demon, nothing more. Tell me where you found those three rings, and the nature of their power!'
Renwick summoned a smile and a lie. 'What they were meant to be, I do not know.' He couldn't resist adding, 'What use I have made of them… you will not know.'
Khelben released him and stepped back, his face set with grim purpose. 'You know you cannot stand against me in spell battle.'
'I do not intend to.' Renwick lifted both hands to show that the rings had disappeared from his fingers. 'The rings, and a partial knowledge of the power they wield, are in the hands of an adversary you cannot defeat.'
The disbelief on Khelben Arunsun's face was priceless. Renwick had heard tell the wizard was elf-blooded. Khelben didn't particularly resemble his elven forebears in physical matters, but apparently he was as convinced of his own superiority as any high elf noble.
'You do not ask me of whom I speak. Pride forbids it, I suppose,' Renwick observed. 'I will tell you nonetheless. Samular will hold the rings, as will his descendants after him.'
'The paladin?'
'Samular is not just any paladin. He is destined for legend. With my help, of course.'
Khelben nodded slowly as he came to understand just how far out of reach the rings had been placed.
'A paladin's way is righteous and good,' Renwick said, finding an unexpected pleasure in rubbing salt into the wizard's wounds. 'If you do not stand with him, many men will assume you stand against him.'
'That may be so, but that much power cannot be easily contained,' Khelben warned. 'You will not be able to keep the rings secret forever. Some day they will fall into other hands, and be used for other purposes.'
Renwick smiled. 'Then it is in your best interest to make certain this does not occur. After all, you helped send nearly two hundred innocent souls to an unknown fate. Once the tale begins to be told, who knows where it will end?'
Khelben did not react well to threats-or perhaps he resented the implication that his conscience could be silenced. He lunged at Renwick, eyes blazing with wrath. This time Renwick was ready for him. He dropped a portable hole onto the ground and stepped into it.
The mountain wind rose to a wail as Renwick swept along the magic pathway. He emerged safely inside the grey fastness of Caradoon Keep, and not a moment too soon. The shouts of the guards and hostlers in the keep's courtyard announced his brother's eminent return.
Renwick gathered up his robes and took the stairs two at a time. If he hurried, he'd have just enough time to reassemble Nimra's babies before their grandsire arrived.
29 Mirtul, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR)
Waterdeep
A sharp, staccato tapping dragged Danilo Thann's attention from his studies. He glanced up from a particularly thick, dusty tome and noted the shadows playing against one of the multi-paned windows placed high on the opposite wall. He shaped a cantrip with a quick, one-handed gesture. The latch opened and the window swung inward. A silver owl swooped in, dropped its burden on Danilo's desk, and flapped up to perch on a high shelf.
Danilo was not particularly surprised to note the identity of his small visitor. Algorind had been a thorn in Bronwyn's side, and therefore his own, for the better part of a month. Since no reasonable man would expect the paladin's nature to change along with his size, Danilo had set up certain safeguards against Algorind's escape.
'Thank you, Vichart,' Danilo said, addressing the owl before turning to the rather windblown Algorind. 'And you, sir; did you tire so quickly of Sir Gareth's hospitality?'
The tiny paladin shook his head and pointed to his ears.
Upon closer scrutiny, Danilo noted the faint smear of blood on the young man's neck and in his pale hair.
'Can't hear me, eh? No fear, I've a healing potion hereabouts that should turn the page on that chapter.'
Danilo unlocked a drawer, rummaged, and withdrew a small glass vial. He eyed Algorind and considered the dosage. Perhaps just a drop… No, there was no telling how much would cure and how much would kill.
'I suppose there's no help for it,' he murmured as he reached for a book covered with dark green leather. 'I'll have to put you back to rights. A waste of magic, in my opinion, but there it is. Fortunately for you, I've done little but study the history of your order since this business began. The size-changing magic of the siege tower was not particularly complex. Devising a spell to reverse it was surprisingly simple.'
Devising it might have been an easy matter, but judging from the set of Algorind's jaw and the beads of sweat on his too-white forehead, his rapid return to normal size was far from painless. When he regained his former height, Danilo handed over the vial and pantomimed drinking.
After a moment's hesitation, the young man did as he was bid. Color flooded back into his face, and he rolled his shoulders like a man who'd just put down a great burden.
'The ringing is gone.' His face brightened. 'I can hear myself speak!'
'Well, there's a down side to everything, isn't there?'
Algorind nodded absently. 'You restored me.'
'Yes, and imagine my surprise! I was actually trying to shrink a goblet down to your former size, for hospitality's sake.'
The young man continued to regard him, his expression uncomprehending. Danilo sighed.
'That was a small jest. Very small, apparently.'
Algorind inclined his head in a small bow. 'I am grateful for the restoration.' A surprisingly boyish grin lit his face. 'And for the flight, as well!'
'Really? I was about to apologize for that. Owls are so seldom a preferred mode of conveyance. Will you have wine?'
'Thank you. I am very thirsty.'
Danilo walked over to his serving cabinet. He poured a small measure of wine into a large goblet and added chilled water and a spoonful of sugar. A child's drink, but it would be more appropriate to Algorind's thirst, and, Danilo suspected, to his experience.
The young man nodded his thanks and took a polite sip. His face brightened. 'It is more pleasant than I expected, and far more refreshing.'
'Drink as much as you need,' Danilo instructed. 'It's mostly water, and will do you no harm.'
Once Algorind had emptied his goblet and another like it, Danilo indicated a chair. 'We have much to talk about, so much I hardly know where to begin.'
The paladin took a seat and turned a puzzled expression upon his host, who was pouring himself a goblet of unwatered wine. 'What is a light-skirt?'
Danilo let out of a burst of startled laughter. He set down the decanter and leaned back against the serving cupboard. 'Not exactly how I expected to begin, but very well, let's start there. It's a rather prim way to insult a woman's virtue by insinuating that her skirts, being light, are easily lifted.'
'Oh.'
He noted the crimson creeping into Algorind's face. 'May I ask where you heard that term?'
'Sir Gareth said it of Bronwyn.'
Danilo's smile disappeared. 'Indeed,' he said coldly. 'Since we're exchanging gossip like a couple of fishwives, why don't you tell me what else Sir Gareth had to say?'
'He said that Bronwyn does business with the Zhentarim.'
That was true, but it was hardly common knowledge. Danilo shrugged lightly. 'No doubt he referred to her brother, the priest Dag Zoreth.'
Algorind shook his head adamantly. 'No, Sir Gareth mentioned this priest, but as a separate matter.'
The intensity of the young man's manner was beginning to make sense to Danilo. So were a great many other things, and all of these insights suggested that he had vastly misjudged the young paladin.
He settled into his chair before responding to Algorind's unasked question. 'You're quite right-those are two separate issues. Bronwyn does indeed have dealings with the Zhentarim. Or more precisely, she did. Now that rumors of her Harper alliance are being bruited about by the good men of your order, I imagine several people of Zhentish persuasion are busily disposing of the treasures and forgetting the information she sold them. But other
