Элейн Каннингем - Thornhold

This argument did nothing to lessen Bronwyn’s ire. “Obviously, they did not succeed. I was away before your … friends … made an appearance.” She gave him an impatient little shove. “Don’t you realize what you have done?”

His eyebrows rose. “I thought I did. Obviously you are of a different opinion, and the archmage quite clearly holds a distinct third. Since I am sure he will share his thoughts with me at a later time, no doubt in four-part harmony, why don’t we discuss your views?”

Bronwyn leaped to her feet and strode to the little window that overlooked the city. “Promise made, promise kept. That’s my reputation and the most valuable thing I possess. This is the first time I have not delivered. You have undermined more than a single deal. Now do you understand?”

The silence stretched out for a long, tense moment. “The necklace has great magical value and must be properly safeguarded,” Khelben said.

Bronwyn struggled to hold her temper. Hadn’t the archmage heard a word? Or did such minor things matter nothing? After all, what regard does a dragon have for a mouse?

“I’ll keep it in my safe,” she said in a stiff tone. “Danilo can tell you what magical wards have been placed upon it.”

Her friend rose and placed one hand on her shoulder. “What price did the necklace command? I will see that Malchior is amply compensated. Although that will not fully satisfy him, it may serve to restore your honor in his eyes and your own. We owe you that.”

“And more.” She tipped back her head to glare at her friend. It was a relief, not having to hide her irritation. “You’ll have to forgive me if I prefer to collect at some later time.”

A faint smirk lifted one corner of the bard’s lips. “Lord Arunsun, I do believe we are being thrown out.”

Bronwyn glanced at the archmage. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you did,” Dan broke in smoothly. “And not without justification. Get some rest. The day’s … bargaining has taken a toll.” Before she could respond, the two men turned and left her chamber by the back stairs. Bronwyn sat staring after them, all thoughts of sleep vanished.

As the Harpers walked down the stairs, Khelben began to transform. His broad form compacted and lengthened into that of a lithe young man, and his clothing changed from somber black to shades of forest brown and green. The silver streaks disappeared from his hair and beard, and his face took on a faintly elven appearance.

Danilo had seen this so many times that he did not remark on it. The archmage seldom went about the city wearing his own face. In fact, neither man spoke at all until they had reached the alley behind Curious Past.

“What were you thinking, bringing the necklace to Bronwyn’s shop? Now she is aware that Harpers are watching her.”

“We took on that risk when we sent men to the festhall,” Danilo said bluntly. An alley cat streaked out from behind a crate, yowling as if in protest. No doubt their appearance had spoiled a long and patient stalking of some prey, likely a rat. Danilo was not fond of such, and he quickened his pace. “Bronwyn is no fool. Surely she realizes that she got away too easily and suspects that someone detained Malchior’s thugs.”

Khelben lengthened his stride and fell into pace. “And now, thanks to your misguided gesture, she knows without question. Given Malchior’s involvement, this has become a delicate situation.”

“Enlighten me.”

They emerged onto Selduth Street, which at this hour was bustling with tavern traffic, as well as the paid escorts and would-be suitors who gathered on nearby Jester’s Court. The lighting was dimmer here, in deference to ale-sodden heads and a desire for discrete dalliance. Khelben shot a quick look around to see if anyone was paying too close heed to their conversation, then started walking back west toward the Street of Silks. Even an archmage, Dan noted, instinctively sought the safety of a well-lit street.

“You have known Bronwyn for perhaps seven years. I have been searching for her for more than twenty. She is the daughter of a famed paladin—Hronulf of Tyr, who is of the bloodline of Samular Caradoon, the paladin who founded the order known as the knights of Samular. From your expression, I surmise that you recognize those names.”

“I have been schooled in history,” Danilo said, nimbly avoiding a drunken and weaving passerby. “Pray continue.”

“Then you also know that Hronulf’s family was thought to have been destroyed in a raid on his village more than twenty years ago. Hronulf believes that all his children were killed, but I had doubt on the matter and kept searching until my suspicions were confirmed. One child, now a man grown, is beyond my reach. But Bronwyn I can and must influence. She has no knowledge of her heritage, and there is ample reason to hope that she is never enlightened.”

Danilo stopped abruptly and caught the archmage’s arm. “Am I to understand,” he said in a low and angry voice, “that for nearly seven years, you have known that two of Hronulf’s children live, and he does not ?”

“Do not pass judgment on that which you do not understand,” Khelben cautioned. “You would do better to attend to the task at hand. We must learn who, if anyone, knows of Bronwyn’s secret—including Bronwyn herself. And that is where you come in.”

Khelben started walking, leaving Danilo standing with his jaw dropped and his mind churning with suspicion. Determined to find the truth of the matter, he trotted up to Khelben’s side and fell into step.

“Seven years ago, you sent me to Amn to recruit a likely agent, a woman not yet twenty years old. Bronwyn and I became friends.”

“So you said.”

“The report and recommendation of a potential Harper includes many things, including, I might add, whether or not a person has any identifying marks.” Danilo’s tone was tight, kindling with growing wrath. “And I reported Bronwyn’s birthmark. That was the identifying mark, was it not? The mark that confirmed that she was Hronulf’s daughter?”

“Yes. What of it?”

Danilo inhaled, his breath whistling through clenched teeth. “You sent me to Amn, intending for me to see and report this.”

“You were both young and unattached. It was reasonable to assume that nature would take its predicted course,” Khelben said. “And you are, I might add, predictable in this matter.”

The bard let out a low, furious oath. “I cannot believe this, not even from you. Is there no part of my life beyond the Harpers’ reach? And you! To thus manipulate those who put trust in you … this is beyond belief.”

“Calm yourself. That was long ago. No harm came of it. You even remained friends.”

“Friends, indeed!” he sputtered. “What kind of friend will Bronwyn think me when she learns that I used and betrayed her thus? Will she believe it was without intent or knowledge? Will she believe that I had no part in keeping her past, her family , secret from her?”

“Lower your voice.” Khelben glanced at a pair of interested passersby, and drew Danilo into a side street. “It is long past and a small matter. Let it go. This was not the first time you used charm and persuasion to learn a woman’s secrets. I doubt it will be the last.”

“Not the last?” Dan folded his arms and glared into Khelben’s borrowed face. “I have made certain personal commitments. Does that mean nothing?”

“You have a prior commitment to the Harpers,” Khelben pointed out, just as angry now as his nephew. But his anger was cold—to Danilo’s eyes, almost inhuman. “If your Arilyn cannot accept this, then she proves herself unworthy of her Harper pin, as well as your continued regard.”