"Hold that thought," Bronwyn told him, secretly rather touched that the dwarf would come to her defense without question or hesitation. It helped a little, especially when all her perceptions and alliances seemed to be shifting, and her emotions in such chaos that she couldn't think things through with her usual clarity.
But at that moment, another disturbing piece molded itself into the spreading puzzle. It suddenly occurred to Bronwyn to wonder about the reason for the Harpers' recent, intense interest in her. Did Khelben suspect the Zhentarim had designs on her father's keep? If the Harpers had known and had done nothing to stop it, then she was finished with the lot of them!
She whirled back to Danilo, her pain over his earlier transgression forgotten. "How much of this did you know?"
He spread his hands, palms up. "I swear to you, Bronwyn, I had no idea who you were when we met in Amn," he said earnestly, "nor did I know of your lineage until a few days ago. There was no subterfuge or design in our friendship. We were young and congenial. When I vouched for you as Harper many months later, I did name your distinguishing marks. Such things are important for a Harper Master to know, and when Khelben asked the question I thought nothing amiss. I told him, but I made no mention of how this knowledge was acquired."
"Ever the gentleman," she sneered. "But that's a small thing. A few moments ago, I wouldn't have thought so. This new betrayal outshines all that went before."
This clearly took him aback. "What is this about?"
"You deny it still!" Furious now, she snatched up a carved ivory statue and hurled it at him. It missed and crashed into the lintel, breaking into several pieces. "You killed my father! If you hadn't withheld information, he might still be alive."
Bronwyn was raving and knew it, but she was beyond caring. The bitter words tore from her like living things determined to be born, regardless of the pain of their birthing.
Danilo stooped and gathered up the ivory bits; Bronwyn suspected he wished to buy time to gather his composure and shape his next remarks. But when he rose, his face was still bewildered. "Bronwyn, what is going on?"
"Tell me this: did you know that Thornhold would come under attack?"
Danilo looked honestly and thoroughly stunned by this news. He sank down to sit on a carved chest, and he rubbed both hands over his face. "Thornhold was attacked?" he echoed.
"And taken," she said shortly.
From the corner of her eye Bronwyn noticed that Shop-scat was showing keen interest in her visitor's ear-cuff and was starting to edge closer for the attack. Out of habit, she started to grab for the raven-then thought better of it and left the bird alone to do as it willed.
"The fortress of Thornbold is now held by the Zhentarim," she said, her voice gaining volume and passion as she spoke. "Isn't that why Khelben Arunsun was so concerned about my dealings with Malchior? He was afraid I might give away family secrets, is that it? Or perhaps you thought I was in collusion with the Zhentarim?"
"Not that. Never that." Danilo rose and took a step toward her. His progress was halted when a very angry dwarf stepped between him and Bronwyn.
"Back away," Ebenezer growled. He reached up and thumped the Harper's chest with his stubby forefinger. "Seems to me the lady of this here shop told you a ways back to git. And you ain't got yet. Now, I see a problem there that we could solve one of two ways."
The Harper took a long breath and exhaled with a sigh. "I have no quarrel with you, good sir. Bronwyn, even if you are content to lay to rest the old matter, we must discuss this new one. Send word, when you are ready."
Her only response was a stony stare. After a moment Danilo nodded a silent farewell and left, unwittingly evading the quick stabbing attack of Shopscat's beak.
"I could get to like that bird," Ebenezer observed, eyeing the raven with grim approval.
Danilo strode through the streets toward Blackstaff Tower, hands clasped behind him and brow deeply furrowed in thought. He caught a glimpse of himself in the polished glass of a milliner's shop window, and the sight pulled him up short. It took him a moment to realize what bothered him about the reflected image. He had seen that stance before, and the expression was a mirror image of that he'd often beheld on the visage of the archmage he served.
"I have been at this business far too long," Danilo murmured as he took off down the street again, this time at a saunter.
He found the archmage at his table, which did nothing to brighten his mood. Khelben had a perverse fondness for such foods as pottage of lentil, thick oat porridge, and fruit unadorned by pastry or sugar. If that was the secret of the archmage's long life, Danilo fervently hoped to die when his naturally allotted span was through.
As they exchanged greetings, Danilo selected a ring of dried apple from a tray. He sat down across from the archmage, munching the leathery fruit as he pondered how best to pass along the dire message Bronwyn had hurled at him. Danilo had given his word to Alice, albeit tacitly, that he would not report to Khelben word of Bronwyn's trip to Thornhold. Nor would he tell the archmage that Bronwyn was back in the city. Khelben would find that out soon enough. Danilo's days of reporting on his old friends were over.
A simple ruse came to him. Nothing annoyed Khelben more than reference to Danilo's bardic pursuits. Perhaps that very pique would serve to keep the archmage from examining the tale too closely.
"I heard a most amazing ballad last night at the Howling Moon," Danilo began, naming a new tavern popular with traveling bards of all stripe. "The singer describea the fall of Thornhold and claimed that this dire event occurred but two days past. I am inclined to believe him, Uncle. I do not wish to criticize a fellow bard, but the song sounded rather hastily composed."
Khelben stared at him for a long moment. "Wait here," he commanded.
The archmage rose and swept from the room. In Khelben's absence, Danilo nibbled away at the plate of dried fruit and studied the dining hall. There was not overmuch to see. Polished wood covered the walls, and the stone floor had been neatly strewn with fresh rushes mingled with sweet-smelling herbs, as was the custom. The room was dim and cool, lit only by the light that filtered in from the ever-shifting windows. The archmage had remarkably simple habits and insisted that there was no need to waste candles unless they were needed for reading.
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 thi
s 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."
"Some old tales say-"
"Let us dispense with prevarication," the bard cut in impatiently. "What do they do?"
Khelben tugged at the silver hoop in his ear, a sure sign that he was ill at ease. "I do not know," he admitted. "When the three rings are combined, they produce a powerful effect that is, unfortunately, unknown to me. The wizard who created them on behalf of Samular and his knights was not inclined to share his secrets."
Aha, Danilo thought. Some of Khelben's earlier comments took on more meaning, when considered by this light. "An old rivalry, perhaps?"
The archmage merely shrugged. "Find the ring," he repeated.
Danilo leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the ale. The beverage was flat and bitter He grimaced and set the mug down.
"That might prove difficult," he said. "As I reported earlier this tenday, Bronwyn is away on business. My scouts have not found word of her in Daggersford, so it is possible that she had this story put about as a blind. My guess would be that she had another, deeper destination in mind."
He spoke those words with heavy portent, deliberately misleading the archmage. Khelben scowled. "Skullport, again, eh? Well, check it out. Help her complete her business, so we can move on to the matter at hand."
Danilo smiled, relieved to be able to speak whole truth at least once. "On that, Uncle, you may depend."
Ebenezer waited impatiently as Bronwyn held council with the aging human who kept the inn. The Yawning Portal, it was called. The yawning customer was more like it. He was beginning to nod off over his third mug of ale when the young woman strode over to his table, an expression of grim triumph on her face.
"Durnam will let us in," she said softly. "This is not the only entrance to Skullport, but it's the quickest. It's like being a bucket in a well. He ties a rope around you and lowers you down."
"A well, eh? A dry one, I'm hoping."
"At first." She grinned fleetingly, fiercely. "Skuilport is neither dull nor dry not by any measure."
The dwarf perked up at this news. He'd been doing too much sitting around for his liking and was about ready for a rowdy hour or two. He hopped up from the chair. "Well then, let's get to it.
"
Ebenezer followed Bronwyn back to the locked room and watched as the old man slid the cover from a gaping hole in the floor. The dwarf insisted on going first, figuring he'd be the better one to look around for danger, seeing as he could see in the dark and she couldn't. She agreed and told him briefly what to look for
It was a good thing he'd chosen to go first, for the ride down was far longer than Ebenezer had expected. If he had had to sit and twiddle his thumbs while they cranked Bronwyn down, he might have changed his mind and demanded they take another route. It was hard to rethink the matter in the middle of a dark, narrow well shaft.
Finally he caught sight of the opening Bronwyn had told him would be there. He swung back and forth on the rope a bit to get some momentum, then seized the first of several iron handholds set into the stone wall. He hauled himself into the side tunnel, then wriggled out of the leather harness and gave the rope a couple of good tugs.
Instinct prompted him not to holler up a got-here-just-fine. Darkness and silence surrounded him, but there was a watchful quality to the place. Ebenezer wasn't keen to alert who-knows-what of his arrival.
The dwarf waited impatiently, hand never far from the handle of his hammer, until Bronwyn came into view. He grabbed her by the belt and hauled her into the tunnel. She touched down with a whisper of soft-soled leather. She shrugged off the harness and gestured to Ebenezer to follow her-a bold gesture, considering that she herself could not see in the utter blackness of the hole.
Ebenezer fell into step beside her, moving comfortably though the darkness. His eyes, like those of all dwarves, slipped easily past the range of light and color to perceive subtle patterns of heat. Humans had no such abilities, but Bronwyn moved along well enough, finding her way by running the fingertips of one hand along the wall.
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