“That was, what, almost two years ago?” Coryn said. “I remember you were with him when I ran into you both down at the Newsea.”
“Yep, been together like salt and pepper ever since. We were doing some pretty good goblin hunting, too, though it was like holding back a tide. Nobody was paying the same bounty anymore. Then, of course, there was this business of the gnomes.”
He glanced over toward the stream, saw that Carbo was busy fishing some distance away. Sulfie’s head popped up from the blackberry bushes then vanished as she cheerfully went back to her pickings. “You started him on that, you know. With that letter that came over the water from your friend in Solace.”
“Oh, Palin is not really my friend,” Coryn said. “I barely know him, but he was kind enough to answer some of my questions, which is why I told Jaymes about Dungarden. These gnomes, I presume, must be the next step in the puzzle.”
“Yes.” Dram shook his head. “Though I’m not sure this is a puzzle with all the pieces fitting together.” He told her about the failure of the compound when they had tried to use it to destroy the dike at Mason’s Ford. “A lot of spark and sizzle, but not much else,” he admitted. “The gnomes are all right. They’ve been good companions, I must admit. They say that their brother, Salty Pete, knew one part of their father’s compound-an elusive component, but he was killed by lizardmen when they crossed the Vingaard River. They’re going to try and recreate the ingredients on their own, but Reorx only knows how long it will take.”
“Tell me, the small party of gnomes who departed after the explosion at Dungarden, did they cross at the Brackens?” Coryn asked. “Is that where Salty Pete disappeared?”
“Yep-that’s the place they mentioned.” Dram frowned at her. “Why do you ask?”
“Have faith,” Coryn said. “There may yet be some good news. Although from what Palin told me, his son spent years working on the same problem. He also cautioned me that some secrets are better kept forever. I agree with him, but I also feel that we don’t have much choice right now.”
“Tell me, how did you meet our mutual friend?” the dwarf asked. “He gave you such a hug on the shore of the Newsea, at first I was thinking you must be his long lost sister or something!”
Coryn smiled, savoring a secret memory. “Not his sister. Hardly,” she admitted. Her expression grew serious, even sad.
“Actually, I met him on the night Lord Lorimar was murdered,” she said. “The Lord was a good friend of mine-I had been giving him advice and information on matters in Solamnia, since shortly after the First Conclave. In Palanthas I caught wind of a plot building against him-but I was too late-and arrived at his manor to find the place already in flames. The lord and his daughter were dead, and Jaymes was there, holding that great sword. He wore the emblem of a Knight of the Rose then, too.”
“His favorite disguise, once upon a time,” Dram admitted awkwardly. The dwarf had never probed his human friend for more details about that night-but he didn’t like to have to hear from Coryn that Jaymes was indeed at the scene of the crime.
“I watched him take off his tunic, that proud rose glowing red as blood. He threw it into the flames and stood there, watching, as the blaze surged around him. He was already burned on his shoulders and face, but I got the impression he wasn’t going to move, Finally I cast a spell, a cone of cold, and brought him out of the fire. He just followed me when I took his hand.”
“Why would you help a man who just killed your friend?” Dram asked bluntly.
Coryn looked at him for a long time, her expression enigmatic. The gnomes called out as they started back from the stream, and the dwarf wondered if she even heard his question. Perhaps it was impertinent, anyway.
Only then did he catch her words, barely whispered above the friendly wash of the mountain stream.
“I wouldn’t,” she said.
Jaymes was, as always at night, chained to a stout iron stake driven deep into the ground. He was almost getting used it, and-though he had watched carefully for any variance, any weakness in the diligence of his guards-he had seen not such much as a glimmer of a chance at escape. Even if the knights had not guarded him constantly, the stake was too strong, too deep
Right now he was trying to use his manacled hands to slurp from the usual bowl of gruel that served as his evening meal. A cry of challenge and answering password attracted his attention, and he watched idly as a Knight of Solamnia, wearing the emblem of the Rose, came riding on a lathered, blowing horse, into camp from the direction they were headed.
The newcomer dismounted and was directed to Sir Powell, who was having his meal nearby with Lady Selinda and several officers. The Rose knight was apparently a messenger, for he knelt respectfully and handed a scroll to Powell.
Selinda asked a question, and the knight captain shrugged, passing her the parchment.
“I don’t know why he didn’t just wait until we get to Palanthas to tell me that,” Powell said, loud enough for Jaymes to overhear. “But if he wants to transfer the Third Regiment to the coast, who am I to stop him?”
“Strange,” Selinda agreed, after scanning the message. “My father usually doesn’t concern himself with minor deployments.” She looked at the messenger, who still knelt before them. “Thank you for making the journey, Sir Dupuy. Please, help yourself to our trail fare. Do you need to return at once, or did my father give you other instructions?”
“If I may beg the indulgence of Your Ladyship and the captain’s approval, the Lord Regent suggested that I accompany your party on the ride over the pass and back to Palanthas. There is some damage to the road, washouts caused by the spring rains. As I have just come over that route, I will at least be able to warn you when these obstacles are coming up.”
“By all means,” Sir Powell said, heartily. “Take up a bowl and join the men. We rise with the dawn and ride an hour later.”
“Thank you, sir. My lady,” the knight called Sir Dupuy said, rising to his feet. He looked around, apparently seeking the cook fire.
Jaymes would have sworn that the man’s eyes lingered far longer than necessary upon the chained prisoner.
Dram was awake as the first glimmers of dawn were brightening the sky over the eastern plains. His body ached, but he was looking forward to entering the good air of the mountains again.
The two gnomes were still slumbering, and he let them rest a little longer as he stirred the faded coals and rekindled the fire. He looked up to see that Coryn was already awake. Though she had slept on the ground, her white robe showed not the slightest stain of grass or mud. Not even the blackberries, of which they had all eaten plentifully the night before, had left a mark.
“The white moon was full last night, and Solinari favored me. I learned something that might be important to you,” she whispered. “There is a prisoner held by the lizardmen in the Brackens… a gnome. He has been kept there for more than a year.”
“A gnome?” Dram immediately understood. He nodded toward Carbo and Sulfie, who snored contentedly, arm in arm, beyond the fire. “You think it might be their brother, Pete?”
“It could very well be,” she said.
If Coryn had been off checking on the status of captured gnomes during the previous night, Dram had had no clue. He nodded, reflecting on the strange ways of wizards, and decided to take her at her word-he didn’t want any more details. Besides, there remained a more pressing concern: the rescue of Jaymes.
“Yes,” Coryn said grimly, as though she had been reading his mind. “You have to get Jaymes away from those knights as soon as possible. I meant what I told you last night. He is in danger-terrible and immediate danger.”
He grimaced, shaking his head. “What can I do?” he said. “I can’t even catch up to those riders, much less get him out of such a tight spot. Isn’t that your specialty?”
She sighed. “I can’t afford to take the chance of being identified-it was risky enough in Caergoth, and I fear that I was spotted. But I might be able to help you with this potion.”