It was the child! The same girl he had taken from the farm and turned over to Sir Gareth’s keeping. What she was doing in this city, and on her own, Algorind could not begin to fathom. He took off after her, ducking low to avoid a string of long wool stockings hung out to dry in the alley.
The girl could run like a rabbit. She darted down the alley and out into a small, open area. A wooden sign proclaimed the site to be Howling Cat Court. A few women strolled about, their faces garishly painted and their bodices laced indecently low. They mocked Algorind as he dashed past in pursuit of the child, bidding him leave off with his playmates and learn some adult games. His face heated when he realized what they meant.
His quarry swerved and dodged, evading his grasp nimbly. She turned and darted toward another alley. Algorind began to follow suit when a heavy thunk resounded painfully through his skull and stopped him where he stood. He turned, dazed, and looked incredulously at one of the over-ripe women. There was a small oak cudgel in her hand. She gave him a hard smile and kissed her fingertips to him in a mocking salute, then melted away into the shadows of an alley.
Algorind shook off the numbing pain and took off after the girl. He was almost to the alley when a loud, trembling horn call resounded through the court.
“You, there! Stop where you are.”
The young paladin knew authority when he heard it. He stopped and slowly turned around. Four men and two women, all wearing leather armor dyed green and black and reinforced with gold-colored chain mail, strode toward him, small clubs in their hands. A band of mercenaries, no doubt. He decided to try to fight his way clear.
His resolve must have shown in his eyes. “Yield to the city watch,” the speaker said. “You will not be harmed unless you resist.”
This put Algorind in a quandary. The rule of his order stated that he was to obey all lawful authorities unless they constrained him to do evil. These city guards were standing between him and his duty, but that was not necessarily evil.
“Good sirs, ladies,” he said earnestly. “You do not understand.”
“We understand that you were chasing a little girl. She yours?”
“No, but—”
“You responsible for tending her?”
In a maimer of speaking, that was true, but not plain enough truth to give Algorind comfort in speaking it. “I wished to return her to her rightful place,” he said, which was more precise.
“Uh-huh,” the watch captain said, skepticism deeply etched on his bearded face. “What was her name?”
Algorind was utterly at a loss. “I do not know,” he had to admit.
The captain sniffed. “Thought as much. Take him in. We’ll let the magisters deal with this one.”
This was utterly beyond Algorind’s comprehension. “I cannot go with you.”
“You don’t have much of a choice. You can come easy, or we’ll take you in trussed and hooded. You choose.”
“I will come with you,” Algorind said, bowing his head in defeat. “Will you grant me one kindness, though? Carry word to the Halls of Justice, and tell them of my fate?”
“There are messengers in the castle. They’ll get around to your cell sooner or later, and you can send word to whomever you like. Now, move.”
* * * * *
Bronwyn hurried back to her shop, cutting through the back ways. As she came through Howling Cat Court, it seemed to her that one of the low-rent courtesans who strutted along the far walk sent her a knowing smile. The woman looked vaguely familiar and harmless enough, so Bronwyn lifted a hand in friendly response as she strode past.
She found Alice in a fit, wringing her tiny hands and pacing the floors with enough fervor to raise a cloud of dust. Bronwyn’s first thought was for Cara. She pounced on the gnome, seizing her shoulders and turning her so that they faced each other. “Where is she?”
“Gone!” mourned Alice, confirming Bronwyn’s worse suspicions.
Bronwyn ran a hand over her forehead and back, smoothing her hair in a gesture of pure frustration. “Did you see anything?”
“A young man came looking for you. A paladin, I think. He wore a blue and white tabard and carried a broadsword. Fle was young—no more than twenty—but taller than most men. Pale yellow hair, curly. He left his horse at the door.”
Bronwyn had a very bad feeling about this. “A big horse? White?”
“I believe so. I didn’t get more than a glance. Why?”
“Long story,” Bronwyn mumbled. Ebenezer had told her of his rescue by a man who could turn undead to dust. That would make the man a priest—or a paladin. The man who came looking for her, who might have taken Cara, was near Thornhold. What he knew, what he wanted, she could guess all too well.
At that moment the shop bell tinkled, startling them both. Woman and gnome jumped and whirled to face the door. In it stood Danilo Thann, a broad smile in his face and a small, half-elf girl in his arms.
“Cara!” Bronwyn cried. She rushed forward to reclaim the girl, gave her a quick hug, then she set her down and turned her attention to the man. “Danilo, what happened? Where did you find her?”
“Actually, I did not. Cara was brought to me by some Harpers who happened upon her.”
Bronwyn’s face clouded. “Still watching me?”
“Strictly speaking, no. We’ve been keeping an eye out for the paladins, and one of them happened by your shop.”
“I should thank you, then,” she said softly, looking at the child. Cara was happily chatting with Alice, telling her all about the ginger cat that she’d almost caught, and wouldn’t it make a fine pet?
Bronwyn sighed. “I promised I would find her father, but I don’t know if I can keep her safe until then.”
She spoke softly, but the girl looked up. “I will be safe, Bronwyn. Look at this. Come to me, Shopscat!”
Before the raven could respond to the summons, the child disappeared. Bronwyn blinked rapidly, as if she could conjure the girl by clearing her vision. There was nothing, save for a childish giggle outside the front door. Before Bronwyn could move, Cara was back, just as abruptly as she left.
“Look!” she said proudly, showing Bronwyn the three bright gems in her hand. “A ruby, a blue topaz, and a... citrine?” she asked, looking up at Danilo for corroboration.
He nodded, his eyes bright with the child’s reflected pleasure. “That’s right. You remember well.”
“Gemjump,” Bronwyn murmured, remembering tales she’d heard of stones that enabled the holder to magically transport to the location of any of the gems. They were rare, and exceedingly expensive. Three of them was a princely gift.
“With these, Cara can get herself out of the occasional tight spot,” Danilo said lightly. “Put them back in their bag, Cara, the way I showed you.”
The child beamed and did as she was told. Danilo drew Bronwyn aside. “You’ve got a remarkable new friend,” he said softly. “I think you will have your hands full, though.”
Bronwyn nodded. “Cara is no trouble, but I think she’s in trouble. I just don’t know how much, or what kind.”
“Let me help you,” Danilo said earnestly. “Tell me what I can do.”
She smiled at him, her anger nearly forgotten. “You already have. The gemstones give her a bit of control over her fate. She needs that. And a little control,” she added somberly, “is usually the best any of us can expect.”
Twelve
Dag Zoreth had seen his former teacher Malchior give way to anger on only one occasion. Before his ire had cooled, a half battalion of inept soldiers lay on the ground, some fried black by Cyric-granted lighting, a few still jerking spasmodically. As Dag looked at the older priest’s angry countenance, he silently rehearsed his own prayer to Cyric. If one of them had to end this conference writhing and twitching on the carpet, Dag would prefer it not be he.