“What happened?” the dwarf prompted.
“There was a storm,” she said shortly. “A terrible storm that tossed the ship around like a leaf. The mast snapped, and some of the planking tore loose. The hold took on water.”
She shuddered from the memory. “I climbed as high as I could onto a pile of crates. Everyone else was chained. I could do nothing but watch as they drowned, slowly, screaming and cursing like creatures damned to the Abyss.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper, husky with the remembered horror.
“Hard thing on a kid,” the dwarf repeated.
“Nothing else in the hold survived except me-and a few rats. They could climb, too, and they found any footing they could. By the time the water rose to my chin, there weren’t many places left for them to perch.”
Ebenezer suspected what was coming, and muttered a heartfelt oath. He stopped himself, just barely, from reaching for her hand.
“Two of the rats climbed onto my head. They fought each other for the right to be there. Nothing I could do would dislodge them.” She smiled faintly. “When my hair is wet, and parted just so, you can still see the scars.”
She drew in a long, ragged breath. “The sea calmed suddenly. I learned later that we had been caught in the wake of a waterspout, thrown off course and into the path of some Nelanther pirates. Without the mast, the ship could neither fight nor flee. Most of the crew were killed. The pirates seized the valuables and took all the survivors to be sold as slaves. It was night then,” she added, “and there was no moon. That’s why I never once saw the sea.”
Ebenezer sat bolt upright. “So you ended up a slave after all?”
“That’s right. This time, I was chained. The rest of the trip is a blur. I vaguely remember the marketplace, and standing on the block while people gawked and poked. I was sold. There is a dark cloud over the next bit. I think I was resold, or maybe I escaped and was recaptured. I really don’t remember.”
She sighed, and to Ebenezer’s eyes she looked exhausted and drained by the recounting. He was sorry he had asked, but glad to know just the same. A good thing, it was, to know the measure of your friends.
That measure he could summon up in one short statement. “And after all that, you came out on this ship.”
Their eyes linked in understanding. After a moment, the dwarf reached for her hand. Her long, fragile human fingers intertwined with his stubby digits. They sat together, gazing up at the cloud castle that floated gently past and at the silver sea beneath. It didn’t bother Ebenezer quite so much now to see the heaving sea. His own kin most likely didn’t have his kind of choice in the matter. As Bronwyn had said, there was bad, and then there was worse.
* * * * *
Algorind arrived in Waterdeep footsore and dusty. His boots had been made for riding, and the soles were nearly worn through by his days of walking. His once-white tabard was dingy with the dust of the road. He hated to present himself at the gates of the Halls of Justice in such a state, but his brothers must learn of Thornhold’s fate.
He hurried through the streets. As before, he was struck by the noise and the crowds. How did men of Tyr hold fast to their faith, surrounded by such distractions and decadence? It puzzled him why the brothers would see fit to build the Halls of Justice in the heart of this teaming city. Better the remote hills, or the purity of a windswept mountaintop.
The gatekeeper at the Halls of Justice looked him up and down with obvious disapproval.
“It is most urgent that I speak with Sir Gareth,” Algorind said. “Please bear word to him that Algorind of Summit Hall begs audience.”
“Summit Hail, is it?” the guard said, his face showing a bit more warmth. “You’ll be in good and abundant company, then.”
Algorind’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Sir?”
“You don’t know? There’s a group of young paladins and acolytes from the training school, led by Laharin Goldbeard himself. They are making a paladin’s quest of it,” the man said. His eyes grew warm and distant with remembered glories. “I would go myself, but for the injuries that keep me tending gate.”
“Yours is an honorable task and a service to Tyr” Algorind said, noting the wistful note that crept into the knight’s voice. “But sir, of what great task do you speak?”
“You have been out of the thick of things. Taking a time of solitude, like old Texter?”
“Not by choice. Sir, the task?”
The knight’s face turned grim. “Why, the reclaiming of Thornhold, of course. Riders are taking word throughout the northlands. The Knights of Samular are gathering to march north. Paladins of other orders are joining in, and those who claim no order at all. It has been many years since such an anny of righteousness gathered together. May the Zhentarim tremble.”
Algorind caught the gatekeeper’s arm. “Sir, I have just come from Thornhold. I was but a few hours’ foot travel away when the capture was complete. I saw the smoke of destruction rise, and exchanged blows with a Zhentish patrol from the army who took the keep.”
The knight’s eyes widened. “Why did you not say so at once? You, Camelior! Come here, and take this young knight to the council room with all haste.”
Algorind fell into step beside his guide. He was led into the largest of the three buildings and into a vast hail. Six long tables dominated this hall, their edges cunningly shaped so that all fit together to form a single large hexagon. Paladins sat around the outer edge only, so that all could converse. Bright banners hung from the ceiling, proclaiming the standards of the many orders and the solitary knights who served the Halls of Justice.
Algorind’s gaze sought out Sir Gareth, and he noted the stunned look on the old knight’s face. This made him exceedingly self-conscious. Neatness and cleanliness were rules of the order and for him to appear thus was an affront, but Algorind had little time to consider his hero’s response, for Camelior quickly relayed the message that Algorind had given the gatekeeper to the assemblage.
“Another seat, if you please,” called Laharin.
Pages—young boys brought to the temple to be tested for suitability to the life of Tyr—leaped to do the Master Paladin’s bidding. Algorind found himself escorted and seated with discomfiting ceremony. All eyes were upon him when Laharin urged him to speak.
Again Algorind’s eyes sought out Sir Gareth. The old knight solemnly tapped one finger to his lips, reminding Algorind of his pledge of discretion. The conflicting duties made Algorind feel uncomfortably like a tethered hawk bid to fly and hunt.
“I rode north to Thornhold to carry a message of a personal nature to Hronulf,” Algorind said carefully. Sir Gareth’s faint nod assured him that these words were well chosen. “When I was but a few hours away, I saw black smoke rising into the sky. From the scent, I knew it to be a bier.”
Algorind fell silent for a moment in respect to the fallen. All around him knights and priests bowed their heads or formed the hand gestures that affirmed their faith and commended the spirits of their brother knights into the hands of Tyr.
“I heard a patrol and lay ambush.” Algorind blushed to admit this, but he was sworn to the truth. “There were four men, mounted and well armed. They were searching for a woman who had been in the fortress at the time of the attack. She escaped, and none knew how, but it seems likely that she took with her a ring that belonged to Hronulf.”
Murmurs of consternation rippled through the hall. “And did you seek this woman?” demanded Laharin.
“Sir, I believe I caught sight of her. She was in the company of a dwarf and riding south for Waterdeep. If it is your wish, I will seek her out.”