Khelben returned in moments, his visage even grimmer than the reflection of his own face that Dan had glimpsed in the shop window.
"It is as you say," the archmage said. "How could such a thing occur without word or warning? How could a siege force of sufficient size march not more than two days' ride north of this city and no one notice anything amiss? What good are we doing here in Waterdeep?"
The last question was a challenge, leveled at the Harpers in general and Danilo in particular, and delivered with the force of a thrown lance.
"It is possible," Dan ventured, "that the Zhentarim have been preparing for this attack for a longtime. There would be no time better, given the coming of the spring fairs and the heavy traffic on the High Road. Soldier and horse could easily be disguised as part of a merchant caravan and could pass unnoticed. Small groups could slip away into the hills and mountains and gather at the appointed time."
Khelben looked at him with surprise. "That is well said."
"But said too late. We should have thought of this possibility." Dan sighed and reached for a dried plum. He slipped a jeweled knife from the cuff of his shirt and deftly pitted the fruit. I have no expertise in siege tactics, but surely some of your Harpers keep watch for such things."
"We have not seen the need," the archmage said shortly. "Thornhold was considered a secure fortress."
"And?" Danilo prompted, seeing a familiar film of secrecy settle over his uncle's face.
Khelben considered, then threw up his hands as if resigned to yield up the truth at once rather than endure the pestering that would surely ensue if he did not. "If truth must be told, the Harpers and the paladins of the Knights of Samular have a wary relationship. The source of this conflict is a tale too old to profit from retelling."
"Really?"
"Really." This time, Khelben's forbidding expression declared his intention to hold firm. "And though your assessment of the possible strategy of the attackers has merit, it is not sufficient to explain the fall of Thornhold. The paladins send out patrols into the hills. If a force large enough to scale the walls was camped about, slowly gathering in number, the paladins surely would have discovered it. No, there is something else here, something hidden." He cast a quick, sharp look at Danilo. "Something that should remain hidden from casual eyes. Where did you say you heard this ballad?"
"The Howling Moon," Danilo repeated, "and a dreadful ditty it was." Or would be, he amended silently, given the time he would have to compose it!
"Good." Khelben nodded with satisfaction and began to spoon up his now-cold soup. "A poor tale has less chance of being repeated."
"It is clear that you have not spent much time in taverns of late," Dan said dryly. "I assure you, Uncle, the Ballad of Thornhold is the sort of song most frequently requested in the taverns, most eagerly sought by young bards and minstrels who make their living traveling about with news and gossip."
"You couldn't squelch this ballad?" Khelben demanded.
More easily than you could imagine, thought Danilo with a stab of guilt. He could simply leave it unwritten and unsung. But in truth, what would that profit? His words to Khelben painted the picture clearly enough; if he himself did not write such a ballad, someone else would, and the tale might grow dangerously larger in the telling.
"How so? Forbid a song? That would only spread it the faster. And you must admit, this has in it all the elements of a fine tale: heroism, tragedy, mystery It will strike a particular chord with retired men of the sword, in which Water-deep abounds."
"How so?"
'Well, other than the men who rode patrols, Thornhold was manned by aging paladins, veterans who chose to serve rather than retire. The paladins of Thornhold defied their age and infirmities. They died fighting, as heroes, long after their time. This holds much appeal."
Danilo reached for the ladle of the soup tureen, then thought better of it. "There is more. Although listeners expect tales in which good triumphs over evil, many are surprised and secretly delighted when evil triumphs-as long as the results do not touch them personally."
The archinage wiped his lips with a linen napkin. "That is a harsh thing to say."
Danilo shrugged. "But true, nonetheless. Since there is much mystery about the fall of Thornhold, there will be speculation. All who listen to the ballad become storytellers themselves, as they spin tales about what might have happened."
"But not all men are content with gossip," the archmage said. "How long before small forces gather to throw themselves against Thornhold? The paladins at the Halls of Justice will probably make a quest of it, not to mention the knights of Summit Hall. I don't need to tell you what a waste that would be. Only an enormous, full-scale assault of massive power could bring down those walls."
Danilo examined his fingernails. "Thinking of trying your hand, Uncle?"
The archmage sniffed. "As to that, I have but one word: Ascalhorn."
"An. Excellent point."
For a time, the men fell silent, and the air was thick with the memory of dire, unforeseen results of powerful magic wrought. The fall of the fortress that Khelben had named opened the gate to darker, more deadly powers. For years Ascalhorn had been aptly known as Hellgate Keep and represented the failure of extreme magical remedies. Evoking it declared Khelben's firm intention to keep himself free of direct involvement in the matter. Danilo often suspected that Khelben had a deep, personal stake in the matter as well, but he had never found a way to broach the subject.
"So, what do you propose that the Harpers do?" Danilo prodded.
"You are not going to like my suggestion," the archmage warned him, "but listen to my concerns, and weigh them well. Hronulf of Tyr was one of the men slain. Lost with him was an artifact, a ring of considerable and mysterious power. We must get it back."
"There is that 'we' again," the young man said in a voice heavy with foreboding.
Khelben's smile was grim and fleeting. "This task will not fall to you. There is one better suited for it."
"Bronwyn, I suppose."
"Who better? She has demonstrated great skill in searching out artifacts. And what she does not know of her heritage this day, she will soon find out. It is only prudent to bind her to the Harpers' service in this matter."
Danilo was more than a little unhappy about this turn of events. "This task would put her in great danger"
"Is that so different from many other assignments she has willingly taken?"
There was truth in that, yet Danilo still scoured his wits for a compelling argument against this plan. Then it occurred to him that Bronwyn might already possess this ring. If she had managed to see her father, perhaps he had passed it on to her It was a possibility that bore looking into. If that were the case, Danilo could conceive of nothing important enough to warrant taking from Bronwyn the only family treasure she had ever possessed or was ever likely to possess.
"Bronwyn will do as you direct," Danilo said, letting a bit of anger creep into his voice. "She always has. But why is this ring so important that you consider its worth above hers?"
"I didn't say that," Khelben cautioned him. "Finding the rings and keeping them safely away from those who wish to use their power is the only course that will guarantee Bronwyn's safety. As long as the rings are obtainable, any descendant of Samular is a much-desired commodity."
Danilo reached for the pitcher of ale and poured himself a mug. "Uncle, do not send me out blind. There has been too much of that, and I won't be party to it any longer Tell me plainly what these rings do."