Thornhold

SEVENTEEN

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 lath 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 Hails 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 woi.ild 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 Skorisun 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."

The Harper swore fervently. "Are you sure they saw this?"

"It would be hard to miss something that big rising out of a rye field."

"Then we must hurry," he said. "We must find a way to get Cara away from the paladins before they catch up with you and demand the artifact."

They slipped through the city, taking a route that led through the back doors of shops, through several private homes and adjoining tunnels, and even, on one occasion, a short dash across a rooftop. There were many such routes in the city, known only to the Harpers and open only to them. Despite her fury with Khelben, Bronwyn found some comfort in the web of support her Harper alliance offered-not the least of which was the determined friend at her side.

Alice met them at the back door and pushed them back into the alley. "Go right back the way you came. There's a paladin here looking for you."

A sense of ill news oft-repeated swept over Bronwyn, and she sighed tiredly. "Tali man? Blond hair?"

"Might have been. There's no telling, as it's long since gone white. He gives his name as Sir Gareth Cormaeril."

Bronwyn glanced at Danilo. "I should see him. He was a friend of my father's. Perhaps he will tell me what's going on."

The Harper shoved one hand through his hair and shook his head uncertainly. "I would be wary."

"I will be. Listen in, if you want," she said, knowing very well that he would do so anyway..

She hurried through the back room into the shop. The knight rose to greet her, his handsome and well-worn face tight with worry. "Thank Tyr, child! I hoped that I might have word with you before the watch found you."

That stopped Bronwyn in her tracks. "The watch?"

"Yes. Lord Piergeiron had decreed that you should be arrested on sight. You are not safe in this city."

She sat down, hard, on a small bench. "Why?"

The old knight gazed intently at her for a long moment. "It is as I suspected. You are innocent of the charges against you."

"Tell me."

He sighed. "The three young paladins sent to escort the child from Blackstaff Tower to the Halls of Justice were found dead. The girl is gone. Most of my brothers suspect that you and your brother, a priest of Cyric allied with the Zhentarim, are behind this abduction." He hesitated. "There is more."

"Of course there is," she muttered. Feeling utterly dazed, she dropped her head into her hands.

"Your brother, Dag Zoreth, commands the forces at Thornhold. I have learned on good authority that he killed Hronulf with his own hands. I would not tell a woman, especially one of your delicate years, the nature of the injuries dealt the young paladins who guarded Dag Zoreth's child, but they bear that villain's stamp. Unless I am far wrong, the child is with him… in Thornhold."

"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?"

"None. You want the child. That, you have made plain. I'm on my way to Thornhold to fetch her back."

"No longer," Algorind said. He lunged in, with a quick hard stroke designed to knock the knife from her hand.

The force of the blow flung Bronwyn's arm out wide, but she kept her grip. 'We could both get what we want, if we work together. I could get Cara. After that, we will take her to Waterdeep. Together."

Algorind was clearly skeptical. "Why would you do this?"

"Would you want to see a child turned over to the Zhents? And what of the coming battle? She has seen enough fighting, thanks mostly to you and yours."

"It is a paladin's duty to fight for good," he said.

"And I'm offering you a chance to do just that," she said impatiently. "Do you think it will be easy to get Cara out of Thornhold? You'll get your chance to fight."

She circled closer and noted that Algorind did not retreat. He seemed to be giving her words careful consideration.

"How would you get the child?"

"I am Dag Zoreth's sister. He has been looking for me, just as you and your fellow paladins have been. Apparently, I have some value because of who my ancestors were." She gave an impatient shrug, to indicate she had little knowledge of or interest in this notion.

"So you would surrender to him."

"In a manner of speaking. They will let me into the fortress, and I doubt they would worry overmuch about my companion."

The paladin's face clouded. "Speaking of such, where is that horse-stealing dwarf?"

She shrugged off the question. "They would view you as a far more likely companion. In fact," she added wickedly, "Master Laharin was giving thought to what young paladin might be chosen to help me continue Samular's line. Perform well in today's task, and perhaps I'll recommend you for the job."

The young man looked flustered, as Bronwyn hoped he might. "You believe the Zhentarim would allow a paladin into their stronghold?"

"Why not? You're good with that sword, but you're still one man. The question is, are you good enough to help me fight our way out of the fortress once we have Cara?"

Algorind gave her question sober consideration. "I will speak truly. It seems to me that your plan holds grave risks and small chance for success. Nevertheless, I will do as you suggest."

She glared at him and brandished her knife. "If you're looking to die nobly, do it on your own time."

"That was not my meaning," he said earnestly. "Your bold plan holds danger, but I can think of none better. It is true that I am sworn to follow my duty, even if it leads to death."

Bronwyn remembered Hronulf" s last battle at Thornhold. The same serene courage shone in this young paladin's eyes. Suddenly she found herself hard pressed to hate this man.

"But I am not convinced that death will result from this venture," continued Algorind. "Defeat is never certain while life remains. It may be that Tyr will bless this quest and grant success." A sudden, bleak look entered his eyes. "And if success is not to be, still I am content."

His expression alerted Bronwyn. She remembered the fear she had experienced as a child, and again during her brief reunion with her father, that she would never quite manage to meet the mark set for her. That old ghost haunted Algorind's eyes. For a moment, a very brief moment, she felt sympathy for the young paladin and the harsh life he had chosen.

"Got yourself into a bit of trouble, did you?"

"As to that, you know my failings better than any. I allowed a dwarf to trick me and steal my horse, a child to evade my pursuit-"

"And let's not forget the incident with the gemjump," Bronwyn interrupted, "though I'm sure you'd like to do so."

A pained expression crossed the young man's face. "I admit my failings and gladly pay the price."

The calm, steady acceptance in his voice told all. Bronwyn straightened and tucked away her knife. If Algorind failed to rescue Cara, he would probably face disgrace, and possibly even banishment. Had she needed assurance that he possessed enough reason to face the task ahead, this would have outstripped her expectations.

Bronwyn looked around for her horse. The mare had calmed and was cropping at some grass. She turned back to Algorind.

"All right, then. Let's go. But remember, when we get to the fortress, let me do the talking."

Algorind had little desire for speech. He rode alongside Bronwyn, his thoughts churning with confusion. Had he done wrong, throwing his lot in with this woman? She had already proven treacherous, and her choice of companions did not commend her judgment. Yet she had agreed to travel with him, to work together.

He had to be clear on one thing. "Understand this," he said. "I intend to fulfill the paladin's quest given me. Once the child has been rescued, I am honor-bound to take her back to the paladins at Waterdeep."

"I never doubted it," Bronwyn replied, looking straight ahead.

They rode in unbroken silence until the walls of Thorn-hold loomed before them. Algorind had never seen the fortress, and he marveled at the strength of the ancient walls. He scanned the citadel, searching for something that might aid their escape.

"See that wooden door, about halfway up the walls?" he said, nodding toward the stronghold. "That is a sally port. When we are within the walls, look for a way up to it. There should be a ramp, or stairs."

"Both," Bronwyn said. "I remember that. When I was in the fortress, Hronulf showed me around."

"That is good. Once you have the child, we will fight our way up to the port."

She shaded her eyes against the setting sun and squinted. "It's a good twenty feet down."

"Nonetheless, it is our best hope of escape. My horse will come to my call. When we reach the fortress, we will leave our horses outside the gates. if we tie your mare's reins to mine, Icewind will bring her along."

Bronwyn nodded as she took this in. "It might work."

One thing more concerned him. "How will you find the child in the fortress?"

"My brother has not seen me since I was four years old," she said. "He is likely to ask Cara if I am who I claim to be. Knowing Cara, she will not be content to go tamely back to her room afterward."

In his brief tenure as master of Thoruhold, Dag Zoreth had transformed the commander's chambers. The rooms that had once been Hronulf's, and that had reflected the knight's austere life, were now luxurious and comfortable. A bright hearth fire was always burning to stave off the chill that lingered Within the thick stone walls, even though it was mid Mirtul and quite warm for that month. Fine furniture had been shipped from Waterdeep, lamps of colored glass from Neverwinter, fine furs from Luskan. His chamber did not quite possess the elegance of the Osterim villa near Waterdeep, but in time it would. Already it surpassed any Zhentarim outpost. But today, this small success gave him no pleasure.

"My Lord Zoreth."

Dag looked up from the papers on his table, almost grateful for the interruption. Already Ashemmi was making good her threat. Swift riders had brought word from Darkhold. Sememmon, the mage who ruled the fortress-and who was in turn ruled by his dark affection for the elven sorceress- wanted Dag to return to Darkhold, bringing the child with him. Thornhold would be turned over to another commander. For hours now, Dag had been wracking his thoughts for some way to keep control over his command and his daughter. Another conquest, perhaps. That might sway the matter. If he proved he could thus enhance the power of the Zhentarim, not even Ashemmi's charms could dissuade Sememmon from approving, even applauding, Dag's ambitions.

"Well?" he asked the messenger.

"The sentry on the north tower reports two riders approaching. A man and a woman."

Dag stood up abruptly. "Is this my sister?"

"It might be. The men who saw her enter the fortress before our attack think it is possible, but they saw her only from a distance."

There was one way to be certain. Dag strode to the door that led into the adjoining room. Cara sat on her bed, looking oddly dispirited. The playthings he had supplied her with lay neatly on the chest, in which, he supposed, were all her new clothes and baubles. She preferred to wear the clothes she came with-a gown of pink silk. Some day very soon he would have to find a way to persuade her to part with it long enough to allow the laundry a chance at it. In the girl's hands was a small, wooden doll, roughly carved and so squat and square that it resembled a dwarf far more than it did a human.

"Cara, we have visitors," he said. "As lady of the castle, you need to greet them."

That pleased her. She rose at once and followed him up a flight of stairs to the walkway that followed the entire wall. The height did not seem to bother her in the slightest-she was an intrepid child, that Dag had noted-but nonetheless, he claimed her hand and held it tightly as they made their way around to the front gate.

A delighted cry burst from the child. "It's Bronwyn! She has come to visit?"

"To stay, if you like," he said, and meant it. If he could find a way to keep them both, to use the power only they could wield, he would surely do it. "And the man with her?"

Cara's brown eyes narrowed, and her lip jutted out. "That is the man who stole me. He killed my foster parents and took me away. He chased me in Waterdeep."

So Sir Gareth was telling the truth after all, Dag mused. Dark pleasure rose in him like a tide at the thought of having this man, this paladin, delivered so conveniently into his hands. The single-minded fool probably expected to fight his way clear or die gloriously.

"He will not hurt you here," Dag assured her, "but we cannot be certain he will not hurt Bronwyn, unless we let them in. Do not be afraid."

Cara shot him an incredulous look. "I am not afraid. I am angry."

He smiled with approval and started forward. They walked until they had reached the small parapet overlooking the gate.

His first glimpse of his sister affected him in ways he had not expected. She was beautiful, and though he had not seen her for twenty years and more, so very familiar. Memory stirred, one of those memories that would forever be branded in his mind with utter, terrible clarity. He saw again his mother's white face, set in grim determination as she leaped to the defense of her children. That expression was reborn in his sister Bronwyn's eyes.

He could use that, Dag thought, striving mightily for detachment. If she was so attached to Cara, she might be willing to do nearly anything for the girl. Their mother had died protecting her brood. Let us see, he mused, if Gwenidale's daughter had inherited her mother's heart as well as her face.

Dag stepped forward, so that he was in full view of the riders who waited outside the gate. "State your name, and your purpose," he called down.

Pain, sharp and stabbing and insistent, thrummed along Algorind's temples. He shaded his eyes and tilted back his head to look up at the wall. There was no doubt in his mind who the speaker was. Evil emanated from the man in waves, Algorind silently prayed for strength and for the shield needed to hold back evil's power long enough to defeat it.

The woman beside him suffered no apparent ill effects. In fact, she looked disturbingly at home, and a small smile curved her lips.

"Ask Cara who I am," she tossed back.

There was a moment's silence. "Very good, sister. You say much in a few words, but you have answered only one of my questions. What do you seek here?"

Bronwyn slid a quick glance at Algorind and nodded. That was the signal they had agreed upon. They dismounted and walked together toward the walls. Praise be to Tyr, his mental shields held, and the pain caused by proximity with evil did not intensify.

"I am a merchant," Bronwyn called up. "I have learned that there is nothing that cannot be bought, if the price is high enough."

Algorind marveled at her calm. She stood easily, her head cocked and her hands resting lightly on her hips. One would think that bartering for a child's life meant nothing to her.

"Your terms?" the priest called down. There was a hint of amusement in his voice that Algorind found more chilling than shrieking rage.

"Simple enough. I want Cara. In exchange, I will give you all three rings of Samular and the powerful artifact they command. What you chose to do with them is no concern to me."

This betrayal smote Algorind with an icy fist. "Do not!" he protested, utterly aghast at this revelation of her true, base nature.

Bronwyn turned and gave him a small, cool smile.

He reached for his sword, but it was too late. The massive door swung open, and a score of Zhentish soldiers surrounded them. They swarmed him, pushing him roughly through the gates and toward whatever fate this treacherous woman had in mind for him.

Nineteen

Dag hurried down the gatehouse stairs as Bronwyn and the captive paladin entered the courtyard. He smiled and strode forward to reclaim his heritage at last.

"Hello, Bron," he said, voicing the almost-forgotten nickname with a faint smile.

"Bran?' She stood staring at him, her eyes huge and her face a canvas awash with more emotions than he could name. "I suddenly remember… so much?'

As did he. Bron and Bran, they had called each other. Nearest in age, if not in disposition, they were intense friends and foes during childhood. Images, fleeting and bittersweet, assailed him.

She took a step forward and held out a hand in an unthinking gesture. He took it in both of his own. "You've made an offer, but I would like you to reconsider it. You could stay here, if you wished, with Cara and me."

Her large brown eyes focused on him and went utterly cold. She snatched back her hand. "tinder the same roof as my fathers murderer? Not a chance. Give me Cara, and I'll go."

He refused to let her response sting. "Not quite yet. There is the matter of the rings and the artifact," he reminded her then tsked lightly. "Same old Bron. Hoarding all the toys." Dag understood the undeniable charm of memory and he wielded like a sword his knowledge that he once had been the person that Bronwyn loved above all others.

She shook her head, refusing to succumb. "I want to see Cara," Bronwyn said adamantly.

He lifted one brow. "Do you not hear her? She is in the gatehouse, under the care of hardened soldiers who, at this moment, are no doubt wishing they were patrolling the Mere of Dead Men, instead."

She cocked her head and smiled fiercely when the sounds of Cara's angry struggle reached her.

Dag turned to the guard at his elbow. "Have the men send her down."

The message was relayed, and Cara flew out of the gate-house door like a small brown bird. She threw herself into Bronwyn's arms with a glad cry. "My father said you've come to visit! He said maybe you will stay."

Bronwyn looked at Dag over Cara's head, holding his eyes as she spoke. "Plans have changed, Cara. You are going with me. Give your father the ring."

Without hesitation, the little girl peeled off the artifact and handed it to Dag. That concerned him, and stung more than a little. Hadn't he impressed upon her the importance of the ring and the power that came with her heritage? Did she value it-and him-so lightly?

Dag thrust aside these thoughts and turned back to Bronwyn. "The artifact," he said, and his voice sounded colder to his ears than he had intended to make it.

Bronwyn set Cara down and shouldered off her pack. From it she took a small object, carefully wrapped in a travel blanket. Dag watched avidly as she peeled off the covering, holding his breath and hardly daring to imagine what the item might be.

She handed him a small, wooden object. Puzzled, he took it from her. It was a miniature siege tower. A cunning piece of work, certainly, but a toy for all that.

He raised furious eyes to her face. "What is this?"

"Precisely what it appears to be," she said curtly. "Look at the platform. There are three small grooves. When the rings are placed into them by a descendant of Samular, the tower will grow to enormous size."

Dag looked at the tower with new interest. This was what he needed, exactly what he needed! With it, he could make short work of an escalade and gain another stronghold for the Zhentarim. That is, if it worked as Bronwyn claimed.

He handed her back the tower. "Show me."

She looked hesitant. "You'd do better to wait until morning and take the tower out into the open. I've seen it grow. This courtyard might not accommodate it."

That, Dag doubted. Judging from the depth and breadth of the toy's base, in relation to its height, it could most likely fit into the bailey without difficulty. "How tall does it grow?"

"As tall as it needs to be," she said reluctantly. "The artifact seems to sense the need and intent of the person who wields it. I believe it will adjust to the wall it is meant to conquer."

"Well, then, we have no problem, do we? Nor would we, unless Thornhold's wall were a hundred feet tall."

She struggled to hide her consternation, but Dag took careful note of it. "As you wish," she said, and handed him two rings identical to the one in his hand.

Too easily, Dag thought. He shook his head. "You do it." Bronwyn took a long breath and closed her hand in a fist around all three rings. "Stand out of the way, Cara," she warned the girl. "I want you to go over to the far wall, by the tower. Just to be safe."

To Dajs surprise, the child offered no resistance. But though she watched from a distance, there was little of her usual curiosity in her brown eyes. In fact, her expression was unusually shuttered.

"Do not do this thing!" burst out the paladin. He struggled mightily against the men who held him. "Better to die than to give such power into the hands of evil."

Dag Zoreth lifted one brow and shot a sidelong glance at Bronwyn. "Earnest sort, isn't he?"

"You have no idea," she gritted out from between clenched teeth.

She threw an angry look at the man and set the tiny siege tower on the ground. She put the three rings into place, one at a time, and then she leaped to her feet and ran toward Can.

Instinctively Dag followed suit. Behind him, he heard the scrape of a heavy object being dragged quickly against packed dirt and the creaking groans of expanding wood. He darted a look over his shoulder and then redoubled his pace. The size of the tower, and the speed with which it grew, were astonishing. Exhilarating!

In moments, the tower had reached its full height. It stood in their midst, like a shining beacon showing Dag the way to the future he craved.

Not a man moved, not a person spoke. All gazed in awe at the huge siege tower in their midst.

Suddenly the silence was shattered by the sound of splintering wood. A door on the side of the enclosed tower flew open, sending shards of wood spinning as the bolt which had held it shut gave way.

A fierce, red-bearded dwarf erupted from the tower in full charge. Ringlets of bright red sprang from her head in wild profusion and streaked behind her as she ran, giving her the appearance of a vengeful medusa. Though stunned into immobility, Dag remembered that dwarf. His raid had disrupted her wedding feast and had left her new-made husband lying dead from many wounds. As he eyed the female's furious approach, it came to Dag that he might well have done that slaughtered dwarf a favor.

Then the shock lifted, and fierce anger took its place. Sensation flooded into his dazed mind. The thunder of perhaps fifty pairs of dwarven booth, the roars and cries of the vengeful attackers, the sound of axe against sword, the smell of blood and of bodies already voiding themselves in death, and the bright, coppery taste of fear.

Dag whiried and seized a sword from the scabbard of the soldier nearest him. He ignored the battle raging around him as his eyes sought out the gift his sister had so thoughtfully delivered.

The paladin was not difficult to find. His bright hair caught the faint light of the dying day, and his young, strong baritone was raised in a hymn to Tyr. Dajs jaw tightened. He knew that hymn and could sing along with Algorind of Tyr if he chose to do so.

What he chose to do was to cut that song from the man's throat.

Never had Algorind seen such a transformation come over a mortal face. As the priest of Cyric gazed upon him, life and warmth and humanity itself drained away.

Dag Zoreth raised a sword and touched it slowly to his forehead in salute, his eyes holding Algorind's. As he lifted it, the silver blade darkened, and began to glow. Purple fire danced along the edges, throwing eerie shadows across the sharp lines and hollows of the Cyricist's face.

"You signed on to fight evil, boy," Dag Zoreth said, in a voice that was less like that of a single mortal man than a chorus of angry beings speaking in concert. The voice rang out easily over the chaos of battle and reached out for Algorind like a grasping, unseen hand. "You are about to realize your fondest ambition."

The force of so much evil, so much hatred, drained the blood from the paladin's face, but he lifted his sword, mirrored Dag Zoreth's salute, and ran to meet the priest's charge.

Black and violet fire flashed forward. Algorind parried, sending sparks flying. He advanced, his eyes steady on that inhumanly evil face, his sword dipping and slashing, working the priest's blade and keeping him on the defensive. He had little choice. The unholy fire gave incredible speed and strength to the Cyricist's sword, more than compensating for the difference in their stature and training. Algorind had found more skilled opponents, but never had he faced one as dangerous.

This victory, if such he was granted, would be not his, but Tyfs.

Bronwyn covered Cara's eyes from the glare of the purple fire and the terrible fury of the duel raging just a few feet away, and-most horrifying of all-the evil incarnated on Dag Zoreth's face. She scooped Cara into her arms and started to rise. "We've got to get away," she whispered.

The child wrenched out of her grasp. "I won't leave him," she insisted. "I can't! It's my right to see what happens."

Bronwyn remembered her own despair at the siege of Thornhold and knew she could not deny the child this. Nor could they leave if they wanted to. They were backed against the inner wall, and the duel had shifted to block their escape.

A clear, baritone voice began to ring above the sounds of battle, softly at first and then gaining in strength and power. Though Bronwyn could not see the paladin's face, she was certain that it wore its usual expression of absolute faith, and she had reason to know that Algorind was not one to be lightly dismissed. Algorind sang as he fought, calling out to Tyr in ringing faith that evil would not long prevail.

Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the light that limned Dag Zoreth's sword began to dim. The Fire of Cyric faltered before the power of Tyr. The purple light began to flicker and then to vanish. In moments, the priest held nothing but a blade.

With three deft movements Algorind disarmed Dag Zoreth. Another stroke sent the priest plummeting to the ground. Cara screamed as her father fell, blood darkening the already-black vestments of his god.

"He's killing him! Don't let him kill my father!"

Bronwyn reacted to the pain in the girl's voice. The Harper leaped forward and hurled herself at the paladin's back. She fisted one hand in his curly blond halt In one swift movement she pulled her knife, reached around, and placed it at his throat.

For a moment, Bronwyn was sorely tempted to pull the knife back hard and fast. She could finally end this, and she could do it now, but there was enough of her father in her to reject such a dishonorable act. She had caught the paladin in an unguarded moment, when all his being was thrown into the hymn, all his soul devoted to vanquishing evil. Despite everything Algorind had done, she did not want to kill him. But neither would she let him kill Cara's father before the child's very eyes.

"Bran," she said, calling her brother by his old name. "How badly are you hurt? Can you stand? Can you hear me?"

The priest stirred, grimaced, and pressed his hand to his side. He whispered the words of a healing prayer, and some of the color crept back into his pale face. Using his sword as a cane, he struggled to his feet. His gaze settled on Bronwyn and her captive, and a smile of chilling evil curved his lips.

"Well done, Bron," he said. "You hold him, and I'll finish this."

"No."

Dag looked puzzled, and more than a little angry. "No?"

"If I let go, he will kill you. If you try to kill him, I will let go. You have to leave. Now."

Comprehension swept over Dag's face. "So that is your game. You made one mistake-one that could be fatal," he said in a coldly controlled voice. "Why would you let me go, why would you bother to save my life at all, when you know you may well have cause to regret it someday?"

"I'll take my chances." She lifted the knife at Algorind's throat just a little, just enough to suggest the threat. "Just go."

"Very well." His eyes quickly swept the fortress as he took a last look at what he had lost, and then they settled on the little girl. "Come, Cara."

Bronwyn squeezed her eyes tight for a moment, trying to damp down the sudden, searing pain. This is what Cara wanted, she told herself. She belonged with her family, her father.

"No," the child said, clearly and firmly.

Dag Zoreth looked astonished. "What do you mean?"

"I want to stay with Bronwyn," Cara stated.

"But I want you with me!"

The child's smile was sad and old far beyond her years. "Yes, father. So you have often said."

The silence stretched between them, and in it Bronwyn could hear broken promises, just as surely as her ears rang with the sounds of battle.

Dag looked stricken, but he managed a small, rueful smile. "This is a strange end, indeed," he said in a strangled voice. "After all this, I find that I am more like Hronulf than I would have thought possible."

"Never," said Algorind, risking the safety of his voice to speak what he saw as truth.

The priest sent him a look of purest hatred. "You know nothing. Your kind is known to me-your mind is empty of everything but Tyr. It should be an easy matter, therefore, for you to remember this: I will find you and kill you, in the most painful manner I can devise."

Dag Zoreth took a long breath and chanted the words to a spell. He held one hand poised in an unfinished gesture and looked to his daughter. "Good-bye, Cara," Dag said softly. "We will meet again soon."

His gaze sought Bronwyn, and this time his eyes were hard. "As will we."

And then he was gone, leaving behind a small wisp of purple smoke.

Bronwyn caught Cara's eye, jerked her head toward the still-fighting dwarves, and mouthed the word, run!

Then she took her knife away from Algorind's throat and danced back a step. Still holding her grip on his hair, she kicked with all her strength at the back of his knee. His leg buckled. At the same moment, she yanked back hard. The paladin fell backward and landed in a painfully twisted heap. Bronwyn resisted the urge to kick him while he was down, and took off running madly after Cara.

A small knot of dwarves had run out of opponents and seemed to be quarreling among themselves. Cara ran straight at them.

"Good girl," Bronwyn panted as she pounded along behind. The dwarves looked up as Cara approached and parted to let first her and then Bronwyn past. Bronwyn glanced back to see that they had closed ranks, forming a wall of dwarven resolve against the paladin.

For once again, Algorind was fervently pursuing his quest.

Bronwyn groaned. "Stop him," she shouted back.

She snatched up Cara and all but threw the girl over her shoulder. There was an open door before them. The chapel. Bronwyn remembered the steps that ran up the back of the chapel into the towers. She dashed into the low building.

The sight before her stopped her in mid stride. Hanging over the altar was an enormous black skull, behind which burned a lurid purple sun. Malevolence emanated from the manifestation, washing over her with a wave of hatred and evil that was fully as debilitating as the lich's touch.

Algorind clattered in after her, barely noticing the dwarf who clung doggedly to one of his legs. He stopped, as Bronwyn had done, and raised his eyes to the unholy fira. But there was no fear on his face, and his eyes held calm certainty. For a moment, Bronwyn envied him the simple beauty of his faith.

Again he began to sing, the same chant that had banished the purple fire from Dag Zoreth's sword. Such was the power of his prayer that the dwarf-who had given up his hold and was now attempting repeatedly to bash at the paladin with a battle hammer-could not even get close. After several moments of this, the dwarf shrugged and took off in search of something he could actually hit.

The manifestation of Cyric was more difficult to banish than the sword's enchantment, and it resisted Algorind's prayers with a hideous crackling and hissing. The sunburst's rays fairly danced with rage.

Bronwyn did not stay to see the outcome. She put Cara down and took her hand. They edged around the chapel, hugging the walls and keeping as much distance as possible between themselves and the angry evil fire in the midst of the room. Once, a spray of purple sparks showered them. The skirt of Cara's dress began to smolder. Bronwyn dropped to her knees and beat out the tiny flames with her hands. To her relief, the child was not burned-only a few empty, brown-ringed holes marred the pink silk.

To her astonishment, this loss brought a tremble to the girl's lip. This, after all Cara had endured. "I will get you another," Bronwyn told her as she pulled her into a run.

The fire was dying now, and Algorind would not be far behind them. They dashed up the winding stone steps, and out onto the walkway that ringed the interior of the wall. Their way was clear, for all the Zhentarim had flooded down into the bailey to meet the dwarf invaders.

They ran toward the front gate tower, hoping to get to the horses. The dwarves had shut the door and barred it. There were but two horses outside the gate. If they could get to the horses, they could outrun the paladin.

But swift footsteps closed in and a heavy hand dropped on Bronwyn's shoulder. She huried her elbow back in a sharp jab and whirled after it. Stiffening her fingers, she went for his eyes.

The paladin was quick, and he dodged her jabbing attack. Her hand stabbed into his temple, and she changed tactics- spreading her fingers into raking claws and slashing down over his face.

Algorind had not expected his, and for one instant he fell back on his heels. Bronwyn looked around frantically for an escape.

The only way was down. The roofs of the small interior buildings were neatly thatched, and they slanted sharply down. It was the best she could do.

"Jump," she told Cara, then hurled herself onto the roof, never once doubting that the girl would follow.

They slid on their backsides down the low-hanging eaves and leaped out into the bailey. Bronwyn ran for the gate-house stairs, pulling Cara after her. She shot a look over her shoulder and stopped dead.

A young dwarf had stepped into Algorind's path, his axe raised and his beardless face set in determination. The paladin never slowed. He cut the lad down with a swift, terrible blow and kept coming.

Bronwyn squeezed her eyes shut to force back the wave of pain and indecision. She could not leave the dwarves here to deal with this man. He was too skilled, too determined. The dwarves were just as stubborn, and they wouldn't give up until Algorind lay dead.

Inspiration struck. She reversed direction, zigzagging across the bailey toward the siege tower. On the way, she cuffed Ebenezer's head. He glanced at her, which earned him a thudding blow from the staff of the man he was fighting.

"Bar the door behind!" she shouted, and then she dragged Cara through the open door of the Fenrisbane.

Bronwyn looked around the siege tower. The inside was vast and equipped with many weapons: piles of spears, swords, barrels full of quarrels. None of these, not in her hands at least, would be sufficient to stop the determined paladin from fulfilling his quest.

She looked up. The interior was a maze of scaffolding, leading up to a second floor and beyond. She hoisted Cara up onto a crate. "Can you climb?"

"Like a squirrel," the girl said somberly. She kilted up her ruined skirt and then proceeded to prove her claim.

Bronwyn came after her, hauling herself up from one timber to another. She knew with absolute certainty the moment when they were no longer alone in the tower.

"Faster," she urged Cara. "He's still coming."

The girl scampered up with an agility that Bronwyn duplicated only through sheer force of will. Algorind came after them, slowly gaining.

But they were almost to the top. Almost cleat Bronwyn put her shoulder to the hatch and pushed.

Nothing.

She tried again, hurling herself at the door and almost losing her balance. "It's barred," she said in despair.

Cara, however, was not listening. The little girl stared intently at the wooden door, on the side opposite the hinges. The wood began to smolder and then burst into flame.

"Try again," she advised, her voice pale from the effort of holding the casting.

But Bronwyn could not get close enough without setting herself afire. She backed off a foot or two and got a firm grip on one of the crossbeams. She let her feet drop and rocked back and forth as she hung over the rapidly advancing paladin. Mustering all her strength, she swung up both feet high over her head and kicked at the burning door.

The hatch flew open. Instantly, Cara released the enchantment and the flames disappeared. Bronwyn worked her way back, hand over hand, and pushed the girl up to the platform, then rolled out herself

She slammed the ruined door down and looked for something to bar it. Cara snatched up a ballista bolt, staggering under its weight. Together, they worked it through the iron latch handles.

The door bounced and heaved as the paladin tried to fight his way through. Bronwyn doubted that the charred boards would hold for long. She snatched the three rings from their slots and thrust them onto her hands.

"Come on!" she said, and took off down the ramp at a run. The tower shrank swiftly, sending the ground hurtling up to meet them. The crossbars that gave footing on the ramp were compressed, moving together. Bronwyn misjudged the distance and caught her toe in one of the bars.

She fell forward and went into an uncontrollable roll. The fall was mercifully brief; the landing, less merciful. Bronwyn slammed into the ground, rolled, and came to a stop with a clank of metal. When her vision cleared, she found herself looking into the fixed, staring eyes of a slain Zhentilar soldier. The plate armor that covered his chest had been deeply dented by a dwarven axe.

Bronwyn shuddered and shrank back. Strong hands seized her and dragged her to her feet, held her until her world stopped whirling.

Her eyes settled upon Ebenezer's broadly grinning face. "That was good thinking on your part," he said, nodding to the tiny siege tower standing in the courtyard. "Though I don't envy that human much, getting shrunk like that. Makes magical travel feel like a foot massage, I'm telling you that for free."

She reached out to give the dwarf an affectionate cufl then changed her mind and simply fell into his arms. His grip tightened around her, squeezed with gentle strength, and then he let her go.

Ebenezer cleared his throat and stepped back, turning his attention pointedly to matters elsewhere in the fortress.

Cara came to stand at his side, the Fenrisbane in her hands. She had torn a strip from her ruined gown, and securely tied it around the tower to hold the hatch in place.

The dwarf nodded to the tower. "What you fixing to do with him, now that you got him all boxed and gift-wrapped?"

Bronwyn hadn't thought that far, but the answer came to her. "I'm going to turn the tower over to Khelben Arunsun. Secretiy. It will be secure in Blackstaff Tower, especially if no one knows it's there."

"Think you can trust him?"

"On this matter, yes," she said shortly. "Whatever else Khelben Arunsun might be, he is no warmonger looking for conquest. And he doesn't look kindly on those who fit that description. He'll keep the tower secure."

"Well, that's fine, then." The dwarf looked wistfully at the siege tower. "Before you do that, lemme give the thing a good long, hard shake, or at least drop it from a high place."

Bronwyn grimaced, finding herself in sympathy with the dwarfs sentiment. "Algorind is defeated. I can't kill him now."

Ebenezer sighed. "I suppose not. Let the wizard deal with him."

"Khelben is the least of Algorind's concerns," Bronwyn said with sudden certainty. She remembered the look in the paladin's eyes when he spoke of the price of failure. As to that, she could do nothing. He had chosen this life, and he would be paid in the wages of his own choice.

Tarlamera sauntered up, looking almost happy for the first time since Bronwyn had met her. "Nice place. You thinking to be giving this back to the paladins?"

The answer that came into Bronwyn's mind surprised her, but she realized that it was the right one. "No. I'm going to hold the fortress. Thornhold does not belong to the order. It legally belongs to my family. To Cara and me."

"Important thing, a good clanhold," Tarlamera admitted. "How you thinking to hold it, though?"

She turned to the red-bearded woman. "I was hoping you might be interested. The tunnels will have to be cleared and protected. You folk could use the fortress as a base until you have secured the tunnels. And even then, you could hold both. This is a good trade site," she added. "I'm sure that dwarves from Mirabar and farther north would be glad of a place to come and trade, outside of the city."

"Been to the city," the dwarf woman agreed. "No reason to go back."

"I'm sure others feel as you do. Think of how a good fortress, a thriving trade, could help you rebuild your clan."

"Dwarves don't hold fortresses," Tarlamera scoffed, but she looked more than a little intrigued. She scowled and strode off "I'll think on it," she tossed back over her shoulder.

"She'll do it," Ebenezer translated. "And she thanks you for the offer."

Bronwyn laughed, delighted by the gruff affection in her friend's voice. He had his family back. Now that she had a family of her own-she and Cara were family; there was no longer a question in her mind-she knew its value.

"Ah," she said teasingly. "So that's what she said. I wouldn't have guessed, but family matters can be… complicated."

"True enough," he agreed. He craned his head and looked up at the darkening sky. A few stars were coming out, and the only sound beyond the walls was the distant murmur of the sea. "Getting late. Might be we should find ourselves some beds, if we're going to get on the road come morning."

She stared at him, puzzled. "You're not staying?"

"Never do. Not for long, anyway. Having secured the clan-hold-and taken the measure of my kin-I'd just as soon head out. If it's all the same to you, thought I'd make my home with you for a while, seeing as how you live on the road and furnish your digs with enough trouble to keep things interesting. Might get myself one of them Harper pins, too, now that I got into the habit of meddling."

A smile spread slowly across Bronwyn's face. "Speaking of trouble, I still have this ring, you know."

"That ought to do it," the dwarf agreed.