Элейн Каннингем - Thornhold

“Stoneshaft,” she repeated. “Your clan were miners, then?”

“No, we got that name because my grandsire managed to sire himself thirteen kids,” he shot back.

Bronwyn raised her eyebrows, acknowledging the bawdy sarcasm. “Fine. Straight to business.”

“Speaking of which,” the dwarf asked with a sudden return of suspicion, “what did you say you did to earn your keep?”

“I didn’t say, but I’m not a slaver, if that’s what you’re thinking. I find lost antiquities. You’d probably call me a treasure hunter.”

He nodded, clearly understanding this bias; after all, collecting treasures was a very common dwarf impulse. “Whereabouts do you keep your hoard?”

“It’s more of a shop, really, and I’m seldom there. Most of my days are spent on the road, searching for new pieces. I often work on commission, but everything I find is for sale.”

“Practical,” approved Ebenezer. “Don’t need stuff lying around gathering dust. Too much trouble to be toting it around. Where’d you learn to fight?”

Bronwyn chuckled helplessly, feeling somewhat dizzied by the quick change of topic. “By doing, mostly. I’ve had no formal training as a fighter, but so far, I’ve won more times than I’ve lost.”

“Best training there is,” he said. He cast her a stern look. “You always fight dirty?”

She shrugged. “When I have to.”

He nodded again. “Good. Well then, let’s have a look at this Skullport of yours.”

Algorind and his newfound companion headed south on foot toward the great port city. One of the Zhentilar horses had been regrettably lamed during Algorind’s attack and had to be put down. The men tried without success to recapture the other horses. It seemed that the steeds lacked the sense of loyalty and duty that was trained into a paladin’s mount.

Jenner, the former Zhent, was a surprisingly good companion. He could sing rather well, and he knew some old ballads that spoke ringingly of deeds of heroism and valor—strange songs indeed to come from the throat of a man who had spent his youth riding patrol around Darkhold. This puzzled Algorind greatly.

“How is it that you fell into the service of evil?” Algorind asked him.

The young paladin’s words drew a rueful smile from the man. “I didn’t see it that way. It was more like survival. I was born in the Greycloak Hills, grew up herding my father’s sheep. The land and the sheep would go to my older brother. I always knew that, but then came three bad years running with no crops and few lambs. Didn’t have much of a choice but to take whatever work came to hand.”

“There are always choices,” Algorind said firmly. He laid one hand on the man’s shoulder. “You have made a good choice this day, the first of what I trust will be many.”

“Trust, do you?” Jenner chuckled without amusement. “Seems to me that you’re a trusting sort. That’ll bring you to grief, come soon or late.”

Algorind could not dispute that. The treachery of the dwarf he’d saved from the zombies still troubled him deeply.

“There is a travelers’ rest not far ahead,” he commented. “We can fill our waterskins at the well and gather some of the berries that grow in profusion nearby.”

Jenner let out a sigh of great longing. “I like spring berries. They’re good any way you can get them, but best with honey and new cream, heaped over a pile of sweet biscuits. I mean to have some of that, first thing, when we reach Waterdeep. After a nice roast of venison and a few mugs, that is.”

The paladin was mildly offended by this picture of gluttony. “You would do better to seek gainful employment for yourself.”

Jenner winked. “And what better place than in a tavern? That’s where men come to hire swords and to hire their swords out.”

“You would find work as a sell-sword?”

“It’s what I know. Don’t worry yourself,” he said, casting a wry half-smile at Algorind. “I’ll do well enough as a caravan guard or some such. Well, there’s the rest house.”

Algorind nodded, then froze. The sight before him was one of such boldness and villainy that it stole his breath.

The red-bearded dwarf came out from the stone structure, leading Icewind by the reins. With him was a young woman with exceptionally long, thick hair plaited back into a single braid. She was comely enough to suit the Zhent’s description of “a pretty wench,” and, since women traveling alone were uncommon in these wild lands, she was probably the one that the Zhentarim of Thornhold sought. The dwarf tossed her up into Icewind’s saddle as if he had every right to dispose of the horse, and then hauled himself up onto the back of a squat, nasty-looking pony. He glanced back and did an astonished double take when he caught Algorind’s dumbfounded gaze.

The dwarf lifted a hand in an insouciant salute, then kicked the pony into a surprisingly quick canter. The woman followed along behind on Algorind’s stolen horse.

“The woman you seek,” Algorind said grimly, “she is allied with the Zhentarim?”

Jenner shook his head, obviously not following this line of reasoning. “Not that I know of. Why’d you ask?”

“That white horse is mine,” Algorind said, pointing. “The dwarf stole him from me in an act of base treachery. If the woman consorts with horse thieves, one must ask if she could be allied with the very scum of evildoers.”

The former Zhent let out a snort of laughter. “No offense intended, I suppose.”

Algorind looked at him in puzzlement. “No, I had no wish to offend. Why do you ask?”

Jenner chuckled dryly and shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s just get us to Waterdeep the fastest way we can—or let me put it better, the fastest way your scruples will allow.”

Late in the afternoon, two days after the fall of Thornhold, Bronwyn led her new companion into the Curious Past. When they entered the shop, the dwarf looked around in begrudging wonderment at the old and rare things that crowded the shelves and tables in glittering display.

“Lot of dusting to do,” he concluded gruffly.

A loud huff announced Alice Tinker’s presence. The gnome rose to her full height, her brown face peering over the rim of the large brass vase she’d been polishing, her small form quivering with indignation. “Dust, nothing! I challenge you to find a single pot, gem or book in this entire place that isn’t polished to a gleam.”

Ebenezer folded his arms. “If I were a betting sort of dwarf, I still wouldn’t take that one. You can stuff that so-called challenge in the who-cares bucket and take it on out to the slop heap.”

“Alice, meet Ebenezer Stoneshaft,” Bronwyn said dryly. “He’ll be with me for a tenday or two.”

The gnome’s face went wary. “And staying where?”

“Neither of us are staying. A bath and a meal, and we’ll be on our way.”

Alice huffed. “Well, by the looks of you, child, you could certainly use a good meal.” Her eyes slid disdainfully over the dwarf, leaving the last part of her insult unspoken.

Bronwyn noted this exchange with great puzzlement. Alice was the most genial of souls; it was not like the gnome to so mistreat a visitor to Curious Past. She was about to admonish her assistant when she noticed the delighted battle gleam in the dwarf’s eye. He had spoken little on the journey south, and she’d given him silence and time to deal with his loss. Judging by the animation on his face, maybe she would have done better to pick a fight or two with him.

“Grow a beard, woman,” Ebenezer gruffly advised Alice. This comment baffled Bronwyn, but Alice seemed to understand it perfectly. The gnome’s eyes widened, then turned coy, and bright color bloomed on her already rosy cheeks.