Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [143]
Ebenezer pursed his lips and considered. “He’d know how?”
“He can fly. He can find her and bring her a message,” she said confidently. She suddenly bit her lip in consternation. “I don’t write very well yet. Can you write the note?”
He could, but not in Common. The sign on Bronwyn’s shop bore Dethek runes along with Common lettering and curling, sissy Elvish script. Ebenezer hoped she hadn’t needed to hire a dwarf scribe to write the Dethek for her. He took the stump end of charcoal pencil Cara handed him and scribbled a few runes on a scrap of parchment. “Guess it’s time to see if that dwarf what she boasted of taught her anything useful,” he muttered as he wrote the message.
* * * * *
The sunset colors were fading as Sir Gareth and Algorind rode swiftly toward Summit Hall. They hailed the watch towers as they came so that they need not slow to wait for the gates. They swept in through the wooden doors and bore down upon the startled group emerging from chapel.
“Where is the wench?” demanded Sir Gareth as he slid down from his horse.
Master Laharmn strode forward, his yellow brows drawn down in a scowl. “Courtesy is a rule of this Order, brother. The only woman in this fortress is an honored guest.”
The rebuke was a harsh one to a man of his station, but Gareth didn’t seem to take notice.
“She is a traitor and a thief. Lord Piergeiron of Waterdeep told us she was bound here. Find her!”
Such was the knight’s urgency that most of the paladins obeyed at once. Algorind dismounted to join in. Before he took a dozen steps, Yves, a young man perhaps a year behind A.lgorind in training, came running back to the courtyard. “The chain on the tower tunnel has been disturbed!”
Algorind had never seen such unbridled rage on a paladin’s face as Sir Gareth wore. The knight quickly mastered himself and turned to a suddenly pale Laharin. “You see? This woman has made fools of you.”
It seemed to Algorind that the knight took an unseemly relish in delivering this news.
“This woman was at Thornhold when it fell,” continued Gareth. “Did it not occur to you to ask how a single woman walked out unscathed?”
“She is Hronulf’s daughter,” Laharin stated simply. “She told me that she met with Hronulf and that he showed her a secret tunnel whereby she might escape.”
“Did she also say that Hronulf had given her his ring? Did she mention that the lost child of Samular is in her keeping, held in the fastness of Blackstaff Tower?”
Laharin paled as the enormity of the situation hit him. “She did not.”
“And she has been to the old tower,” Sir Gareth concluded grimly.
Although Algorind did not know what that signified, Laharin clearly did. The’ master paladin was fairly wringing his hands. “It seems likely. By the Hammer of Tyr! The three rings will again unite.”
Sir Gareth turned to Algorind. “Find her. Take another man with you. Do what you must, but retrieve the rings of Samular.”
The utter coldness of the knight’s voice chilled Algorind, but he could not fault Sir Gareth’s reasoning or question the duty ahead. He whistled for his horse and beckoned for Corwin, a comrade of about his own age, to follow.
The two young paladins struck out for the tower. Algorind assumed that if Bronwyn had left by some hidden door, she could not be far. They would pick up the trail.
Twilight was deepening swiftly toward night when Algorind saw the first tracks-prints made by small, worn boots. There was a single set, and they ran behind a rocky hillock.
He swung down from his horse and knelt for a better look. The woman was small, and these prints looked a little big to be hers, but not so big that a match was impossible. For safe measure, he drew his sword and motioned for Corwin to do the same. Together, they rushed the hillock.
No woman awaited them there, but a small band of orcs did-scrawny, hideous creatures, with their piggish red