Once again, Algorind found himself discomfited by the unseemly splendor around him. The palace was an elaborate structure built entirely of rare white marble, crowned with a score or more of turreted towers and much elaborately carved stonework. The inside was even more lavish. A fountain played in the center of the great hall, and marble statues of heroes, gods, and goddesses encircled the room. Tapestries of incredibly fine detail and brilliant color hung in lavish profusion. The courtiers were richly dressed in silks and jewels-even the servants wore finery appropriate to a young knight's investiture.
They were led up a broad, sweeping stairway, down a succession of halls to the tower that Piergeiron claimed as his own. Here, at least, Algorind found himself in familiar surroundings. The First Lord's study was simple, almost austere. The walls were bare but for a single tapestry. The only luxury was a profusion of books, and the only comfort a small fire on the grate.
Piergeiron rose to greet them both, with bluff good nature and a comrade's firm handclasp. "Welcome, brothers! You have been much in my thoughts. How goes the preparation for battle?"
"Well, my lord," Sir Gareth said. He nodded his thanks when Piergeiron indicated a seat, and waited until all were seated before speaking again.
"Paladins from all over the northland are gathering for the assault on Thornhold. In another tenday, perhaps two, our numbers will be sufficient for the march north."
"That is good news," the paladin lord agreed. "The sooner the fortress is back in the hands of your good order, the safer will be the High Road for all who travel it."
Sir Gareth inclined his head to acknowledge this praise. "There is other news, my lord, that is not so pleasant to hear. This woman we spoke of. She had been up to mischief since last we met."
Briefly, the knight told the story of Algorind's arrest and the ruse played on him by assassins who lured him into ambush. He also mentioned, much to Algorind's chagrin, the theft of the young paladin's horse by a dwarf known as Bronwyn's companion. He told of her visit to Thornhold at the time of the assault, and her suspicious escape-doubly suspicious in light of the fact that the Zhentarim commander who took the stronghold was Bronwyn's brother. Sir Gareth ended his litany by repeating that Bronwyn stole a valuable artifact belonging to the order.
Piergeiron absorbed this in troubled silence. "I have had information gathered on her, but none so dire as this. The young woman has an excellent reputation in her chosen business, and she appears to live a quiet life."
"Yet she has interesting associates. A brother among the Zhentarim, a dwarf horse thief a rogue gnome. Did you know that Alice Tinker, the shopkeeper employed by Bronwyn, was once known as Gilanda Quickblade? She was a thief and 'adventurer,' later recruited to the Harpers."
"I did not know this," Piergeiron admitted.
"There is more," Gareth continued. "A frequent visitor to her shop is a young nobleman, one Danilo Thann. Is he not the Harper involved with the new harding college?"
The First Lord nodded grimly.
"I must wonder what he wants with this Bronwyn. She is no bard. Either she is a lightskirt or a Harper." Sir Gareth's tone suggested that there was little difference between these two evils.
"I have met young Lord Thann on several occasions. He is exceedingly fond of gems and other fine things. Perhaps he merely purchases items from Bronwyn's shop."
Sir Gareth lifted his eyebrows. "Do you believe that?"
"No," the First Lord sighed. "I will look into this matter and send word to you as soon as I can. Will that content you?"
"It does indeed. The word of Athar's son is a bond that no steel can break," Sir Gareth said heartily. He rose to leave, but hesitated. "There is one thing more. I have no wish to forestall any efforts your officials of law and order might wish to take, but may we also search for this woman ourselves and bring her to Tyr's Hall of Justice to answer for herself? Will you trust me in this matter?"
It seemed to Algorind that Lord Piergeiron looked relieved to hear a question that could be answered simply. He rose and extended his hand in a pact. 'Who could deny a brother paladin? And who could better dispense justice than Tyr?" he said heartily.
The two men, paladin and knight, clasped wrists in an adventurer's salute. "Who indeed," echoed Sir Gareth.
Bronwyn packed up Cara's few belongings and prepared to deliver her to Blackstaff Tower. Cara appeared to take it in stride. It made Bronwyn proud to note how adaptable and resilient the child was.
What made this more remarkable was that the child had no true anchor other than her own inner strength. Cara would be fine, Bronwyn assured herself as she packed for the trip ahead, and that indeed seemed to be the case until they got to the base of the smooth, black wall that surrounded the archmage's tower.
Bronwyn dismounted and went over to Ebenezer's pony to lift Cara down. To her surprise, the child threw herself on the pack horse. She scrambled up onto the bundles and glared down at Bronwyn with a defiant, tear-streaked face. "I want to come with you!"
Bronwyn sighed. 'We've been over this, Cara. You can't. It will be very dangerous."
"Take me with you," Cara insisted.
"I'll take you into the tower," Bronwyn bargained. "And I'll stay for some of Lady Laeral's tea and biscuits. How's that?"
The girl folded her arms and sniffed. "Not good enough." Ebenezer elbowed Bronwyn. "Make a decent merchant, she would," he said in a low, amused voice.
"You're no help," she muttered. She cast a look of appeal toward the smooth black stone on the tower, wondering if someone within could see her plight.
Her silent plea was quickly answered. Laeral emerged, walking through apparently solid stone and looking like a living waterfall. She was a tall woman, taller than most men, and slender as a birch tree. Silver hair, thick and abundant, had been left unbound to cascade in waves over her bared shoulders and fall past her knees. The mage's silvery gown, cut low and cunningly fitted to both cling and swirl, was appropriate for an evening of dancing and revelry. Earrings like a shower of falling stars glittered at Laeral's ears, and her necklace was an intricate web of silver filigree and still more crystal. The outfit was extravagant, absurd-and perfect.
Cara's jaw dropped, and her eyes rounded in wonder. "You look like magic," the child pronounced. "And lots of it."
The mage's eyes lit with warmth and humor. "And so shall you, Cara. We will have some breakfast, and then we will begin. Would you like that?"
The child was utterly and obviously enchanted. Even so, her eyes slid to Bronwyn's face, and she bit her lip in indecision. "Yes… " she said hesitantly.
"And I got a new flitterkitten," Laeral continued, "just this very morning. She is a very pretty little white kitten with snowy white wings, but she is just learning to fly and she truly needs someone to take care of her."
This was just the extra bit of inducement that Cara needed. She promptly put out her arms for help. Bronwyn lifted her down from the pack horse, giving Laeral a grateful look over Cara's brown head.
"We will do just fine here, you and I," Laeral said as she took the girl's hand. Noticing how Cara gaped at her glittering rings, she selected a ring that flashed with fire and ice and slid it onto the child's small hand. Instantly the ring sized itself to fit the tiny finger
Bronwyn nodded in approval, understanding how this would appear to Cara. The child had a ring from her father and knew it to be important; she would view another such gift as a very significant thing. Laeral was apparently as wise and insightful as she was beautiful.
Wrapped in a nearly tangible delight of magic and each other, the two turned and disappeared into the seemingly solid black wall. Neither of them looked back.
Bronwyn sighed again and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. She swung herself up onto her horse and started out for the Northgate.