Thornhold (37 page)

Dag spoke with the half-elf for a few more minutes, making an appointment to meet later in a certain discretely lit tavern—an appointment he had no intention of keeping.

It was a small cruelty, but satisfying. And more important, it served a purpose. If the half-elf wench thought herself jilted, she was less likely to speak of her embarrassment and the man who had caused it.

Dag promptly forgot the half-elf as soon as he left her shop. He had more important things to tend. Somewhere in this city was a paladin who called himself Algorind. Before the day was through, Dag intended to roast the paladin’s heart over purple fire.

Bronwyn returned to her shop with her linen shopping sack laden with treats. She’d left Cara sleeping and intended to have a special breakfast of pastries, fruit, and lemon tea ready for her, but the look on Alice’s face stole such pleasant thoughts from her mind.

“A man came by just a bit ago,” the gnome said tersely. “He was about your height and small enough to balance you in a scale. He had black hair, dipping here,” she said, tapping at the center of her forehead.

The contents of Bronwyn’s sack spilled unheeded to the floor. That was the one detail Cara had been able to give them about her father. “Just like Cara said,” she muttered.

“Just like.”

“Did you tell him Cara was here?”

Alice looked insulted. “What do you take me for—a kobold? He didn’t ask, nor would I have told him. It was you he wanted. A commission, he said.”

Bronwyn stooped to gather up the fallen groceries. She picked up a lemon and dropped it into the sack. “One more thing. Did he wear purple?”

“Purple and black,” Alice confirmed. “Why?”

Bronwyn just shook her head, for her throat was too tight for her to form an answer.

“Child, it’s time,” the gnome said. “If that was the girl’s father, you’ll have to turn her over. Cara would be the first to insist.”

“I know,” Bronwyn said, but she meant nothing of the sort. Never before had she felt less sure of anything. Before she could decide what to do with the little girl, she needed to find some answers. It was time to face down Khelben Arunsun, and test her ability to hold to her own path against the Master Harper’s powerful will and subtle manipulations.

Thirteen

As it turned out, Bronwyn did not have to seek out Khelben Arunsun. He came to her.

The street outside of her shop was always alive with a pleasant clamor during the day and well into the evening. So the sudden lull in this bustle held a portent that few warning horns could match.

Bronwyn peered out the window and understood at once. Lord Arunsun and his lady, the mage Laeral Silverhand, strolled arm in arm down the street, stopping at shops to admire this or that trinket. This was far from a common sight, but Bronwyn suspected that this visit was for her benefit and that the other stops were visited so that she would not seemed to be singled out.

At that moment one of Ellimir’s helpers came running out, a bolt of cloth-of-silver in her arms. She held up a length of it to show that it was of near color to Lady Laeral’s hair. The two women haggled pleasantly for a few moments. Bronwyn watched, troubled by something but not quite able to pinpoint her concern. Then the young seamstress turned, and Bronwyn noted the heavy kohl that lined her eyes, the smudge of henna still on her cheeks.

So that was why the three-copper courtesan in the alley had looked so familiar, Bronwyn thought grimly. She was willing to bet good gold coin that this shop assistant was one of Danilo’s Harpers.

That flustered and angered her. She drew back from the window and busied herself with some rare volumes as she collected her thoughts.

The bell over the door rang too soon for her comfort. The archmage and his lady were met at the door by Alice Tinker. Bronwyn had to admire the gnome’s performance. Alice’s response was perfect. She seemed overawed by the presence of two of the city’s most powerful magi, and so eager to please that she resembled a puppy who regretted she had but one tail to wag. Anyone who witnessed the gnome’s performance would have a difficult time believing that she had been a Harper informer for many years. Since Alice’s admission, she had spoken freely to Bronwyn of her past. It was difficult to equate the motherly gnome with the fierce fighter she once had been, but Bronwyn could see how that very dichotomy would make Alice a more effective Harper agent.

Khelben looked somewhat bemused by the presence of a child in the shop. Bronwyn noted how his eyes followed Cara, but his countenance was too difficult for Bronwyn to read. She studied Cara herself and tried to imagine what the archmage saw. Cara was a small girl, exceedingly thin, and brown as a wren. Half-elf, that was obvious, but except for her delicate frame and the slight point to her ears, she looked more human than elf. Did the archmage also note that the girl followed Bronwyn like a second shadow? That, like her apparent mentor, the child had an eye for rare and pretty objects? Following Alice’s lead, Cara brought choice baubles to show Laeral. Soon she was giggling and chattering, utterly charming the lady mage.

Khelben was not long content to stand to one side and watch the womenfolk exclaim over trinkets. Bronwyn caught his eye as she bent to hold a hand mirror so that Laeral could admire the effect of a necklace of rosy pearls.

She put the mirror into Alice’s hand and straightened. “Can I show you anything, my lord?”

“Old tomes, perhaps? I see none about, but perhaps you have some that are not on display?”

Bronwyn took the hint and led him into the back room. He waited until she had lit a small oil lamp and shut the door. “You no doubt have many questions about your past,” he said without preamble. “I believe I have the answers you seek. Or at least, I can tell you where they might be found.”

Bronwyn listened as he gave her directions to the monastery of Tyr and a description of what she would find there. “That’s two days’ ride,” she calculated, her face troubled. “I hope Alice won’t mind looking out for Cara.”

A hint of suspicion edged into the archmage’s eyes. “This child. What is she to you?”

“She’s a stray, like me,” Bronwyn said lightly.

“Do you plan to adopt her?”

She sighed, her face wistful. “I wouldn’t mind—she’s a dear little thing—but she has a father.”

Khelben considered this. Bronwyn wondered if he was comparing Cara’s face to hers and seeing the resemblance. “She is kin to me,” Bronwyn admitted. “She says her father’s name is Doon. I have heard him called by another name.”

“Dag Zoreth,” Khelben said flatly.

Bronwyn blinked, startled but not really surprised to hear that Khelben knew of this. “Yes. Who is he?” she said urgently.

The archmage picked up a tome bound in green leather and put it back on the shelf, unopened. Fidgeting, perhaps? marveled Bronwyn, who had never thought to ascribe such simple mortal failings to the archmage.

“Dag Zoreth is a strifeleader… a priest of Cyric. Until lately, he served Darkhold as a war cleric,” Khelben said bluntly. “He is also your brother.”

Bronwyn sat down hard. “My brother,” she echoed.

“Yes. You knew him as Brandon. He took the name Dag Zoreth shortly after he was abducted.”

“Brandon,” she murmured. “Bran.” An image came to her: a small, pale face, narrow and intense, capped by hair the color of a raven’s wing. He was a presence both fiercely beloved and vaguely feared. Bran and Bron, they’d called each other. Yes. It came to her again—not quite a memory; but at least the shadow of one.

She had a brother.

The thought struck her again, this time hard enough to hurt.

“It appears that your family has access to considerable power,” Khelben continued. “Dag Zoreth wants that power. So do the paladins. This might be considered heresy in some circles, but I would no sooner see one side get their hands on it than the other.”

“And Cara and I are in the middle,” Bronwyn murmured. “You are in a most delicate position,” he agreed, “a fulcrum between the Zhentarim and the Order of the Knights of Samular.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Not exactly what I signed up for when I pledged to protect the Balance.”

“Nevertheless, it is the task that has come to you,” Khelben said with a wry smile. “You are well suited for it. As a finder of lost antiquities, you must find three rings that once belonged to Samular and his brother and bring them back to safe keeping.”

Bronwyn rose, her eyes intent upon Khelben’s face. “Why?”

To her surprise, he didn’t seem to find her question impertinent. “The rings are but part of the puzzle. There is a larger artifact, a power of some sort that the three rings together can trigger. This you must recover.”

She thought it over and decided to speak the truth. “I already have two of the rings. One was given me by my father, the other Cara wears.”

The archmage nodded as if he had expected to hear this. “I suppose I cannot persuade you to yield the rings into my keeping. Would you at least consider leaving the child behind? There are few places more secure that Blackataff Tower. Laeral seems quite taken with her, and I am sure she would not mind tending her until your return.”

Bronwyn’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “This seems too neatly planned. You knew of her, too.”

“Not until this moment,” Khelben said plainly. “I had no knowledge of the child’s heritage, and I would not have known her for who she is had I not seen the two of you together. Only then did I look for the ring and note it on her hand. But consider this: if one man can discern this resemblance and see the ring she wears for what it is, so can another.”

Bronwyn’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh as she accepted the truth in the archmage’s words. Poor Cara had been tossed around like a cork on the waves, and Bronwyn wasn’t looking forward to telling the child that she would be left in the care of a stranger.

“I’ll bring her around first thing in the morning,” she said. “She’ll need some time to get used to the idea.”

The magi left the shop soon after, leaving Alice happily counting and recounting a pile of coins, and Cara sighing and starry-eyed over the gems she had helped to sell and the pretty lady who would wear them. Bronwyn noted this and was grateful. It would make things a little easier.

She crouched down so that her face was level with Cara’s. “You liked Lady Laeral, didn’t you?”

The girl beamed, and her head bobbed happily. “She’s nice. She bought me this. It is mine to keep, she said.” She showed Bronwyn a small brooch, shaped like the shadow of a leaping hart. It was a simple, pretty thing. It was also silver, and elf-crafted, and over two hundred years old. There were other pieces in the shop of greater value, but not many.

Bronwyn gently took the brooch from the child and fastened it to the shoulder of her new gown. “That was kind of her. I like Laerai, too. She’s a good friend.”

“She has magic,” Cara said matter-of-factly. “Lots of it.”

That surprised Bronwyn. “You can tell?”

Cara drew herself up. “Of course. Can’t you?”

Well, this was an interesting twist, Bronwyn mused. She was no expert on the subject of magic, but she knew that the ability to recognize magical talent in another almost certainly meant that Cara was gifted. “Would you like to learn magic?”

She nodded avidly. “Today?” she said, hope ringing in her voice.

Bronwyn chuckled. “It takes a bit longer than that, but you could get a start. How about this,” she said, twisting around so that she could sit on the floor and pull Cara into her lap. “Tomorrow morning, I will take you to the wizard’s tower where Lady Laeral lives. She will play with you and take care of you and show you some magic. Would you like that?”

Cara considered. “Will you be coming, too?”

“Yes, but I can’t stay,” she said ruefully. “I have to go away for a while.”

“Why?”

“We’re not going to find your father if we don’t look, right?”

The girl brightened. “I’ll come with you.”

“You can’t. I’ll be riding for several days. It will be dull and tiring, and it may be dangerous. You’ve had quite enough of that sort of thing to last you a long while. You’ll be safe with Laeral.”

The girl folded her arms. Her lip thrust out and her face turned, as portent as a thundercloud. “I’m tired of being kept safe and quiet and out of the way! I’m tired of staying in one place! I want to go with you. I want to see the places you and Ebenezer told me about.”

Bronwyn sighed and stroked the girl’s nut-brown hair. “Believe me, I know how you feel. if I stay too long in one place, I start feeling itchy, like ants are crawling all over me.”

Cara giggled, then shivered. “I can feel them, too,” she confided.

Bronwyn smiled faintly, both touched and grieved that this foundling of hers was such a kindred spirit. But perhaps, because of all they shared, she could make Cara understand.

“You know that the ship you were on was a slave ship, right?”

“Yes, but I was not to be a slave. The men said I was a sort of princess, and that I was being taken to a palace.” Cara frowned. “They didn’t listen to me, though, when I told them to take me back. You’d think a princess could decide where she wanted to go, wouldn’t you?”

“I suspect that princesses have fewer choices than the common, everyday sort of girl,” Bronwyn told her. “But sometimes things go wrong. I was on a ship like that, once, when I was much smaller than you. Pirates came and stole me, much as Ebenezer and I stole you and the dwarves, but they didn’t set us free. I was sold to be a slave. The first person who bought me was very… unkind. I got away but was captured and sold again. This time, a gem merchant bought me. I had clever hands, and I could draw and use tiny tools very well by the time I was your age. I worked very hard, There was no time for play, no children to play with, and never quite enough to eat. All that I had of my own was a sleeping mat in a corner of the kitchen.”

“They were mean,” Cara decreed.

“They did not set out to be,” she said, “but they didn’t give me much thought one way or another. That was almost worse.”

The child considered this, and nodded. “I’m glad you stole me back.”