Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [112]
“Let them try. They will not find it as easy to get into the fortress as we did. Unless of course,” Dag added, “you gave them the same information you gave me.”
The knight’s blue eyes widened with a sharp, sudden flash of fear. “I did not, but there might be others among the order to whom Hronulf entrusted this knowledge.”
Dag didn’t really care-he brought up the matter just to tweak the older man. If the gathering paladin army had this knowledge, it would do them little good. The tunnels beneath the fortress had been so altered that men could wander about for tendays without finding the old passages.
“There is another matter of which we much speak,” Dag continued. “I have a daughter. Though her existence has been kept secret for more than nine years, she is now widely sought. What do you know of her?”
“Sir?” inquired the knight, puzzlement on his reflected face. “Why should I know anything?”
It was not a lie-Dag had yet to catch the fallen paladin utter a direct untruth-but it was a blatant evasion. This irritated the priest.
“I run short of time and patience,” Dag said through gritted teeth. “Hear me well. The girl was abducted from her foster home by a single man, even though her foster father was an elf of considerable skill at arms. The Zhentarim are not known for such acts of foolish bravery That leaves who?”
Sir Gareth bowed his head. “I have earned your suspicions, Lord Zoreth. My part in the raid on your childhood village-”
“Is past history,” Dag cut in coldly. “I have no intention of making you suffer for past misdeeds, but I assure you, your continued existence depends upon your ability to serve me quickly and well. Is that quite clear?”
“Pellucid, my lord,” the knight agreed.
“A straight answer, then. Did you or did you not have a part in abducting my daughter?”
“Alas, the answer to that is not so simple as your question suggests,” the knight said, his face deeply troubled. “My orderwas indeed responsible, so some of this lies at my door.”
Dag sniffed at the self-serving “confession,” but found in these words welcome news. “My men tracked Cara’s abductor. He was headed to Waterdeep. I want his name, and soon thereafter, I want his heart on a skewer.”
“There are many paladins in Waterdeep,” Sir Gareth hedged. “Tell me more of your daughter, so that I might make discrete inquiries. I myself never saw the girl.”
That seemed a reasonable request. “She is nine years of age, but small and slight, so that she looks to be no more than six or seven. Her hair is brown, as are her eyes. There is a touch of elf blood in her. Her ears are slightly pointed, her eyes are large and tilt up at the corners, and her fingers are very tiny and thin.” As soon as the last words were out, Dag rued them. He did not want to draw any attention to the girl’s hands-and the extremely valuable ring she wore.
“And my sister,” Dag added hastily. “What word on her?”
“I sent her to Thornhold, as you directed. Did she never arrive?”
Dag decided that was a question best left unanswered. “I want the woman and the child found and turned over to me. Find a way to circumvent the other knights. Is that quite clear?”
The knight lifted two fingers to his brow in an archaic salute. “I am pledged to honor the children of Samular’s bloodline. All will be done as you say.”
Dag shook his head in disgust and released the enchantment. Sir Gareth’s face faded abruptly from the globe-but not before Dag caught a satisfying glimpse of the anguish inflicted by the spell’s release.
He despised the old knight. He hated all paladins, and particularly those who, like his own father, took vows as Knights of Samular, but this man simply galled him. Sir Gareth Cormaeril had once been a mighty knight, his father’s friend and comrade. He had saved Hronulf’s life once and had received the wound that shrunk his sword arm and ended his career in battle. But there was a weakness in the man, a weakness of will and heart that Dag particularly despised. He himself had triumphed over physical weakness-why should another