Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [139]
“Good thinking,” Ebenezer had approved. “Not a good thing, to be putting too much trust in humans.”
It had been on the tip of Bronwyn’s tongue to ask the dwarf what exactly he thought she was. But in recent weeks, she herself had not had many experiences with humankind that she could claim as proof against his cynical assessment.
A bell rang from one of the keep towers. Bronwyn heard a flurry of activity and glanced out her window. Several dozen young men were gathering in the large, open field that formed the heart of the monastery. They stripped to the waist and formed pairs, then fell to practicing with swords, staves, and a wide variety of smaller weapons. All of them fought well-impressively so. There was not a single man whom Bronwyn felt she could take in a fair fight. On the other hand, she got the impression that any one of them might be susceptible to some creatively dirty tactics.
Presently, one of the young paladins directed her to Master Laharin Goldbeard. She made her way up to his austere study and politely hailed him.
The man looked up, and his eyes widened. “Gwenidale,” he breathed.
It was not a common name, and Bronwyn had heard it only once in twenty years-when Hronulf spoke of her mother.
Bronwyn had not intended to reveal her identity, but she quickly adapted her course. “Not Gwenidale, but her daughter,” she said. “My name is Bronwyn.”
The knight recovered his composure and came toward her, both hands outstretched. He took her hands and spread them wide, as a family friend might do to a child whose growth he wished to fondly measure. “It is you, beyond doubt. Little Bronwyn! When last I saw you, you were no more than three. By the Hammer of Tyr, child, you have become the very image of your mother.”
She found herself liking Laharin and thought she would have even if he had not spoken of her mother. The man seemed to possess more warmth and kindness than any of the other paladins she had met-her father included.
“Come, sit down,” he urged. “You must tell me everything. How is it that you are come home to us at last?”
“You know about the raid on my village. I was lost-sold into slavery. For years I tried to find out about my family, but I was too young to remember Recently I finally learned my father’s name.”
Deep sadness flooded the knight’s face. “Too late,” he mourned. “Your father was a great man. A good friend.”
“I met him,” Bronwyn admitted. “I went to Thornhold to see him.”
Sudden light dawned on the knight’s face. “You met with Sir Gareth in Waterdeep, did you not? I did not until this moment make the connection. Child, the brotherhood is gravely concerned about you. It was thought that you were in collusion with those who seized the fortress, that you took with you an artifact sacred to our order. How is it that you escaped the destruction?”
“There was an escape shoot. My father insisted that I take it.”
“Ah. That explains all. Hronulf would know of such. The fortress has been in your family for many years.”
This created an opening Bronwyn hadn’t considered using until this moment. “It was Hronulf’s wish that I come to you, Master Laharin. He said I should avail myself of your good council regarding the future of my family…“ She let her voice trail off uncertainly and dropped her eyes as if she were overcome with maidenly modesty.
“Ah.” Laharin clearly understood Hronulf’s thinking. “Yes, you must find a suitable match. There are several young men here who might suit. I will think on the matter.”
“In the meanwhile, can you teach me of my heritage? I am not accustomed to being the daughter of a paladin. If I am to be a mother of paladins, I should know more about the order.”
“I will show you Summit Hall, and gladly!