “We would be Harpers.”
“If you will have us,” Shandril added awkwardly. Storm looked at them both with a smile and then stepped forward and gathered them into her arms.
“ ‘If you will have us,’ “ she repeated softly. “We would be proud and pleased to have you. You, Shandril and Narm, not your art and your spellfire. You need not stay here-indeed, I agree with Elminster, for we have spoken of this. You should not stay here. You should walk far and see much, and grow in your own counsel and powers. As you go, if you work against evil, you will be Harpers, whether you bear our badge or no. Fight not always with blade or spell. The slower ways are the surer-aid freely given, and friendships and trust built. These evil cannot abide. It shrinks away from what it cannot destroy with fire and blade.”
“Where then should we go?” Narm asked, as they stood together there in the wood in each other’s arms. They leaned together, and all three took comfort from the embrace. Storm spoke softly, words almost hidden among the sounds of the water.
“Go you by way of Thunder Gap. Watch for Dragon cult agents. They are thick in Sembia, and there is one in Highmoon. His name is Korvan-” Shandril stiffened. “Go to Silverymoon itself. Seek out Alustriel, High Lady of that city, and say that you come from her sister Storm and would be Harpers.
“With Alustriel, too, is a good place to be if you intend to have a child by then.” The bard looked meaningfully at Shandril, who blushed. “Well, you’re not quite the first couple to make that mistake.” She looked at Narm. “If your lady feels too sick to eat,” she said, “feed her lots of stew. In the evenings, she’ll feel more like dining.”
Narm looked at her. “Pray, lady, let me get used to discovering I’m going to be a father, first,” he said plaintively. Storm chuckled again.
“Think well, both of you, on the names your offspring must carry through life. I was born in a storm, and was named because I came out of it. It is an ear-catching name, I’m told, but I fought many larger and stronger lads and lasses when I was small because of it.” She freed herself from them and undid her robe.
After a startled look, Narm politely turned his back. Unconcerned, the bard drew on her clothes. Shandril saw that her arms, back, and flanks were covered with faint white, twisting sword-scars. She looked up at Shandril’s wondering eyes and winked. “I’ve walked many roads. Some roads leave little maps.” She traced one scar with a long finger and tied her halter,
“You can turn about, Narm,” Storm said dryly. “I’ll soon grow tired of talking to your shoulders.” Narm obediently turned about, grinning. “Now,” Storm continued, “I’ll tell you a few things about the journey ahead of you. First: trail marks. You’ll see a few runes scratched or burned on rocks, trees, or in the dirt as you go.” Storm picked up a stick and then shrugged. “Nay… I’ll draw them for you in the house. It is Elminster’s way to expect one to remember half a hundred things in a morning; I’ll not do that. I will tell you the names of Harper agents along your way. Look to them for aid if you need it.
“These, too, I’ll write for you, on a bandage. I’ll need you to prick your finger and bleed on it afterwards. It must look well-stained and disgusting if you don’t want it to be looked at too closely, if someone searches or robs you. But these I’ll tell you about, in case you get separated, or lose your list. If you lose the list of runes, stay clear of all such that you see. “First, in Cormyr…”
After a long time, Storm rose, belted her horn at her waist, and led them back up the path to her back door.
“What if someone-by art, I mean-heard all this?” Narm asked, looking at the trees all around. Storm shook her head.
“I have art of my own to cloak this little, hidden place. Manshoon himself could not hear us unless he sat with us.” She went in and set the men-at-arms to cutting cheese and apples for all, while she prepared the bandages.
Storm vanished up a stair half-hidden in the shadows of the old stone kitchen, taking Shandril’s hand and drawing her up, too. When they reappeared there was no sign of the promised bandage. Shandril’s eyes told Narm readily enough that it was hidden upon her somewhere. The bard now wore black fighting leathers and a sword.