“Apology accepted,” Khelben said brusquely. “Now, to the matter at hand.”
He nodded toward the other occupant of the chamber, a gnome woman who sat clenching the arms of a too large chair, her feet stuck straight up before her like a child’s.
“Alice,” Danilo said warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Save the pleasantries,” the archmage cut in, “and listen well. A situation has arisen that requires me to divulge information that until now was best left unspoken.”
Khelben strode over to his writing desk, absently picked up a quill, and crumbled it in his hand. “Alice tells me that Malchior has given Bronwyn information on her past. She is even now talking to Tyr’s followers. This creates a grave situation and puts her in considerable danger.”
He dropped the ruined pen into a wastebasket. A small, claw-tipped orange hand reached up and caught it from the air. The smacking, chewing sounds that followed spoke of the discrete disposal that awaited any discarded written drafts that might otherwise reveal the archmage’s business.
“It is certain that members of the Zhentarim know of Bronwyn’s identity. Soon the paladins of Tyr will know this, as well. They may tell her of the power that her heritage brings. Paladins and Zhents will wish to exploit it, and her.”
Danilo nodded slowly. He hadn’t resolved his anger at Khelben’s machinations, or his own sense of confusion over his part in uncovering Bronwyn’s identity, but at least he was beginning to see Khelben’s reasoning. He didn’t like it any better, but understanding helped. A little.
“And what is this power?” he inquired.
The archmage grimaced. “I do not know the whole of it,” he admitted, “but this much I can tell you: the Knights of Samular have in their possession three rings, artifacts of considerable power. They can be worn and wielded only by blood descendants of Samular.”
“Which Bronwyn is,” Danilo put in.
“Yes. What these rings can do, and where they are held, I do not know. Hronulf wears one of them, another was lost in the raid on his village. The third has been missing for centuries.”
The archmage turned to Alice. “And this is where you come in. Find out what Bronwyn knows, and report back at once.”
“I’m to tell her of the rings, aren’t I?” Alice asked anxiously. “It won’t be easy admitting to her that I’ve been keeping watch over her these four years and more, but the time has come.”
“Not yet,” Khelben cautioned. “You are to act as you always have. Watch, listen, and report.”
“But—”
He cut her off with a single stern glare. “Find out what she knows,” he repeated. “And that is all.”
The dismissal was unmistakable. Alice slid off the too-tall chair and nodded her head in a curt, barely respectful bow.
Danilo watched her go, fully understanding how she must feel. The little gnome considered Bronwyn a friend, and yet she kept secrets from her because it was her duty as a Harper to do so. Clearly, it didn’t sit well with the proud former warrior. It didn’t sit well with Dan either, if truth must be told. He wondered how much longer either he or Alice would be able to give duty greater weight than friendship.
Five
Bronwyn stopped when she was perhaps a hundred paces from Black-staff Tower. It was one of the oddest buildings in a very unusual city. A tall, flat-topped cone of seemingly unbroken black stone, it was surrounded by a curtain wall of the same dark substance, a wall without any apparent doors.
She circled around, not quite sure what she was looking for. Then, she noted a basket at the foot of the wall, a tall wicker basket such as a merchant might use to haul goods to the market stalls. There were a few baskets of that sort in the back room of the Curious Past. Bronwyn edged between two nearby buildings and settled down to wait.
After a short time, the basket began to move, dragged by the handle by a small, white-haired gnome. Bronwyn caught her breath in a half sob as she recognized Alice.
Even through her pain, Bronwyn had to admire the gnome’s pioy. Emerging through an invisible wall was one thing, and would surely seize the attention of any who witnessed it. But who would notice a gnome tradeswoman, who appeared only to be stooping to adjust her load before proceeding on her way? Alice had obviously planned to slip through the wall behind the basket, wait for an opportune moment, and then go on her way. It was well done.
Bronwyn followed, keeping at least thirty paces between herself and the treacherous gnome. At least she now knew how the Harpers had been keeping an eye on her business. That Alice reported directly to Khelben Arunsun, the Master Harper, was a matter of some concern. Bronwyn could see no reason why she warranted such lofty attention. No doubt the archmage was concerned about her contact with Malchior. Members of the Zhentarim seldom ventured into Waterdeep, and their activities were carefully monitored. And as she herself had noted, a skilled mage could probably get a good deal of information from the amber necklace that Malchior had handled. Khelben had not been happy to lose it.
Anger welled up anew, momentarily stopping Bronwyn in her tracks. Khelben must have ordered Alice to bring him the necklace. And this, after Bronwyn had pledged to Ma!chior that she would keep it safe from those who could read magic’s secrets. Once again, it seemed that the Harpers were forcing her to renege on her word. That, she simply could not allow.
When she reached Curious Past Bronwyn threw open the door with a force and fury that brought a shower of plaster shimmering down off the wattle-and-daub walls and rattled the rare things displayed on the shelves. Two startled haifling customers and one equally surprised gnome shopkeeper stared up at her in astonishment.
“Where is the amber necklace?” she demanded of Alice.
The gnome’s brown face furrowed in puzzlement. “In the safe, child, where you left it. Please browse—I’ll be back directly,” she said to the customers. The gnome shot a glance toward her personal version of a shop’s cat—a sleek, keen-eyed raven named, appropriately enough, Shopscat. The raven hopped down from his perch, positioning himself so that the haifling matron’s fingers were within easy reach of his wicked, yellow beak.
Alice and Bronwyn hurried into the dusty jumble of baskets, boxes and barrels that was the shop’s back room. Behind them they heard a sharp squawk, followed by a haifling’s startled squeal. “Think about it,” the raven advised, one of several phrases it used to good effect.
The gnome sighed and shut the door behind her. “I’ll have to hurry before Flilfuphia cleans out the place. Bronwyn, there are things you must know. Sit, child.”
Bronwyn sat, settling down on a suspiciously familiar basket. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. “I have a few questions for you, too.”
“They’ll have to wait. Please listen well. This is not easy to say, and I’d hate to have to repeat any of it.”
“Go on,” Bronwyn said cautiously. She gripped the edges of the basket so tightly that the wicker edges bit into her still-sore palms. This response was the last thing she’d expected from Alice. The gnome was always calm, competent. Never show them what you’re thinking, Alice had often cautioned Bronwyn; this was a rule that governed all their business dealings and, it would seem, their dealings with each other. But for the moment at least, Alice had cast aside her own rules. The gnome’s slightly prominent eyes glistened with tears, her face was drawn and pained, and her form shook with emotion too strong to repress. In short, Alice was a precise mirror for what Bronwyn herself was feeling.
“Child, you’re not the only Harper in this shop. I was assigned to watch and protect you, without telling you why. I didn’t know why, until recently, other than a general knowledge of who and what I was to look out for. But the pot is heating up... .“ In a few terse words, the gnome told her what Khelben had said about the Zhentarim, the paladins, and the family artifacts.