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"I'm not surprised you think so," Danilo said, idly turning over the empty potion vial in his hand. "And what do you intend to do next?"
"I will go whithersoever Tyr and you deem fit to send me."
Again the Harper laughed, but it seemed to Algorind that the sound lacked any real mirth.
"Tyr and me, is it? Now there are two vintages I never expected to see in a single goblet!" He abruptly sobered, looking more serious than Algorind would have thought possible. "For the nonce, forget about my opinion. Forget about the Order. What do you think you should do?"
After a moment's consideration, Algorind said, "I would warn the dwarves of Thornhold. Sir Gareth mentioned that they might be prevented from speaking at Summit Hall."
"Indeed. Did he say how, or by whom?"
"He did not. But no doubt Sir Gareth has knowledge he did not see fit to share with me."
"No doubt," the Harper murmured. "If a dwarf's got something on his mind and the desire to share it, he's not easily silenced, but I'll send word to Bronwyn at Thornhold." Danilo lifted one brow. "Unless you prefer to go yourself?"
"I would like nothing better, as I would beg her pardon and little Cara's for wrongs unwittingly done. And yet," he added wonderingly, "I feel compelled to return to Sir Gareth. It may be that he will need an aide in the years to come, someone he can trust to help him with all of his many duties."
The Harper's smile seemed a bit sad. "I thought you might feel that way."
The silver owl chose that moment to flap over to the window and out into the night. Algorind watched it go, a wistful smile on his face.
"If you're to aid Sir Gareth, you'll need a horse and a new sword," the Harper observed. "I know a fine sword smith who doesn't mind doing business at this hour. As for a mount, well, it just so happens that I have friends at the Pegasus aerie."
Algorind was on his feet at once. "A winged horse would consent to carry me?"
"They're less particular than you might have heard," Danilo said in a droll tone. "Before we leave, there is one question my study was unable to answer. Of the twin knights, Wurthar and Dorlion, which inherited his sire's dark nature?"
"It matters not at all," Algorind said, marveling at the truth of his own words. "The light of Tyr's grace shines equally upon all men. What we are, we chose to become. What we do, we choose to do."
Danilo nodded, but his gray eyes looked troubled. "So you are not dismayed to learn the founders of your order were demon-spawned? You will hold nothing against Bronwyn and Cara, who share this heritage?"
"As long as neither of them shrinks me again," Algorind said fervently, "I will be content."
Later that night, Danilo let himself back into his town-house with a muttered spell and an impatient wave of one hand. He was too tired and dispirited to be bothered with keys.
His commendable halfling steward had left a lamp burning in the entrance hall, but the study beyond was deep in shadows. Even so, he could make out the outline of a tall, broad-shouldered man seated near the softly glowing embers of the hearth fire.
"You should bolster your wards," instructed a deep voice, slightly burred with the accent he occasionally neglected to hide. "As you have just demonstrated, they are far too easy to breach."
With a sigh, Danilo entered the room and flopped down into a chair opposite Waterdeep's archmage. "I thought you might drop by. No doubt the smell of magical meddling drew you like strong cheese does mice."
"You seem heavy of heart," the great wizard observed. He held up the empty vial, the second potion Danilo had given the young paladin. "It is no small thing, to magically control a man's will."
"No small thing?" Danilo echoed incredulously. "It's wrong. It's evil. It's no better than rape!"
"And yet… "
"And yet," Danilo echoed softly. He rubbed his hands over his face and sent Khelben a rueful look. "I have condemned you for far less. In truth, I have judged you harshly over the years."
"That is what young men do."
They sat together in silence, sharing the solitude that comes from great power and difficult choices. At long last, Danilo asked, "Can any good come of this night's work?"
"No man can see all possible outcomes," Khelben said, "and on the whole, this is a good thing. The multiplicity of possible truths would drive one mad. So can too much power. And since there is nothing you fear so much as madness, you have fought against me these many years, shying away from realizing your full magical potential and rejecting any suggestion that you might be my successor at Blackstaff Tower."
Danilo stared at him. "I didn't think you knew."
"You might be surprised how well I understand you," Khelben said. He nodded to the untidy pile of books and scrolls on Danilo's study table. "You have a wizard's talent, a bard's passion for history, and a sense of duty that demands you employ both in service to others. This is your path, and it is good and right that you follow it."
Moved beyond words, Danilo merely nodded his thanks.
Khelben cleared his throat. "So you will be leaving for Tethyr soon?"
"Yes, before the tenday's end, and I will not be going alone. My lady Arilyn has rights to redress; Elaith Craulnober has people to kill." Danilo shrugged. "Business as usual, only this time my ill-assorted elven friends find themselves in rare accord."
"Indeed! Should I be relieved to hear that, or worried?"
"A little of both, I daresay."
Khelben chuckled and rose to leave, which brought Danilo politely to his feet. The archmage regarded the younger man for a long moment.
"Mystra's blessing upon you, son."
Danilo smiled at him. "I won't be gone forever-a few years at most. To a man of your long years, that's a mere eye blink. I'll see you upon my return."
A strange expression crossed the archmage's face, a flicker of emotion, quickly mastered. Khelben lifted a hand in farewell and disappeared into mist.
6 Eleint, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Summit Hall
Laharin Goldbeard, the Master of Summit Hall, studied the papers spread out before him. His face paled as he read the bills of lading and shipping records linking Sir Gareth to the Zhentarim and, worse, to the Collectors Guild, the wicked treasure-hunters of Amn whose collective purpose was an evil twin to that of the Knights of Samular. Finally he fingered the scrying ring that, moments before, had revealed the face of Dag Zoreth, a priest of Cyric and member of the Zhentarim, who had impatiently answered "Sir Gareth" in a ma
The paladin glanced up at one of the tall, fair-haired men standing before him. "How is it, Algorind, that you spent more than five years gathering this information? I won't deny that you've done a great service to the order, but subterfuge is difficult for a paladin whose heart is true."
"But not impossible," interjected his companion, a well-dressed nobleman a few years older than Algorind. "I placed him under a magical compulsion that caused him to set his doubts aside until such time as he had collected proof your order could not ignore. I coerced his will to this purpose."
Laharin regarded the man sternly. "You freely admit to this?"
"I do," Danilo Tha
"You do not fall under our jurisdiction."
"Nevertheless."
The master nodded and turned to the elderly man seated nearby, an armored guard standing on either side. "What say you to these accusations, Sir Gareth?"
"Papers can be forged and well you know it!" Gareth said sternly. "A wizard who would force another man's will could easily create an illusion such as the device before you. And Lord Tha