“How is she? Where is she?”
“In Waterdeep,” Malchior answered. He grimaced and touched the livid cut on his face. “And trust me, she does well enough. I met and spoke with her earlier this very night.”
So that was Bronwyn’s work. The years had passed, but still she had the courage to act when Dag held back. This did not please him, but the discomfited expression on Malchior’s wounded face most assuredly did.
“For a paladin’s daughter, she is quick with a knife,” Dag commented with dark amusement. “You are not usually so incautious as to overlook a hidden weapon.”
“A naked woman,” Malchior grumbled, “with a stiletto hidden in her halt Men must be cautious in these treacherous times.”
This time Dag laughed aloud. “Oh, that is priceless! Wouldn’t the great Hronulf be proud?”
The older priest shrugged. “She is an interesting woman, a finder of lost antiquities who has made it her life’s work to collect pieces of the past. Ironically, she has not been able to recover her own history. Yet she is clearly desperate to do so. She was willing to trade a gemstone artifact for information. You could exploit this. And you should.” Again he grimaced. “I ran into some. . . interference. Had I not prepared for that possibility and importuned Cyric aforetime for spells to take me to this place, the night would have ended more disastrously than it did. Clearly, we are not the only ones in possession of this knowledge. Your sister is watched, protected. If you do not stake claim to this woman and whatever power she wields, someone else will.”
“Yes,” Dag murmured. “What do you suggest?”
Malchior’s eyebrows rose. It had been some years since his former student had asked for advice. “I have given into your hands the man who betrayed your father, and you. Use him. Let him lure your sister to a place where you can, shall we say, exert a degree of brotherly influence.”
The young priest nodded. “Well said. And what, if I may be so bold, do you hope to gain from any of this?”
“Gain? We have known each other for many years. You have been like a son,” Malchior began. When Dag began to chuckle, the priest gave up the attempt and shrugged. “There is power in your family. I don’t understand its precise nature. That is for you to discover. But I trust that you will do so and share your discovery with me.”
“Really?” Dag imbued the single word with a great deal of skepticism. Malchior was not a man to be trusted, and he assumed that all other men dealt as he did.
“Let us say that there is power enough for both. I desire your success with all my heart, for it is a stepping-stone to my own.”
That, Dag could believe and understand. “Very well. When Bronwyn is under my influence, when I understand the scope of my heritage, then you and I will speak again.”
“I am satisfied to wait.” Suddenly the priest’s jovial expression disappeared, and his eyes were as flat and hungry as a troll’s. “You understand, of course, the price of failure.”
“Of course,” Dag said smoothly. “Have I not inflicted it often enough? Ask any failed man under my command the price of his failure-but first, prepare to summon his spirit.”
Malchior blinked, then began to laugh. “Well enough. A drink then, to seal our agreement.” He linked his arm with Dag’s, and together they strolled back toward the darkness of the villa.
* * * * *
“Forgive the intrusion,” Khelben Arunsun said in a deep, faintly accented voice, “but circumstances demanded that we meet and speak. Please, sit down.”
Still too dazed for thought, Bronwyn sank down on the nearest available seat—the old sea chest that held her linens. The archmage took the chamber’s only chair. Staff in hand, he looked uncomfortably like a magistrate about to pass judgment on some unknown crime.
“It has come to my attention that you have accepted a commission from a priest of Cyric, a man known as Malchior.”
How had he learned of this so soon? Bronwyn shook off this second surprise and marshaled her wits. “That is so, Lord Arunsun.”
“What precisely was your thinking in this matter? Need I remind you that conspiring with the Zhentarim is hardly an approved Harper activity?”
“True enough, my lord. But it is part of my job. I was recruited by the Harpers for my contacts. A wide range of customers seek my services.”
“And simple prudence dictates that you set limits. Correct me if I err, but was it not your intention to deliver gemstones containing significant magical power to Malchior of Cyric?”
“Yes, but—”
“What do you know of the man? What is the nature of your dealings with him?”
Before Bronwyn could form a defense, a tap at her open lintel distracted both her and her visitor. A familiar, fair-haired man lounged against the door post. He held up one hand to display a length of golden beads and silver filigree.
Bronwyn’s eyes widened at the sight of the amber necklace. For a moment, she forgot the daunting presence of the archmage. “Damn it, Dan, what are you doing with that?”
“I should like to know that, myself,” Khelben intoned in a grim voice. He rose and faced down the younger man. “Why did you bring the necklace here?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It belongs to Bronwyn,” Danilo said.
“No, it doesn’t,” she gritted out. “I received payment. The bargain was made.”
“Was it?” Her friend’s usually merry face showed deep concern. He walked into the room and sat beside her on the sea chest. “From what I hear, there was a slight downturn in the course of bartering. Something about an attempted kidnapping and a leap from a fourth floor window? Why are you so angry about a little assistance, Bronwyn? They might have killed you.”
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.”