“I am Algorind of Tyr, and it is my duty to take this child back to the Order of the Knights of Samular for proper fosterage.”
“You did that once,” Bronwyn snapped. “It didn’t turn out so well. I found her on a ship, bound for the slave markets of the south. You will take this child only when I’m too dead to stop you.”
The young man looked saddened, but determined. “Lies will not help you. It is not my wish to harm you, but I will take the child. It would be better if you returned with me to the order to answer for your crimes of theft and treason. Perhaps doing so will bring you peace.”
“I don’t lie.” Fury swept through Bronwyn, and she went for her knife. “But I’d be happy to do what you say, just as soon as you turn that sword of yours point up and sit down on it hard.”
Algorind colored, but did not flinch. “It is plain that you are no fit guardian for a child.” he said. “Stand aside, or face Tyr’s justice.”
“No!’
Cara’s small, piping voice startled them both. She walked forward, placing her small body between the armed paladin and Bronwyn. “Don’t hurt Bronwyn. I’ll come with you.”
“Cara, don’t!” Bronwyn appealed. “Just leave. Now!”
The girl shook her head stubbornly. “I won’t leave you here with him.” She walked toward Algorind, holding out her tiny hand.
The paladin watched as the child approached. She was pale, but trusting. She came close and placed her hand in his. “I will go with you and not give you any trouble, but first you must answer a question. Will you give me your word on this, and keep it?”
The paladin gave her a puzzled look. “I am pledged to always keep my word.”
“Well, that’s fine, then. Here’s the question: what is my raven’s name?”
Algorind was not greatly gifted with imagination, but he dredged his memory for names that he had heard given to such birds. “I do not know. Midnight? Blackwing? Po?”
“No, no,” Cara said impatiently. She withdrew her hand from his, then held it in a fist over Algorind’s palm. “What do you call a cat who lives in a shop?”
“A shop’s cat, I suppose.”
As soon as he spoke the words, she opened her hand. A large, red gem tumbled into his palm. Instantly he felt himself being sucked away, as if by a strong wind.
Algorind tried to fight it, using every vestige of his iron will and his disciplined strength. To no avail. The ransacked shop began to blur and fade, and a sound like an angry sea began to crescendo in his ears. Above the tumult, Algorind heard the merry music of the child’s laughter. His fading vision fell upon the treacherous woman. She was on her knees beside the child, her arms around the girl and her face both glad and proud.
And then it all disappeared, and Algorind’s world became a terrible, terrifying white whirl. He was taken away, torn away from his duty by some treacherous magic.
* * * * *
The tunnel that lay between Danilo’s posh townhouse and Blackstaff Tower was a great convenience. In Danilo’s opinion, it was becoming too damned convenient. He strode down the tunnel to answer his third summons in a tenday.
The tunnel ended in a magical gate. Danilo murmured the phrase that enabled him to pass, then walked through the apparently solid stone wall and into Khelben’s study.
The archmage was painting again, which was certainly a sign of duress. Danilo glanced at the canvas. It was a seascape, with livid streaks of lightning darting down from a heap of billowing purple clouds. Despite the pending sky, the sea was an inexplicably calm shade of green.
“An interesting work, Uncle. Might I name it? ‘Umberlee having a nightmare’ is one that comes to mind.”
Khelben stabbed a paint brush in his direction, splattering him with dabs of purple paint. The fury on the archmage’s face convinced Danilo that it might be unwise to protest the matter.
“What possessed you to do such a stupid, ore-brained thing?”
Danilo lifted one shoulder. “You will have to be more specific. I do a great many stupid, ore-brained things.”
The archmage dug in the pocket of his artist’s smock and took out a bright blue stone. “What is this?”
Bluffing was hopeless, but Danilo gave it a try. “A topaz?” The archmage snorted angrily. “Gemstones. You gave the child enspelled gemstones and taught her to use them. You have done some foolish things in your life—”
“But this is not one of them,” Danilo cut in. “Cara is just a child. She’s smarter than most, but few people of any age have the sort of enemies she’s collected. A paladin saw her outside Bronwyn’s shop and gave chase. My agents saw to it that the watch was called and the would-be abductor of children summarily dealt with.”
“Yes, I know,” groused Khelben. “And thank you very much for your quick thinking. As a result, I still have Piergeiron’s boot print on the back of my breeches.”
“The paladin had it coming,” Danilo said without a touch of his customary humor. “No one has the right to take a child from her family.”
“Her family is Dag Zoreth, a priest of Cyric.”
“Bronwyn is Cara’s family, too,” Danilo argued. “She is Dag Zoreth’s sister.”
“Yes, I believe that came up in conversation with Piergeiron, too. Or don’t you recall?”
Danilo folded his arms. “With a little help, Bronwyn can take care of Cara. If you have no regard for the concept of family, consider this: Wouldn’t it be better to have whatever power this family wields in the hands of the Harpers, rather than at the disposal of the Holy Order of the Knights of Samular?”
The archmage considered this. “You make a good argument, but understand that whatever we do could place a wedge between the Harpers and the paladins. That is a dangerous situation. We cannot afford to anger the Knights of Samular any more than we have.”
A sudden breeze arose in the room, an intangible wind that spoke of gathering magic. Before either mage could respond with a defensive spell, a flash lit the room. A man stumbled out of the invisible white whirl, almost into Khelben’s arms.
Both men drew back, staring at each other with startled faces. Danilo regarded the newcomer. He was a young man, tall and broad, with curly fair hair cropped unfashionably short. The description was unmistakable, even without the telltale colors of the Knights of Samular. This was the paladin who had been chasing Cara, and this was how the clever little wench had served him back.
Danilo burst out laughing, laughter that rolled from him in waves, that had him clutching his belly and bending over as he gasped for air.
The paladin barely glanced at him, but advanced on Khelben. “What manner of fell sorcery is this?” he demanded in an aggrieved voice.
“None of my doing,” Khelben replied sternly.
“Oh, go ahead and take credit for it,” Danilo gasped out through his laughter. “It would better serve his dignity to be bested by the archmage of Waterdeep than a half-elf child not yet ten.”
The paladin reached for his sword, and that sobered Danilo somewhat. He wiped his streaming eyes and subsided to a chuckle, all the while forming the one-handed gestures needed for a cantrip designed to heat metal. The grip of the paladin’s sword began to blush with heat. With a startled gasp, the young man released his sword, staring down at his hip with an expression that suggested he thought the sword guilty of deliberate treachery.
That set Danilo off again.
“From whence have you come?” Khelben demanded, raising his voice to be heard over his nephew’s laughter. “I will send you back.”
Danilo broke off in mid howl. “Uncle, that would not be-”
“I will send him back a reasonable distance from the place he left,” the archmage specified, and turned back to his “visitor.”
“Gladestone,” the paladin admitted.
“That’s near Summit Hall. I will send you to the monastery, which is about a half day’s ride. If that is acceptable to you,” Khelben added, sending a dark look in Danilo’s direction.