He took from the collar of his shirt what appeared to be a gleaming silver pin. It was in truth a paladin's sword, Algorind's sword, in perfect miniature. Danilo skewered a small square of cheese with it, and left it standing thus upright on the tray. A fresh wave of desolation swept over the tiny paladin's face at this indignity.
"He should be turned over to his brothers," Piergeiron mused, "but in such a state?"
"It would be better so," Danilo urged. "With respect, sir, I have little interest in growing a paladin, and no skill for such tasks."
The First Lord sighed. "So be it, then."
"About Bronwyn," Danilo began.
Piergeiron cut him off with an upraised baud. "I will agree to let the matter of Thornhold stand. But you should know, Khelben, that the Holy Order of the Knights of Samular- and many of their brother paladins-feel they have reason to distrust the Harpers."
Another silence followed Piergeiron's pronouncement. In it, Khelben heard the inevitable turning of another page in the lore book of the Harpers. A very long book, it was, and its pages traced many long years, so many endings and partings and false, fresh starts. But for all that, wasn't the story ever the same? The irony of this brought a small, hard smile to his lips
"I do not mean that as a personal insult," Piergeiron said earnestly, misunderstanding the archmage's grimly resigned smile. "We have been friends for many years. No one, I least of all, could doubt your devotion to this our city or discount the good that you have done. Much of that good you have accomplished through the Harpers whose activities you have directed. I do not claim otherwise."
"But?"
Piergeiron kept his gaze steady on the archmage's face. "I still trust you, Khelben, but I fear that goodly men can no longer put their trust in your Harpers."