Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [50]
Algorind hesitated. “What would you have me do now? Return to Summit Hall with word that the child is safely in your hands?”
“No, better that you ride first to Thornhold with a message to Hronulf. He should have word of his granddaughter.”
The knight reached out and placed a hand on the young paladin’s shoulder. His face was grave. “I have a new charge for you. Stay with Hronulf for as long as needs be. I fear that perilous times are coming, and I would feel more content for my old friend’s safety if I knew that a young knight of your skill and valor guarded his back.”
“I will happily do as you ask, but I am not yet a knight,” Algorind felt compelled to add.
Sir Gareth smiled, but his eyes had the faraway expression of a man who regarded distant glories. “Do this, and I swear to you that you will die as a paladin should, fighting alongside fellow knights.”
* * * * *
As he entered Khelben’s study, Danilo recoiled in suprise. There was a slight swelling to one side of the archmage’s jaw, where Dan had struck. His lingering ire vanished, replaced by guilt and puzzlement. Khelben could easily heal himself-why would he choose not to?
“Our last discussion seems to have made more of an impression upon you than I intended,” Danilo ventured.
The sharp, sidelong look Khelben sent him showed a hint of self-deprecating humor that most men would think entirely foreign to the archmage’s character.
“Apology accepted,” Khelben said brusquely. “Now, to the matter at hand.”
He nodded toward the other occupant of the chamber, a gnome woman who sat clenching the arms of a too large chair, her feet stuck straight up before her like a child’s.
“Alice,” Danilo said warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Save the pleasantries,” the archmage cut in, “and listen well. A situation has arisen that requires me to divulge information that until now was best left unspoken.”
Khelben strode over to his writing desk, absently picked up a quill, and crumbled it in his hand. “Alice tells me that Malchior has given Bronwyn information on her past. She is even now talking to Tyr’s followers. This creates a grave situation and puts her in considerable danger.”
He dropped the ruined pen into a wastebasket. A small, claw-tipped orange hand reached up and caught it from the air. The smacking, chewing sounds that followed spoke of the discrete disposal that awaited any discarded written drafts that might otherwise reveal the archmage’s business.
“It is certain that members of the Zhentarim know of Bronwyn’s identity. Soon the paladins of Tyr will know this, as well. They may tell her of the power that her heritage brings. Paladins and Zhents will wish to exploit it, and her.”
Danilo nodded slowly. He hadn’t resolved his anger at Khelben’s machinations, or his own sense of confusion over his part in uncovering Bronwyn’s identity, but at least he was beginning to see Khelben’s reasoning. He didn’t like it any better, but understanding helped. A little.
“And what is this power?” he inquired.
The archmage grimaced. “I do not know the whole of it,” he admitted, “but this much I can tell you: the Knights of Samular have in their possession three rings, artifacts of considerable power. They can be worn and wielded only by blood descendants of Samular.”
“Which Bronwyn is,” Danilo put in.
“Yes. What these rings can do, and where they are held, I do not know. Hronulf wears one of them, another was lost in the raid on his village. The third has been missing for centuries.”
The archmage turned to Alice. “And this is where you come in. Find out what Bronwyn knows, and report back at once.”
“I’m to tell her of the rings, aren’t I?” Alice asked anxiously. “It won’t be easy admitting to her that I’ve been keeping watch over her these four years and more, but the time has come.”
“Not yet,” Khelben cautioned. “You are to act as you always have. Watch, listen, and report.”
“But-”
He cut her off with a single stern glare. “Find out what she knows,” he repeated. “And that