Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [38]
“A pleasant thought, but no,” the priest replied. His voice was stronger now, but there was fear in his eyes as he noted the fury on Bronwyn’s face. “Not a game. I wouldn’t dishonor you with trivial matters. You are not some tavern wench, to be lightly used and easily discarded.”
“I’m flattered. What, then?”
He lifted his hands, palms up. “It was nothing personal. I am of the Zhentarim. You are the daughter of a sworn enemy of the Zhentarim. A man who wishes to live long does not leave dangerous whelps to grow fangs and to scent the trail of vendetta.”
Bronwyn froze. Nothing, nothing that she had ever seen or experienced, nothing that could have come out of this terrible man’s warped and evil imagination, could have stunned her as did those few simple words: You are the daughter of… someone.
“Who?” she demanded urgently. “Who is your enemy?”
The priest laughed, sending ripples undulating through his rolls of flesh. “My dear, I am a priest of Cyric. I have more enemies than this whore had fathers.”
The sly emphasis he gave to the last word was nearly Bronwyn’s undoing. Malchior had toyed with her. He was doing it still. She looked at the knife she held at his throat and longed to pull it back hard and deep. Yet if she struck, she would never find the answer she had spent twenty long years seeking. She took a steadying breath and tamped down her anger.
“Tell me my father’s name. Tell me, and I’ll let you live.”
“Promise made, promise kept?” he mocked her. “Where is my neckiace?”
“That was none of my doing,” she hissed. “As you yourself say, a priest of Cyric has many enemies.” A new threat occurred to her. “You handled the amber. I wonder what interesting secrets a skilled mage could discern from the echoes your magic left behind.”
That thought stole the smugness from Malchior’s eyes, if just for a moment. “And this necklace. Is it now in the possession of such a mage?”
“It could be. It was given back to me, but I’d be happy to part with it for a good cause.”
Malchior considered this. “I will give you your father’s name, if you keep the amber in your possession for, say, three moon cycles.”
“Done.”
“You may find this information amusing, given your, shall we say, resourceful methods of doing business,” the priest began slyly.
“Out with it!”
“Oh, very well,” he said, pouting. “I’m getting a crick in my neck anyway, the way you’re holding my head back. Not that you are unpleasant to look at, but perhaps you might release your grip on my hair? And this knife is most uncomfortable-”
“Speak!”
The priest tsked at her impatience. “You are the oldest and only surviving daughter of Hronulf Caradoon, a paladin of Tyr. A knight of some sort or other, I believe.”
Through the daze that enveloped her, Bronwyn felt herself ned slowly. That name stirred long-forgotten memories, and images that she could not quite conjure-like dreams, forgotten past retrieval. The enormity of it dazzled her. Her father had a name. She had a name!
She eased her knife away from the priest’s throat. Then she flipped her hand, palm up, and drove the hilt of the knife hard into Malchior’s temple.
His eyes rolled back, showing the whites, and his body sagged forward. Bronwyn released her grip on his hair, and he fell facedown onto the carpet he’d ruined with the tavern wench’s blood.
Bronwyn cautiously stooped and placed her fingers just below the man’s ear. Life still beat in him. He would awaken far too soon, to do more evil, but that was the deal she had made. His life, and the promise that whatever secrets he had inadvertently confided to the amber necklace would be kept from prying eyes.
Promise made, promise kept.
She rose and slipped back behind the tapestry. She would leave by a different path from the one she had taken in, but this first step was the same. As she made her way through the escape route her elf associate had carefully marked out, Bronwyn tried not to regret what she had done. She kept her promises, whether made to man or monster. It made good sense. Even if a person was totally lacking in honor, that did not render