Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [49]
Memory edged into Bronwyn’s mind, bringing with it questions she had not had time to consider, and a suspicion that made her heart hang like lead in her chest. The Harpers had known where to find her the night she’d met with Malchior. Either they had followed her footsteps during the entire tumultuous day-which was unlikely-or they had been informed of her intended meeting place. Malchior and his henchmen had received word of the meeting place shortly before the appointed time. Only one other person knew her plans.
Alice.
Bronwyn thrust the key back into her pocket and turned her steps south, toward the tall, smooth black tower where all Harper business seemed to converge. As she worked her way through the crowded street, Bronwyn reminded herself that she was accustomed to treachery and betrayal, that she faced it every day and made deft provisions to survive it. It was nothing new, and usually it was nothing personal.
Why, then, did her eyes burn so painfully with unshed tears?
* * * * *
Ebenezer stared glumly at his cage. The wooden slats were hard and thick enough to keep a whole den of beavers busy until sundown. Without knife or axe, he had little hope of getting free.
Yet that was precisely what he had to do. Humans and half-orcs in the tunnels, catching dwarves and sticking them in cages. That was trouble. Spelicasting priests were even worse, and who knew how many more of them were roaming around? He had to get free and bring warning to his clan.
The dwarf rose up on his knees and took another look around. The men had returned a while back and had crated up the osquips’ trove. Zhents, they were, and intent on plunder. The cave was full of stout boxes, locked and wrapped with chains. There was nothing lying about handy that he could use as tool or weapon, even if he could find a way to reach it. Nothing at all but a few paces of stone ledge and a long drop to the river.
Inspiration struck. Ebenezer scuttled to the far side of his cage, crouched, and launched himself at the opposite wall. The cage tilted, then crashed onto its side. He shook his head to clear it, then repeated the maneuver. He moved the cage over to the ledge, one painful crash at a time, and prayed to every dwarven god who’d ever wielded a hammer that be could finish the job before the racket brought back the dwarf-stealing Zhents.
Ebenezer paused at the very brink of the ledge. One more time, and he’d crash to the stone path below. The cage simply could not survive the impact, and he would be free.
“This is gonna hurt some,” he admitted, then hurled himself against the cage one last time.
* * * * *
To Algorind’s dismay, the child did not take kindly to her rescue. She fought him until they reached Rassalanter Hamlet, where he gratefully turned her over to the nurse Sir Gareth had employed. After downing a a cup of strong tea, the child fell asleep, and stayed asleep in the privacy of a covered carriage, until they reached Waterdeep.
With great relief he entered the grounds of Tyr’s temple, and sent word ahead to Sir Gareth as he had been instructed to do. In moments, the old knight met him at the gate, on horseback and ready to travel. To Algorind’s surprise, Sir Gareth led him not into the complex, but down the street toward the sea.
“This matter required great secrecy,” Gareth reminded him. “If the child is to find safe, appropriate fosterage, few can know of her arrival in Waterdeep.”
“But surely she would be safe in the Halls of Justice,” Algorind ventured.
The knight looked at him kindly. “Many visitors come to the Halls of Justice, seeking aid or information. We cannot risk that the child’s presence be discovered. Some might come to us with questions. Why place the brothers in a position where they must either betray us or lie? What they do not know, they can deny in good faith.”
“I’m sure that is wise,” Algorind agreed, though for some reason he still felt somewhat troubled.
“It is necessary,