Элейн Каннингем - Thornhold

“I want her back,” the priest demanded. “Now.”

“That could prove difficult, Lord Zoreth,” the knight said. “She is in Blackstaff Tower, under the protection and tutelage of the lady mage Laeral Silverhand.”

Dag hissed out a foul curse. The beautiful mage was as unconventional as she was powerful. If she took it upon herself to keep Cara, a small flight of dragons would be hard pressed to sway her from this course. But the archmage, the ruler of Blackstaff Tower, was another matter. Khelben Arunsun was not only a mage, but a ruler, deeply involved in the politics of the city and the surrounding area. If the matter were posed to him as a political expediency, he might be willing to see reason.

“Use your name and contacts. Get the child to Thornhold at once,” Dag commanded. “And my sister as well, or you will find the same end as Hronulf.”

“That is unlikely,” the old paladin said. “Unfortunately, I am no longer fit to face armed men in a siege.”

The priest laughed softly. “Hronulf did not die from his battle wounds. I tore out his heart with my own hands. You might want to bear this in mind, as you tend this task.”

For two days Bronwyn and Ebenezer rode as hard as they dared push their horses. The paladins were never far behind them, though Bronwyn used every trick and shortcut she had learned in her years on the road.

Finally, the walls of the city lay before them. The late afternoon sun glinted off the spires of the Trolltower and bathed the huge arch of the Northgate in a welcoming glow. Bronwyn drew in a long breath and released it on a sigh. Some of the tension slid from her neck and shoulders, and she reached out to pat her horse’s lathered neck.

“Stones!” exclaimed Ebenezer with more vehemence than usual. “Lookit there!”

Bronwyn followed the line of his pointing finger. Far to the north was a small, dark cluster, moving toward the High Road with a stolid determination that suggested a migration of ants.

She rapidly skimmed through a mental roll of days. So much had happened since Captain Orwig had left them on the docks of Waterdeep that it was hard to realize that ten days had passed.

“Ten days,” she said aloud. “Tarlamera agreed to stay in the city for ten days.”

“A dwarf of her word, is my sister,” he said grimly. He cast a helpless look at Bronwyn. “Well, I’m off.”

A deep sense of loss smote Bronwyn’s heart. She reached down and clasped his shoulder. “I’ve got to see how Cara is doing in Blackstaff Tower. Or whether she’s still there, for that matter.” She smiled faintly. “That child’s feet are almost as itchy as yours and mine. I’ll come just as soon as I can.”

“Don’t,” he said. “Chances are there won’t be much to find.”

This confirmed Bronwyn’s unspoken fears. Ebenezer believed that he was going north to die with his clan. “Don’t go,” she said softly.

“Gotta go. I wasn’t there last time. Couldn’t live with myself if it happened again.”

They sat for a moment, staring out after the determined dwarves. Bronwyn accepted what must be. She forced a smile, reached down, and cuffed the dwarf’s curly head in farewell.

Ebenezer caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips. Then he abruptly released her and kicked his tired blue pony into a reluctant trot. His grumbling comment floated back to Bronwyn on the brisk sea breeze.

“Been spending too much time with humans, is what.”

Bronwyn blinked back tears and turned her horse through the Northgate. Since secrecy was unlikely, she settled for haste. She left her horses at the nearest public stable and hired a closed carriage. At her instruction, the halfling driver set his horses at a brisk pace down the High Road, and when Bronwyn arrived at Blackstaff Tower she gave him the silver he’d requested for his hire and half as much again. She jumped from the carriage and hit the cobblestones running.

Her heart quickened with worry when Danilo emerged from the black wall to meet her, his expression as dark as the marble edifice behind him. “You do not want to go in there,” he said grimly. He caught her arm and began drawing her along with him at a brisk pace.

She fell into step with him. “What’s going on?”

“Lady Laeral is packing for an unexpected trip. It seems she returned to the tower after a night’s revel up in the Sea Ward to find that our mutual bane, the great archmage himself, had relieved her of her promising new apprentice.”

Dread stopped Bronwyn cold. “Cara! What did he do with her?”

“Keep walking,” he said shortly. “I doubt you have much time. The archmage did precisely what he thought he must. It seems that our good friends at the Halls of Justice got wind of Cara’s new apprenticeship. They convinced the First Lord that this child was and should be a ward of the Knights of Samular, that her destiny was with the chosen brothers of her illustrious ancestor, and many other songs of a similar tune.”

“And Khelben just turned her over?” Fury and incredulity battled for supremacy in Bronwyn’s voice.

“He believed he had little choice in the matter. Three young paladins came for her, bearing an edict from Piergeiron himself. Khelben is many things, not the least of them a canny politician. He understands the rift growing between the various paladin orders and the Harpers. If he openly defied Piergeiron’s direct edict, he would give the impression that Waterdeep’s Master Harper considers himself above the law. This, he contends, would endanger the work of the Harpers and the agents themselves.”

“And you agree.”

“Did I say that?” he retorted. “The archmage and I exchanged many words on this matter. Suffice it to say that we used up most of the truly vile ones, but my anger was a pale thing compared to Laeral’s wrath. I fear that the lady mage’s visit to her sister’s farm will last much longer than previous jaunts.

“But Khelben must handle his own problems,” Danilo concluded. “Let us discuss yours. What did you find?”

She sent him a long, considering look. “Why should I trust you?”

“Whatever you think, I have never betrayed your trust. Nor will I.” He stopped and pushed his fine green tabard off his left shoulder, revealing a tiny, weathered silver harp nestled in a crescent moon. He took off the pin, the symbol of his Harper allegiance, and handed it to her.

“This was given me by a man I deeply admire, whose regard I hope always to retain. Hold it for me until this matter is done. If you find me in any way false, return the pin to Bran Skorlsun and declare me foresworn before that noble ranger and his half-elf daughter. I will not gainsay you.”

The man could make no other oath that Bronwyn would trust more completely. The odd pairing between this lighthearted nobleman and his quiet, serious half-elf companion was one that Bronwyn never fully understood, but she knew that nothing meant more to her friend than the regard of the woman to whom he’d given his heart. She took the pin and dropped it into her bag. “It will be in my safe. When this matter is over, Alice will return it to you if I cannot.”

“You will,” he said, in a tone closer to his usual light manner. “Now, tell me what you found.”

Bronwyn told him the story of the lich’s tower, and the power of the Fenrisbane artifact. “I sent it ahead to my safe,” she said, “and it will stay there until I decide what to do with it.”

“The paladins would dearly love such a device.”

“Wouldn’t they, though?” she said bitterly. “And now that they’ve had a look at it, there will be no denying them.”

“They saw it? How?”

She sighed wearily. “After we retrieved it from the orc lair, Ebenezer wanted to take a look at it. I had but two of the rings, and only one descendant of Samular, but I took a shot. The tower was not what it could be, but it was enough.”