Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [151]
Both men drew back, staring at each other with startled faces. Danilo regarded the newcomer. He was a young man, tall and broad, with curly fair hair cropped unfashionably short. The description was unmistakable, even without the telltale colors of the Knights of Samular. This was the paladin who had been chasing Cara, and this was how the clever little wench had served him back.
Danilo burst out laughing, laughter that rolled from him in waves, that had him clutching his belly and bending over as he gasped for air.
The paladin barely glanced at him, but advanced on Khelben. “What manner of fell sorcery is this?” he demanded in an aggrieved voice.
“None of my doing,” Khelben replied sternly.
“Oh, go ahead and take credit for it,” Danilo gasped out through his laughter. “It would better serve his dignity to be bested by the archmage of Waterdeep than a half-elf child not yet ten.”
The paladin reached for his sword, and that sobered Danilo somewhat. He wiped his streaming eyes and subsided to a chuckle, all the while forming the one-handed gestures needed for a cantrip designed to heat metal. The grip of the paladin’s sword began to blush with heat. With a startled gasp, the young man released his sword, staring down at his hip with an expression that suggested he thought the sword guilty of deliberate treachery.
That set Danilo off again.
“From whence have you come?” Khelben demanded, raising his voice to be heard over his nephew’s laughter. “I will send you back.”
Danilo broke off in mid howl. “Uncle, that would not be-”
“I will send him back a reasonable distance from the place he left,” the archmage specified, and turned back to his “visitor.”
“Gladestone,” the paladin admitted.
“That’s near Summit Hall. I will send you to the monastery, which is about a half day’s ride. If that is acceptable to you,” Khelben added, sending a dark look in Danilo’s direction.
Danilo lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Leave the stone behind, though,” he told Algorind.
The young man looked down at his hand, remembering what he held. He dropped the stone on the floor as if it were a loathsome insect. “I want nothing to do with such things. But you, sir, your assistance I will accept,” he told Khelben stiffly. “For the sake of my duty.”
The archmage began the casting, a complex weaving dance of the hands accompanied by a brief but powerful chant. With this, he wove a silver path through the magic that encircled and sustained the world-which was no small thing, even if magical trinkets such as the gemstones made it appear so to the untrained. Danilo knew the effort of magical travel, and he certainly knew the cost of the trio of stones needed for the gemjump spells.
At the time, he’d had the feeling that little Cara Doon was worth it and more.
As he watched the paladin slowly dissolve, only to be whisked away as a smattering of silvery motes of light, he considered what Cara had done and knew that his decision to give her this magic had proven to be the right one.
Sixteen
By the time the sun rose above the trees, the villagers had buried their dead. A few of the survivors sorted through what was left of their stores, hoping to find enough to feed their exhausted and dispirited kin. They gathered together what food remained and tossed it into a large kettle, so that all might share.
Ebenezer wandered into the village about the time the soup was ready. Bronwyn caught sight of him and hurried over, her footsteps sped by mingled relief and anger. He’d been missing since last night, leaving her nearly sick with worry. As soon as she was within arm’s reach, she smacked him upside the head, as she had seen his sister do. Hard.
“Good one,” he admitted, rubbing at the side of his head. “Been off orc hunting. Hand me that bowl there.”
She passed it over and ladled some soup into it, then took a bit for herself. Bronwyn took a few spoonfuls before setting the bowl aside. Cara was sleeping, exhausted by the terrible night. She would be hungry when she awoke, and there would be no more soup.