“Oh, Cara,” Bronwyn breathed.
“The child is in grave danger, and not only from the corrupting influence of her father’s faith. The paladins are gathering to mount an assault on Thoruhold. It appears that this attack will take place sooner than my brother paladins anticipated. There are not enough men to mount a conventional siege, but the brothers have faith that they can prevail regardless. Not more than an hour ago, a young man of our order, a promising youth known as Algorind, rode in from Summit Hall with four of his brothers. Do you know this man?”
“We’ve met,” she said shortly, not bothering to look up. “He and his friends followed me back to the city.”
“They are seeking you even now—you, and the artifact you carry with you.”
This time she did glance at the knight. “The rings,” she hedged.
“And the siege tower,” he added. “Few among the Knights of Samular know that story, but I heard it from Hronulf, and recognized the Fenrisbane from Algorind’s story. Unfortunately, so did Laharin Goldbeard. You see, once, long ago, the great Samular himself captured Thornhold with the help of this artifact. My brother paladin desires to use it again, for the same purpose, and for the greater glory of
Bronwyn rose and started to pace. “Why are you telling me this?”
The knight came to her and took her shoulders. “You are the daughter of my dearest friend. I see in you Hronulf’s spirit. A terrible injustice has been done to you. As a servant of Tyr, it is my duty to try to see it put to rights.”
She stared up into his face. “What do you mean?”
“Your destiny was stolen from you when you were too young to understand it. Now that you are a woman grown, men seek to do this again. This is not well done, even though it is done in all good conscience, and for a great cause.”
“So what are you saying?”
“The power is yours, Child of Samular. You must decide for yourself how you will use it.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the door. “Now go, and quickly! They will find you if you linger.”
“He’s right.” Danilo emerged from the back, holding out his hand for her. “Though I must say, sir, your words surprise me. Bronwyn, I’ll get you out of the city. Once you’re safe, you can decide what to do.”
Alice came up and pressed a leather bag into her hands. “I heard everything. Here are the things from the safe. You might well be needing them.”
Bronwyn nodded her thanks and turned to the Harper. She clasped his offered hand. “I’m ready.”
As Danilo began the words of a spell, Bronwyn felt a whirling force gather about her. She felt as if she was about to be sucked into a tunnel, torn away from her own body. Never had she traveled magic’s silver paths—never had she had occasion to do so, she told herself. But in truth, the notion terrified her more than the prospect of sea travel.
But she had conquered that old fear. Suddenly Bronwyn knew that she need never again yield to lingering demons from her past—or to a belief that meaning and order for her life could only be found in the secrets of the past.
As the roar and whirl of magic carried her away, Bronwyn lifted her chin and stared straight ahead into the white void. The answers she now sought lay not in the hidden past, but the untried future.
Eighteen
Bronwyn emerged from the magical journey at the Thann family estates not far north of Waterdeep. The sun had vanished by the time they arrived, so she accepted Danilo’s urging and stayed the night. As exhausted as she was, as comfortable as the featherbed in the villa’s guest chamber might be, her dreams were haunted by all that had happened in the last several days and by the uncertainty and danger that lay before.
She rose before the sun and found that Danilo had been busy while she slept. Servants brought new traveling clothes and gear to her room, along with a tray of food. She quickly ate and dressed, and then followed the servants’ directions to the stable. Danilo was there, directing the selection and preparation of a suitable horse and the packing of travel supplies.
His face turned somber when he saw her. “I suppose you’re determined to go.”
“You have to ask?” She jingled the full coin purse at her belt. “Thank you for this, and for everything else. I will repay you for all when I return with Cara.”
He hesitated. Though it was clear that he wished to do so, he did not try to dissuade her from riding north. “My family has mercenaries. I could send men with you.”
She shook her head. “I will not be alone.”
Danilo considered this, and smiled faintly. “It is fitting,” he said simply. “Tymora smile upon you.”
She rode swiftly northward throughout the day, avoiding the High Road and taking a network of smaller paths that Ebenezer had shown her on the first part of their journey together. Surely her friend would return to his clanhold the same way he left. She only hoped she would be able to catch them before nightfall.
Twilight came, and still no sign of the dwarves. Bronwyn would have missed them had not Ebenezer’s gruff voice called out to her. She pulled up her horse and stared intently into the rocky terrain. A curly, auburn head popped up from behind a rock, and then other shapes—many of which Bronwyn had taken to be boulders—stirred into life.
Bronwyn shook her head in astonishment. She had heard that dwarves, though not innately magical, had an uncanny ability to blend in with the stone. She would not have believed the truth of it had she not witnessed it.
The Stoneshaft clan materialized from the rugged landscape and gathered around her horse. “We ain’t going back,” Tarlamera informed her in a tone that suggested this was not the first time the argument had been aired.
Bronwyn noted that the dwarves looked much better than they had just a tenday past. They had eaten well, and the grime of battle and sea voyage was a memory. They were all neatly clad in new garments the color of earth and stone, and shod with stout boots. Weapons hung at their belts, and their beards had been neatly braided—a style many dwarves adopted before battle.
Tarlamera took note of the careful scrutiny. “I’m-a telling you what I told that smith lad Brian. The clan is good for every coin he advanced us. So don’t be looking at us like you’re trying to figure out who got took.”
“Probably he figures it was. worth every coin and more, just to be rid of you,” Ebenezer said in disgust. He looked up at Bronwyn. “They’re determined to fight. Can’t talk sense into them no how.”
“I think they should fight,” Bronwyn said firmly. “How else are they going to get the clanhold back?”
Tarlamera hooted with delight and cuffed her brother. “I think I’m starting to like this human of yours!”
* * * * *
The battle planning with the dwarves had gone about as Bronwyn had expected it to go. The dwarves mulled it over late into the night, argued over every detail of the plans, and settled a couple of decisions through the application of force—though Ebenezer, with a show of impressive diplomacy, persuaded the combatants to decide the matter through arm wrestling.
But settled it was, and when morning came, Bronwyn rode swiftly northward to do her part. For the first time in days—for the first time, truly, in her entire life.—she felt as if her destiny was entirely hers to command. What lay ahead would not be easy, but it was worth doing. She felt, if not quite confident, at least buoyantly hopeful.
The terrain became increasingly rocky as she went north into the foothills surrounding Thornhold. She urged her fine, borrowed steed—a glossy bay mare with a long, tireless stride—to the top of the hill and pulled up to allow the horse a brief rest, and herself opportunity to survey the path ahead for dangers.
Her gaze swept over the desolate area. There was nothing to see beyond the rolling foothills, scrubby pines, and jagged piles of rock. The sun was warm, and several hawks wheeled and soared on the spring breeze. One of them dropped to the ground, claws outstretched. Bronwyn heard the small, sharp squeak of its prey and instinctively looked away.
Her gaze skimmed over a small, white form on the path behind her, then jolted back. It was a horse, and upon it was a very familiar figure.
Bronwyn dug both hands into her hair and clenched her jaws to keep from screaming with frustration. Not Algorind, not again, and surely not now! The paladin could ruin everything.
She kicked the mare into a run and took off for the north. Leaning low over the horse’s glossy neck, she raced down the hill and around the path that led to the High Road. There she might have some small hope of outpacing the paladin’s steed. The paths that wound through the hills were uneven and treacherous, and every frantic pace was a gamble that the horse would not stumble on the scattered stone.
The mare shied suddenly and violently to the right. Bronwyn clenched the horse’s sides with her knees and clung to the chestnut mane in a desperate attempt to hold her seat, but she could not. She fell painfully, rolling several times across the rocky ground. As she hauled herself up, her eyes fell on the source of the horse’s fright. Several snakes, newly awakened from their winter’s slumber, were sunning themselves on the flat rocks ahead. Had the horse not stopped she might have run right through them—with deadly consequences.
Bronwyn regarded her torn sleeve and the deep, painful abrasion that ran from wrist to elbow. “I owe you thanks,” she said softly as she walked toward the skittish mare, “but you’ll excuse me if I wait a while before expressing them.”
Behind her she heard the thundering approach of the paladin’s great white horse. She was almost to her horse, was just reaching for the reins, when the mare turned and bolted. Bronwyn dropped and rolled as the paladin thundered by.
He dismounted in a quick, fluid leap and strode toward her, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I have no desire to fight a woman. If you will yield peacefully, I will bring you safely back to stand judgment.”
Bronwyn pulled her knife and fell into a crouch. As she did, a plan began to formulate in her mind. “Why would you content yourself with performing only half your duty?”
“Half my duty?” The paladin drew his sword and circled in. “What trickery is this?”