Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [47]
Algorind sighed and put away his sword. His paladin’s quest was growing more perplexing by the moment.
* * * * *
Bronwyn did not sleep well that night. In the room above the Curious Past, she tossed and twisted in her bed. Her dreams were filled with long-forgotten images, childhood memories awakened by Malchior’s revelation. Her father’s name was Hronulf. He had been a paladin of Tyr. He had expected something of her, something important. As a child, she had not understood what that was, and she could not piece together enough images to gain an understanding.
She awoke before dawn, determined to find answers. From what she’d heard of Tyr’s followers, the early hour would be no deterrent. Quickly she dressed and slipped down to the shop.
Alice, her small brown face tight with motherly wrath, was already awake and waiting for her. She brandished her feather duster at Bronwyn with a gusto that would not have been out of place had she been wielding a flaming sword. “And where do you think you’re going at this hour?”
Bronwyn sighed and leaned against a green marble statue. she’d retrieved from Chult. “I have business, Alice. A business, I might add, that employs you.”
The gnome snorted, not at all cowed by this reminder of her status. She shook a stubby brown finger at Bronwyn. “Don’t think I don’t know what time you came in last night. You’re up to something, and I want to know what. Let me help you where I can, child,” she said in a gentler voice.
“All right,” Bronwyn relented. “I’m going to the Halls of Justice to talk to some of the paladins there. I might have found word of my father.”
The gnome sank down to sit on a carved chest. “After all these years,” she said faintly. “Who gave you this word?”
“A Zhentish priest. The one who commissioned the amber necklace,” Bronwyn answered. Anger at Malchior’s treachery crept into her voice. “He’s up to something, and I intend to know what.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s for the best,” Alice murmured absently. “You’ll be back this morning?”
“Not before highaun. I’ve got to stop by the Ilzimmer gem shop on Diamond Street. They’re repairing and cleaning the gold setting on that emerald piece.”
“Fine. I’ll pick up something from the market for a midday meal,” the gnome said.
Bronwyn nodded her thanks and walked out into the dark streets. The sky overhead was beginning to fade to silver, and many of the street lamps were guttering as the night’s supply of oil ran low. Despite the early hour, the city was not sleeping. Though the Street of Silks was considered by the wealthy to be a place to shop, dine, or seek entertaiament, many hardworking merchants lived above their shops and taverns. Smoke rose from chimneys as servants and goodwives started the breakfast fires. A cart rumbled past, drawn by a pair of stolid oxen and guided by a sleepyeyed driver. Wheels of cheese and casks of new milk filled the cart, and the somnolent cat lying atop a cask opened one eye to regard Bronwyn.
She quickly reclaimed her horse from the nearby public stable and set off toward the temple of Tyr. The Halls of Justice was a complex of three large buildings, somber, square edifices of gray stone that formed a triangle around a grassy field. It was not a grim scene, however. Banners hung in a bright row from the balcony of the main building, standards, no doubt, from the various paladins’ orders. Though the sunrise colors still streaked the sky, a dozen or more men and three women were already busy with weapons training.
Bronwyn stated her business to the young