Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [163]
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In his brief tenure as master of Thoruhold, Dag Zoreth had transformed the commander’s chambers. The rooms that had once been Hronulf’s, and that had reflected the knight’s austere life, were now luxurious and comfortable. A bright hearth fire was always burning to stave off the chill that lingered Within the thick stone walls, even though it was mid Mirtul and quite warm for that month. Fine furniture had been shipped from Waterdeep, lamps of colored glass from Neverwinter, fine furs from Luskan. His chamber did not quite possess the elegance of the Osterim villa near Waterdeep, but in time it would. Already it surpassed any Zhentarim outpost. But today, this small success gave him no pleasure.
“My Lord Zoreth.”
Dag looked up from the papers on his table, almost grateful for the interruption. Already Ashemmi was making good her threat. Swift riders had brought word from Darkhold. Sememmon, the mage who ruled the fortress-and who was in turn ruled by his dark affection for the elven sorceress- wanted Dag to return to Darkhold, bringing the child with him. Thornhold would be turned over to another commander. For hours now, Dag had been wracking his thoughts for some way to keep control over his command and his daughter. Another conquest, perhaps. That might sway the matter. If he proved he could thus enhance the power of the Zhentarim, not even Ashemmi’s charms could dissuade Sememmon from approving, even applauding, Dag’s ambitions.
“Well?” he asked the messenger.
“The sentry on the north tower reports two riders approaching. A man and a woman.”
Dag stood up abruptly. “Is this my sister?”
“It might be. The men who saw her enter the fortress before our attack think it is possible, but they saw her only from a distance.”
There was one way to be certain. Dag strode to the door that led into the adjoining room. Cara sat on her bed, looking oddly dispirited. The playthings he had supplied her with lay neatly on the chest, in which, he supposed, were all her new clothes and baubles. She preferred to wear the clothes she came with-a gown of pink silk. Some day very soon he would have to find a way to persuade her to part with it long enough to allow the laundry a chance at it. In the girl’s hands was a small, wooden doll, roughly carved and so squat and square that it resembled a dwarf far more than it did a human.
“Cara, we have visitors,” he said. “As lady of the castle, you need to greet them.”
That pleased her. She rose at once and followed him up a flight of stairs to the walkway that followed the entire wall. The height did not seem to bother her in the slightest-she was an intrepid child, that Dag had noted-but nonetheless, he claimed her hand and held it tightly as they made their way around to the front gate.
A delighted cry burst from the child. “It’s Bronwyn! She has come to visit?”
“To stay, if you like,” he said, and meant it. If he could find a way to keep them both, to use the power only they could wield, he would surely do it. “And the man with her?”
Cara’s brown eyes narrowed, and her lip jutted out. “That is the man who stole me. He killed my foster parents and took me away. He chased me in Waterdeep.”
So Sir Gareth was telling the truth after all, Dag mused. Dark pleasure rose in him like a tide at the thought of having this man, this paladin, delivered so conveniently into his hands. The single-minded fool probably expected to fight his way clear or die gloriously.
“He will not hurt you here,” Dag assured her, “but we cannot be certain he will not hurt Bronwyn, unless we let them in. Do not be afraid.”
Cara shot him an incredulous look. “I am not afraid. I am angry.”
He smiled with approval and started forward. They walked until they had reached the small parapet overlooking the gate.
His first glimpse of his sister affected him in ways he had not expected. She was beautiful, and though he had not seen her for twenty years and more, so very familiar. Memory stirred, one of those memories