"Thank you, Vichart," Danilo said, addressing the owl before turning to the rather windblown Algorind. "And you, sir; did you tire so quickly of Sir Gareth's hospitality?"
The tiny paladin shook his head and pointed to his ears.
Upon closer scrutiny, Danilo noted the faint smear of blood on the young man's neck and in his pale hair.
"Can't hear me, eh? No fear, I've a healing potion hereabouts that should turn the page on that chapter."
Danilo unlocked a drawer, rummaged, and withdrew a small glass vial. He eyed Algorind and considered the dosage. Perhaps just a drop… No, there was no telling how much would cure and how much would kill.
"I suppose there's no help for it," he murmured as he reached for a book covered with dark green leather. "I'll have to put you back to rights. A waste of magic, in my opinion, but there it is. Fortunately for you, I've done little but study the history of your order since this business began. The size-changing magic of the siege tower was not particularly complex. Devising a spell to reverse it was surprisingly simple."
Devising it might have been an easy matter, but judging from the set of Algorind's jaw and the beads of sweat on his too-white forehead, his rapid return to normal size was far from painless. When he regained his former height, Danilo handed over the vial and pantomimed drinking.
After a moment's hesitation, the young man did as he was bid. Color flooded back into his face, and he rolled his shoulders like a man who'd just put down a great burden.
"The ringing is gone." His face brightened. "I can hear myself speak!"
"Well, there's a down side to everything, isn't there?"
Algorind nodded absently. "You restored me."
"Yes, and imagine my surprise! I was actually trying to shrink a goblet down to your former size, for hospitality's sake."
The young man continued to regard him, his expression uncomprehending. Danilo sighed.
"That was a small jest. Very small, apparently."
Algorind inclined his head in a small bow. "I am grateful for the restoration." A surprisingly boyish grin lit his face. "And for the flight, as well!"
"Really? I was about to apologize for that. Owls are so seldom a preferred mode of conveyance. Will you have wine?"
"Thank you. I am very thirsty."
Danilo walked over to his serving cabinet. He poured a small measure of wine into a large goblet and added chilled water and a spoonful of sugar. A child's drink, but it would be more appropriate to Algorind's thirst, and, Danilo suspected, to his experience.
The young man nodded his thanks and took a polite sip. His face brightened. "It is more pleasant than I expected, and far more refreshing."
"Drink as much as you need," Danilo instructed. "It's mostly water, and will do you no harm."
Once Algorind had emptied his goblet and another like it, Danilo indicated a chair. "We have much to talk about, so much I hardly know where to begin."
The paladin took a seat and turned a puzzled expression upon his host, who was pouring himself a goblet of unwatered wine. "What is a light-skirt?"
Danilo let out of a burst of startled laughter. He set down the decanter and leaned back against the serving cupboard. "Not exactly how I expected to begin, but very well, let's start there. It's a rather prim way to insult a woman's virtue by insinuating that her skirts, being light, are easily lifted."
"Oh."
He noted the crimson creeping into Algorind's face. "May I ask where you heard that term?"
"Sir Gareth said it of Bronwyn."
Danilo's smile disappeared. "Indeed," he said coldly. "Since we're exchanging gossip like a couple of fishwives, why don't you tell me what else Sir Gareth had to say?"
"He said that Bronwyn does business with the Zhentarim."
That was true, but it was hardly common knowledge. Danilo shrugged lightly. "No doubt he referred to her brother, the priest Dag Zoreth."
Algorind shook his head adamantly. "No, Sir Gareth mentioned this priest, but as a separate matter."
The intensity of the young man's manner was beginning to make sense to Danilo. So were a great many other things, and all of these insights suggested that he had vastly misjudged the young paladin.
He settled into his chair before responding to Algorind's unasked question. "You're quite right-those are two separate issues. Bronwyn does indeed have dealings with the Zhentarim. Or more precisely, she did. Now that rumors of her Harper alliance are being bruited about by the good men of your order, I imagine several people of Zhentish persuasion are busily disposing of the treasures and forgetting the information she sold them. But other than the people involved in these business dealings, only Bronwyn, her gnome assistant, the archmage of Waterdeep, and I know of her Zhent contacts, and I can guarantee you that Sir Gareth did not receive this information from any of us. Make of that what you will."
A sorrowful sigh escaped the paladin and his shoulders slumped as if under a heavy weight. "It is as I feared, then." He glanced up at Danilo, his expression rueful. "It must be difficult for you to believe a man such as Gareth Cormaeril could be in league with the Zhentarim."
"Actually, it doesn't task my powers of imagination."
The young man's gaze sharpened. "Forgive me if I misspeak, but you don't seem to hold paladins in high regard."
Danilo shrugged. "I'm not an admirer of your order, that much is true, but that opinion doesn't indicate a general disregard for the religious life. As you know, my uncle, Khelben Arunsun, has long been at odds with Samular's knights."
"I am not aware of that history."
The Harper choked on a sip of wine. He carefully set the goblet down. "How is that possible? Their disagreement is central to the order's reason for existence."
"Perhaps the order exists for other purposes, as well," Algorind suggested.
"Perhaps? Do you mean to tell me you have devoted your life to a cause you do not understand?"
Algorind returned his gaze without faltering. "My life is dedicated to Tyr's service. I understand that well enough."
"If you were merely a paladin of Tyr, I would agree with you, but you are allied with the Knights of Samular, a military order with a particular mission."
He reached for a large blue gem lying amidst a heap of books and scrolls. "This is a kiiri, an elven memory stone. The elf who carried it was a bard and a scribe. He left it as an aid to those who wished to study his work. He was present at the taking of the fortress Thornhold by Samular Caradoon, your order's founder. Would you like to see that event through the eyes of the bard who witnessed it?"
"Such a thing is possible?" Algorind marveled.
Taking the question for assent, Danilo went to a large cupboard and removed from it a metal stand, an ornate device that looked a bit like a sundial. He placed it near Algorind's chair and then fitted the kiiri into an impression in the flat surface. A round mirrored glass fitted into the frame above it.
"Look into the glass," he instructed. "You will see and hear everything the bard witnessed. After the first few moments, you might forget you are not actually present."
Algorind leaned forward, his face avid with curiosity. As the ancient scene played out, the Harper watched the shifting emotions on the younger man's face with something akin to pity. Danilo had delved into the kiiri's storehouses and found the memories disturbing, but the reality behind the Knights of Samular was sure to have a far more profound effect on the young paladin.
When at last the vision faded away, Algorind sat back in his chair. His heart raced as if he had been among the followers of the great Samular, fighting to oust a warlord from his fortress. And the Fenrisbane-or Kezefbane, as the order's scholars would have it-the size-shifting siege tower that had featured in Algorind's recent humiliation, had been a mighty weapon used for the glory of Tyr. And yet…
There had been something profoundly wrong with the Kezefbane. Evil clung to it like mist rising from a swamp. Apparently Algorind had not been the only one to sense this. The twin-bo
rn grandsons of Samular, identical unbearded lads clad in the white and blue of Tyr's sworn warriors, wore identical expressions of horror as they regarded the white-haired, white-cloaked wizard who commanded the siege tower.
What might have come of that, Algorind would never know. An arrow shot by one of Thornhold's defenders brought down the wizard. And while Samular's followers swarmed over the walls, the wizard died in the arms of his paladin brother. There could be no mistaking the resemblance, though Samular was broader and his brown hair was untouched by age, and the paladin had wept as he referred to the wizard as his twin, his other-self.
Strange. None of the stories Algorind had learned at Summit Hall mentioned Samular as twin-born, or spoke of his wizard brother. Of Wurthar and Dorlion, the twin-born paladins who built the Holy Order of the Knights of Samular, he had heard much. Tales of their mighty exploits and virtuous lives had been the mainstay of his early training.
He lifted his gaze to the Harper's watchful, sympathetic face. "Tell me of Samular's brother."
"That's Renwick Caradoon." Danilo quickly told the story he'd been piecing together.
"It would appear," he concluded, "that Renwick tricked Khelben Arunsun-a wizard who is commonly thought to be the current archmage's ancestor-into helping him banish the demon Yamarral, along with the inhabitants of an entire keep, to a small plane, one from which the demon cannot escape of his own power. The conditions of the original blood token agreement probably stated that Renwick's power would continue until the demon was returned to the Abyss. By banishing him, Renwick made sure this couldn't happen. Rather clever, keeping a demon exile by his own magic."
Algorind shook his head sadly. "All those people sacrificed to one man's ambition! I suppose it is a blessing Renwick Caradoon died before those ambitions could be fully realized."
In response, Danilo handed over an ancient book, which was opened to a sketch of a tall, round tower. "That is Caradoon Keep, which Renwick used as his lair during his life, and to which he retreated after death."
"But how could he retreat after he-"
Danilo cut him off with a gesture of one hand. "Turn the page."
The paladin did so, and immediately recoiled in surprise. The old tower now stood just outside a vast fortress of sand-colored stone. He knew this place very well, for he had been raised and trained there.
"Have you never wondered why that tower was outside the walls of Summit Hall?" the Harper asked softly.
Algorind nodded. "The masters said only that it contained a great and powerful magic that the Knights of Samular must safeguard. Renwick Caradoon?"
"I'm afraid so. Renwick intended to hold his power for a very long time, either as a living man or a lich. I thought at first that Samular imprisoned him, but have come to suspect that Renwick imposed exile upon himself as a means of penance."
"And the Knights of Samular distrust Khelben Arunsun, Waterdeep's archmage, because his ancestor and namesake took unwitting part in Renwick's plan?"
A fleeting smile touched the Harper's lips. "Let's just say my esteemed uncle is more than capable of making his own enemies."
"Indeed. There is much distrust between the Harpers and my order."
"And with good reason. The Kezefbane was only one of the magical items Renwick created or recovered from Ascalhorn. To this day, men seek those items-and not all of them belong to your order. In fact, there is a secret society in Amn dedicated to this purpose. Under Khelben's direction, the Harpers have been opposing them for years. Since the society and your order share certain goals, the Harpers' efforts sometimes conflict with the activities of Samular's knights, especially where the bloodline of Samular is concerned. For obvious reasons, the society in Amn has an interest in Samular's descendants. It is my belief that Bronwyn was bound there when she was stolen as a child."
A disturbing possibility occurred to Algorind. "And Cara Doon, as well? Bronwyn's niece?"
"Most likely. Cara is going to be particularly attractive to these people. Not only does she possess one of the rings of Samular, but she has prodigious magical talent. Her mother was Ashemmi, an elf with enormous ambitions, a black heart, and the morals of a cat. In fact, I would not be surprised to learn she was recruited to seduce Dag Zoreth in hope of breeding a magically gifted child of Samular's bloodline."
"That is… monstrous," Algorind whispered. "And Sir Gareth traffics with these people? How could he keep such evil hidden for so long?"
"I can think of several reasons," Danilo observed, "foremost among them Sir Gareth's fame. People, even paladins, usually see what they expect to see. Consider also the wound that withered his arm and ended his active career. Well-mannered people avert their eyes from lamed men so as not to appear indelicate. Every Dock Ward pickpocket knows this trick, and some use it to good effect, for good folk are disinclined to gawk at people who have obviously suffered some injury."
"Men who rise above their disabilities are admired, and Sir Gareth continued his work on behalf of the order, working as a treasurer," added Algorind.
"And that, too, has helped him, for such work is mostly solitary, and kept him from day to day contact with the men of his order. Familiarity might have dulled the sheen of his reputation and allowed men to see how dark his soul had become."
"There is much wisdom in your words," Algorind conceded. He looked up at Danilo, his expression uncertain. "What should I do now, sir? I seek your council."
That seemed to amuse the Harper. "Shall I list the reasons why you shouldn't? In the interest of saving time, why don't you tell me what you think must be done."
"My order needs to know about Sir Gareth."
"Indeed," he said slowly. "It is possible that his facade will shatter when it is closely examined. But it is also possible that he has been magically protected from such inquiry. Did you pray for insight into his nature?"
"No, sir; it was my own heart I sought to know. I caught a glimpse of Sir Gareth's, almost like something seen from the corner of my eye."
"Interesting. But it might be difficult to persuade your elders to try this method, or convince them that what you saw was the truth of Sir Gareth."
"Then what should we do?"
Danilo considered this. "If Sir Gareth put Cara on that south-bound ship, there will be records somewhere. As luck would have it, I have friends in low places. In time, I should be able to gather enough information to support your accusations. But a witness would be better."
"But what good man has been witness to Sir Gareth's misdeeds?"
"That's the problem, isn't it?" Danilo mused. He shook himself and sent his guest a rueful smile. "I have been remiss. You are hurt and in need of healing."
Algorind frowned. "You restored my size and my hearing."
"Yes, but the healing potion I gave you was specific to that hurt. Your hands are nearly raw."
Danilo rummaged among his collection of potions and took out a tear-shaped bottle filled with dark fluid in which swam tiny motes of light. He regarded it for a long moment before handing it over. "This should solve the problem."
The young paladin nodded his thanks and tipped back the bottle. A feeling of wonder suffused him as he regarded his unblemished hands. "They were healed almost before I swallowed. Even the old scars are gone!"
"It's an unusually powerful potion," Danilo said evenly as he reached for the empty vial. "Now, about Sir Gareth…"
Yes, what about Sir Gareth? To Algorind's surprise, he was no longer certain what to think of the old knight. His doubts and fears, so firmly held just moments before, felt as insubstantial as wisps of morning fog.
"Sir Gareth is a hero of our order," he mused. "If the vision I saw was truly a glimpse of Sir Gareth's heart-and I am no longer so certain that it was-perhaps the darkness described the pain from his wounds, or perhaps he is suffering through a time of discouragement. If he had given himself over to evil, if he had truly done the things you suspect, surely my elders would have known!"
"I'm not surprised you
think so," Danilo said, idly turning over the empty potion vial in his hand. "And what do you intend to do next?"
"I will go whithersoever Tyr and you deem fit to send me."
Again the Harper laughed, but it seemed to Algorind that the sound lacked any real mirth.
"Tyr and me, is it? Now there are two vintages I never expected to see in a single goblet!" He abruptly sobered, looking more serious than Algorind would have thought possible. "For the nonce, forget about my opinion. Forget about the Order. What do you think you should do?"
After a moment's consideration, Algorind said, "I would warn the dwarves of Thornhold. Sir Gareth mentioned that they might be prevented from speaking at Summit Hall."
"Indeed. Did he say how, or by whom?"
"He did not. But no doubt Sir Gareth has knowledge he did not see fit to share with me."
"No doubt," the Harper murmured. "If a dwarf's got something on his mind and the desire to share it, he's not easily silenced, but I'll send word to Bronwyn at Thornhold." Danilo lifted one brow. "Unless you prefer to go yourself?"
"I would like nothing better, as I would beg her pardon and little Cara's for wrongs unwittingly done. And yet," he added wonderingly, "I feel compelled to return to Sir Gareth. It may be that he will need an aide in the years to come, someone he can trust to help him with all of his many duties."
The Harper's smile seemed a bit sad. "I thought you might feel that way."
The silver owl chose that moment to flap over to the window and out into the night. Algorind watched it go, a wistful smile on his face.
"If you're to aid Sir Gareth, you'll need a horse and a new sword," the Harper observed. "I know a fine sword smith who doesn't mind doing business at this hour. As for a mount, well, it just so happens that I have friends at the Pegasus aerie."
Algorind was on his feet at once. "A winged horse would consent to carry me?"
"They're less particular than you might have heard," Danilo said in a droll tone. "Before we leave, there is one question my study was unable to answer. Of the twin knights, Wurthar and Dorlion, which inherited his sire's dark nature?"
The Stories of Elaine Cunningham Page 3
