Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [156]
Sir Gareth came into view almost at once. “Where are you?” the priest snapped.
“Summit Hall,” the knight said, his voice somewhat slurred by intense pain.
Dag pulled back the power just enough to allow the man to function. “I had a most enlightening conversation with one of my… comrades from Darkhold. She informed me that my daughter was shipped south on a Zhentish slave ship-the same ship that was to dispose of those wretched dwarves. The same shipment that you so ably helped to arrange. I am most eager to hear your explanation.”
Hope drained from the fallen paladin’s eyes. “She was taken by the paladins, that much is true. I intercepted her and tried to have her taken away to safe fosterage.”
“On a slave ship?”
“The Knights of Samular have few outposts in the south,” Gareth argued. “She would have been safe enough, tended in the villa of an old associate who has reason to be grateful and discrete. There she could have stayed until it was safe to return her to you.”
The truth hidden behind these self-serving words began to come clear to Dag. Perhaps Sir Gareth had had a role in the original abduction of Cara. Perhaps not. But certainly, he used the situation to position himself well. Cara wore a ring of Samular and thus had the potential to wield power. Of course Gareth would want to have her in his secret control. And if he was forced to do so, he could “discover” the child’s hiding place and make himself a hero to whomever he relinquished the child. It was not a foolish plan, but it had gone awry.
“I want her back,” the priest demanded. “Now.”
“That could prove difficult, Lord Zoreth,” the knight said, “She is in Blackstaff Tower, under the protection and tutelage of the lady mage Laeral Silverhand.”
Dag hissed out a foul curse. The beautiful mage was as unconventional as she was powerful. If she took it upon herself to keep Cara, a small flight of dragons would be hard pressed to sway her from this course. But the archmage, the ruler of Blackstaff Tower, was another matter. Khelben Arunsun was not only a mage, but a ruler, deeply involved in the politics of the city and the surrounding area. If the matter were posed to him as a political expediency, he might be willing to see reason.
“Use your name and contacts. Get the child to Thornhold at once,” flag commanded. “And my sister as well, or you will find the same end as Hronulf.”
"That is unlikely,” the old paladin said. “Unfortunately, I am no longer fit to face armed men in a siege.”
The priest laughed softly. “Hronulf did not die from his battle wounds. I tore out his heart with my own hands. You might want to bear this in mind, as you tend this task.”
Seventeen
For two days Bronwyn and Ebenezer rode as hard as they dared push their horses. The paladins were never far behind them, though Bronwyn used every trick and shortcut she had learned in her years on the road.
Finally, the walls of the city lay before them. The lath afternoon sun glinted off the spires of the Trolltower and bathed the huge arch of the Northgate in a welcoming glow. Bronwyn drew in a long breath and released it on a sigh. Some of the tension slid from her neck and shoulders, and she reached out to pat her horse’s lathered neck.
“Stones!” exclaimed Ebenezer with more vehemence than usual. “Lookit there!”
Bronwyn followed the line of his pointing finger. Far to the north was a small, dark cluster, moving toward the High Road with a stolid determination that suggested a migration of ants.
She rapidly skimmed through a mental roll of days. So much had happened since Captain Orwig had left them on the docks of Waterdeep that it was hard to realize that ten days had passed.
“Ten days,” she said aloud. “Tarlamera agreed to stay in the city for ten days.”
“A dwarf of her word, is