Thornhold

“There are always choices,” Algorind said firmly. He laid one hand on the man’s shoulder. “You have made a good choice this day, the first of what I trust will be many.”

“Trust, do you?” Je

Algorind could not dispute that. The treachery of the dwarf he’d saved from the zombies still troubled him deeply.

“There is a travelers’ rest not far ahead,” he commented. ‘We can fill our waterskins at the well and gather some of the berries that grow in profusion nearby.”

Je

The paladin was mildly offended by this picture of glut­tony. “You would do better to seek gainful employment for yourself.”

Je

“You would find work as a sell-sword?”

“It’s what I know. Don’t worry yourself,” he said, casting a wry half-smile at Algorind. “I’ll do well enough as a caravan guard or some such. Well, there’s the rest house.”

Algorind nodded, then froze. The sight before him was one of such boldness and villainy that it stole his breath.

The red-bearded dwarf came out from the stone struc­ture, leading Icewind by the reins. With him was a young woman with exceptionally long, thick hair plaited back into a single braid. She was comely enough to suit the Zhent’s description of “a pretty wench,” and, since women traveling alone were uncommon in these wild lands, she was probably the one that the Zhentarim of Thornhold sought. The dwarf tossed her up into Icewind’s saddle as if he had every right to dispose of the horse, and then hauled himself up onto the back of a squat, nasty-looking pony. He glanced back and did an astonished double take when he caught Algorind’s dumbfounded gaze.

The dwarf lifted a hand in an insouciant salute, then kicked the pony into a surprisingly quick canter The woman followed along behind on Algorind’s stolen horse.

“The woman you seek,” Algorind said grimly, “she is allied with the Zhentarim?”

Je

“That white horse is mine,” Algorind said, pointing. “The dwarf stole him from me in an act of base treachery. If the woman consorts with horse thieves, one must ask if she could be allied with the very scum of evildoers.”

The former Zhent let out a snort of laughter. “No offense intended, I suppose.”

Algorind looked at him in puzzlement. “No, I had no wish to offend. Why do you ask?”

Je

* * * * *

Lath in the afternoon, two days after the fall of Thornhold, Bronwyn led her new companion into the Curious Past. When they entered the shop, the dwarf looked around in begrudging wonderment at the old and rare things that crowded the shelves and tables in glittering display.

“Lot of dusting to do,” he concluded gruffly.

A loud huff a

Ebenezer folded his arms. “If I were a betting sort of dwarf, I still wouldn’t take that one. You can stuff that so-called challenge in the who-cares bucket and take it on out to the slop heap.”

“Alice, meet Ebenezer Stoneshaft,” Bronwyn said dryly. “He’ll be with me for a tenday or two.”

The gnome’s face went wary “And staying where?”

“Neither of us are staying. A bath and a meal, and we’ll be on our way.”

Alice huffed. “Well, by the looks of you, child, you could certainly use a good meal.” Her eyes slid disdainfully over the dwarf, leaving the last part of her insult unspoken.

Bronwyn noted this exchange with great puzzlement. Alice was the most genial of souls; it was not like the gnome to so mistreat a visitor to Curious Past. She was about to admonish her assistant when she noticed the delighted battle gleam in the dwarf’s eye. He had spoken little on the journey south, and she’d given him silence and time to deal with his loss. Judging by the animation on his face, maybe she would have done better to pick a fight or two with him.

“Grow a beard, woman,” Ebenezer gruffly advised Alice. This comment baffled Bronwyn, but Alice seemed to under­stand it perfectly. The gnome’s eyes widened, then turned coy, and bright color bloomed on her already rosy cheeks.

Belatedly, Bronwyn got the point. Dwarven women were as bearded as their men. Apparently, Ebenezer was express­ing his approval of Alice’s gruff reception, even flirting with her a bit. Bronwyn cast her eyes toward the ceiling—which, despite Alice’s claims, was liberally festooned with cobwebs. “Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

The gnome collected herself. “Your friend Lord Tha

“I can just imagine,” Bronwyn muttered. “I suppose he has been watching me and reporting back to Khelben all this time, too. No offense meant, Alice,” she added hastily when she saw hurt and self-reproach creep into the gnome’s eyes.

Watching. Reporting back.

Suddenly something else occurred to Bronwyn, something that widened her eyes with shock and fury. When she had wanted to identify herself to her father, she named her tell­tale birthmark. Surely that identifying mark was one mea­sure used by those who once searched for Hronulf’s missing daughter. The Harpers might have heard of the search, and remembered that birthmark. Was it possible that the invi­tation to join the Harpers, to move to Waterdeep and work under Khelben Arunsun’s direction, was not motivated by the skills she could bring to the Harpers, but by who she was?

All these years, she had searched so desperately for her family, and they had known.

If that was so, then the brief days and nights of merri­ment that she and Danilo had shared several years before suddenly took on new and ominous meaning. And with that realization came a stab of betrayal so painful that it almost sent her to her knees. Danilo had known who she was-or at least suspected. By the time he left Amn, he knew beyond doubt.

“Oh, my god and goddess,” she whispered in a appalled voice, stu

“Some might think it’s a bit early in the day to be invok­ing the goddess of love and beauty,” observed a familiar, lan­guid male voice behind her. “Myself, I see no reason to put off what I might want to do again later.”

This observation, coming on the heels of her sudden and disturbing insight, raised Bronwyn’s temper past boiling. She fisted her hand and spun toward the shop door, swing­ing out high and hard.

Danilo dodged the blow and caught her wrist. “Really! Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he chided her.

Bronwyn wrenched her arm from his grasp and backed away. “You son of a snake,” she said in a low, furious tone.

“An.”

Just that. He didn’t bother to ask her what she meant. Of course not. But if Bronwyn had not known what a chameleon her fellow Harper could be, she would have sworn there was real regret in his eyes.