Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [149]
“She wouldn’t go,” Bronwyn responded.
The dwarf shook his head. “Lacks for nothing but a beard, that one. Well, I’ve got some bad news. You’ve got ten guesses, and there’s your first clue.”
He pointed to the back door. The body of an elderly elf stood sentry at the door, pinned to the wooden beam by what might have been his own sword. Inside the store lay two more elf corpses and the remains of five ores. The elves had fought with a fervor all out of proportion to the apparent value of their wares.
Bronwyn stepped over a gray-skinned female ore and began to survey the devastation. The shelves had been tossed down, and toys littered the floor. Dolls and wooden carts and carved farm animals had been tossed contemptuously aside.
Bronwyn noted that there were no small bows and arrows, no wooden swords, no slingshots or miniature catapults. In short, all the toys that trained youngsters for the art of war had been taken.
It was an odd sort of plundering, and from Bronwyn’s point of view, the worse possible situation. She sifted and kicked through the rubble, but she had no more luck than Ebenezer.
“I’m-a gonna take a look around outside,” the dwarf said. “There’s stuff dropped all over. Those ores were in a hurry. Might be I can find it here. Or-” he broke off suddenly and shrugged.
Bronwyn caught the dissonant note, but was too distracted to dwell on it. “Fine,” she muttered. She kept looking, turning over every bit of wood, every scrap of cloth and paper, until she finally had to admit the truth.
The Fenrisbane was gone.
Defeated, she sank down onto an overturned shelf
“But you’re dead!” Cara protested.
Bronwyn jerked around to face the open door. There stood another paladin, a tall, fair-haired young man who matched the description she’d heard from Cara, Alice, and Danilo. This was the paladin who had stolen Cara from her foster family, who had followed Bronwyn to Waterdeep, then to Summit Hall. He simply did not quit. Like a troll, he just picked up the pieces and kept coming. Exasperation swept through Bronwyn.
“What the hell are you?” she demanded.
“I am Algorind of Tyr, and it is my duty to take this child back to the Order of the Knights of Samular for proper fosterage.”
“You did that once,” Bronwyn snapped. “It didn’t turn out so well. I found her on a ship, bound for the slave markets of the south. You will take this child only when I’m too dead to stop you.”
The young man looked saddened, but determined. “Lies will not help you. It is not my wish to harm you, but I will take the child. It would be better if you returned with me to the order to answer for your crimes of theft and treason. Perhaps doing so will bring you peace.”
“I don’t lie.” Fury swept through Bronwyn, and she went for her knife. “But I’d be happy to do what you say, just as soon as you turn that sword of yours point up and sit down on it hard.”
Algorind colored, but did not flinch. “It is plain that you are no fit guardian for a child.” he said. “Stand aside, or face Tyr’s justice.”
“No!’
Cara’s small, piping voice startled them both. She walked forward, placing her small body between the armed paladin and Bronwyn. “Don’t hurt Bronwyn. I’ll come with you.”
“Cara, don’t!” Bronwyn appealed. “Just leave. Now!”
The girl shook her head stubbornly. “I won’t leave you here with him.” She walked toward Algorind, holding out her tiny hand.
The paladin watched as the child approached. She was pale, but trusting. She came close and placed her hand in his. “I will go with you and not give you any trouble, but first you must answer a question. Will you give me your word on this, and keep it?”
The paladin gave her a puzzled look. “I am pledged to always keep my word.”
“Well, that’s fine, then. Here’s the question: what is my raven’s name?”
Algorind was not greatly gifted with imagination, but he dredged his memory for names that he had heard given