Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [97]
She sighed, and to Ebenezer’s eyes she looked exhausted and drained by the recounting. He was sorry he had asked, but glad to know just the same. A good thing, it was, to know the measure of your friends.
That measure he could summon up in one short statement. “And after all that, you came out on this ship.”
Their eyes linked in understanding. After a moment, the dwarf reached for her hand. Her long, fragile human fingers intertwined with his stubby digits. They sat together, gazing up at the cloud castle that floated gently past and at the silver sea beneath. It didn’t bother Ebenezer quite so much now to see the heaving sea. His own kin most likely didn’t have his kind of choice in the matter. As Bronwyn had said, there was bad, and then there was worse.
* * * * *
Algorind arrived in Waterdeep footsore and dusty. His boots had been made for riding, and the soles were nearly worn through by his days of walking. His once-white tabard was dingy with the dust of the road. He hated to present himself at the gates of the Halls of Justice in such a state, but his brothers must learn of Thornhold’s fate.
He hurried through the streets. As before, he was struck by the noise and the crowds. How did men of Tyr hold fast to their faith, surrounded by such distractions and decadence? It puzzled him why the brothers would see fit to build the Halls of Justice in the heart of this teaming city. Better the remote hills, or the purity of a windswept mountaintop.
The gatekeeper at the Halls of Justice looked him up and down with obvious disapproval.
“It is most urgent that I speak with Sir Gareth,” Algorind said. “Please bear word to him that Algorind of Summit Hall begs audience.”
“Summit Hail, is it?” the guard said, his face showing a bit more warmth. “You’ll be in good and abundant company, then.”
Algorind’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Sir?”
“You don’t know? There’s a group of young paladins and acolytes from the training school, led by Laharin Goldbeard himself. They are making a paladin’s quest of it,” the man said. His eyes grew warm and distant with remembered glories. “I would go myself, but for the injuries that keep me tending gate.”
“Yours is an honorable task and a service to Tyr” Algorind said, noting the wistful note that crept into the knight’s voice. “But sir, of what great task do you speak?”
“You have been out of the thick of things. Taking a time of solitude, like old Texter?”
“Not by choice. Sir, the task?”
The knight’s face turned grim. “Why, the reclaiming of Thornhold, of course. Riders are taking word throughout the northlands. The Knights of Samular are gathering to march north. Paladins of other orders are joining in, and those who claim no order at all. It has been many years since such an anny of righteousness gathered together. May the Zhentarim tremble.”
Algorind caught the gatekeeper’s arm. “Sir, I have just come from Thornhold. I was but a few hours’ foot travel away when the capture was complete. I saw the smoke of destruction rise, and exchanged blows with a Zhentish patrol from the army who took the keep.”
The knight’s eyes widened. “Why did you not say so at once? You, Camelior! Come here, and take this young knight to the council room with all haste.”
Algorind fell into step beside his guide. He was led into the largest of the three buildings and into a vast hail. Six long tables dominated this hall, their edges cunningly shaped so that all fit together to form a single large hexagon. Paladins sat around the outer edge only, so that all could converse. Bright banners hung from the ceiling, proclaiming the standards of the many orders and the solitary knights who served the Halls of Justice.
Algorind’s gaze sought out Sir Gareth, and he noted the stunned look on the old knight’s face. This made him exceedingly self-conscious. Neatness and cleanliness were rules of the order and for him to appear thus was an affront, but Algorind had little time to consider his hero’s response, for