Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [138]
“Caves hereabouts,” the dwarf proclaimed, eyeing the rocky hills to the north. “Prime goblinkin country. Orcs, mostly likely. Best to look for a defensible camp before nightfall.”
They rode until twilight and set up camp on a hill not far from Summit Hall. Ebenezer found a small cave, one with a small opening so hidden that Bronwyn couldn’t see it until he pulled aside the brush to show her.
“Wait a mite,” he said, and then disappeared into the opening. He emerged in moments, briskly dusting off his hands. “Good cave. No orc sign, and the ceiling’s too low for orcs to stand and fight. Even has a small escape tunnel. Tight fit for me, but I’ll keep the stew down to two helpings tonight.”
The hopeful tone in his voice brought a grin to Bronwyn’s face. “Isn’t it your turn to cook?”
“How about I catch the rabbits?”
“Fair enough.” Bronwyn turned toward the packhorse to unload their gear. There, perched on the packs and grinning like a cream-sated tabby, was Cara.
Bronwyn fell back and yelped in surprise. “How did you get here?” she demanded.
But she knew even as she spoke. Suddenly Cara’s behavior at the wail of Blackstaff Tower made perfect sense. Her reluctance to part was a ploy-a way for her to plant her gem stone in the horse’s packs. Bronwyn wasn’t sure whether to be amused, touched, or exasperated. She pressed her fingers to her temples as if by so doing she could still her pounding pulse.
“Well, now. This is a fine how’d-you-do,” Ebenezer said, folding his arms and pretending to scowl. “Can’t hardly march into that nest of paladins with the kid, seeing as how the ones in Waterdeep are so all-fired-up to keep her.”
“True.” Bronwyn went over to Cara and lifted her down. “You should go right back.”
“Let me stay tonight,” the child wheedled. “I’ve never slept under the stars.”
Bronwyn had, so many times that she no longer gave it much thought, but it was a lovely notion when said with such wistful longing. She looked to Ebenezer. “Will you stay with her while I go in and talk to the knights?”
“And miss jaw-boning with that crowd? Glad to do it. Let’s you and me set up some traps and snares around camp,” he said to Cara.
Cara, it seemed, was an old hand at snares. It had been one of her tasks to tend the small rabbit traps her foster parents kept around the garden. Once she learned to adjust for size, she was tying and weighting snares as nimbly as the dwarf. “Might be you know how to cook, too?” he wanted to know.
“No, but I can make a fire. Watch.” The child turned her brown eyes onto the pile of kindling Bronwyn had gathered in a stone circle. Wisps of smoke began to rise from the sticks, and then the first bright tongues of flame.
“There!” she said triumphantly, turning to an open-mouthed Bronwyn for praise. “Laeral showed me that. It’s called a cantrip.”"That’s very good,” Bronwyn managed. She was no expert in magic, but it seemed remarkable to her that anyone, particularly a child, could learn a spell so quickly. For the first time, she wondered about Cara’s mother. What elf woman had borne her and bequeathed her daughter such incredible talent? And where was she now?
Since Cara had never mentioned her mother, Bronwyn thought better than to ask. She threw some dried meat and roots into the travel pot, and by the time the first stars winked into being, the three of them were spooning up stew and listening to the piping calls of spring peepers from a nearby marsh.
* * * * *
The complex was impressive-more like an enclosed town than a simple holdfast-surrounded by a thick wall perhaps twenty feet high, fashioned of the sand-colored stone that abounded in the hills. Watchtowers rose from the corners, and a large keep stood at the summit of the hill. To the north, outside of the complex itself, was an old, weathered tower.
Bronwyn rode to the gate and was cordially, if distantly, received by the followers of Tyr. An elderly knight showed her to a guest chamber in one of the smaller buildings that clustered