than the people involved in these business dealings, only Bronwyn, her gnome assistant, the archmage of Waterdeep, and I know of her Zhent contacts, and I can guarantee you that Sir Gareth did not receive this information from any of us. Make of that what you will.'
A sorrowful sigh escaped the paladin and his shoulders slumped as if under a heavy weight. 'It is as I feared, then.' He glanced up at Danilo, his expression rueful. 'It must be difficult for you to believe a man such as Gareth Cormaeril could be in league with the Zhentarim.'
'Actually, it doesn't task my powers of imagination.'
The young man's gaze sharpened. 'Forgive me if I misspeak, but you don't seem to hold paladins in high regard.'
Danilo shrugged. 'I'm not an admirer of your order, that much is true, but that opinion doesn't indicate a general disregard for the religious life. As you know, my uncle, Khelben Arunsun, has long been at odds with Samular's knights.'
'I am not aware of that history.'
The Harper choked on a sip of wine. He carefully set the goblet down. 'How is that possible? Their disagreement is central to the order's reason for existence.'
'Perhaps the order exists for other purposes, as well,' Algorind suggested.
'Perhaps? Do you mean to tell me you have devoted your life to a cause you do not understand?'
Algorind returned his gaze without faltering. 'My life is dedicated to Tyr's service. I understand that well enough.'
'If you were merely a paladin of Tyr, I would agree with you, but you are allied with the Knights of Samular, a military order with a particular mission.'
He reached for a large blue gem lying amidst a heap of books and scrolls. 'This is a kiiri, an elven memory stone. The elf who carried it was a bard and a scribe. He left it as an aid to those who wished to study his work. He was present at the taking of the fortress Thornhold by Samular Caradoon, your order's founder. Would you like to see that event through the eyes of the bard who witnessed it?'
'Such a thing is possible?' Algorind marveled.
Taking the question for assent, Danilo went to a large cupboard and removed from it a metal stand, an ornate device that looked a bit like a sundial. He placed it near Algorind's chair and then fitted the kiiri into an impression in the flat surface. A round mirrored glass fitted into the frame above it.
'Look into the glass,' he instructed. 'You will see and hear everything the bard witnessed. After the first few moments, you might forget you are not actually present.'
Algorind leaned forward, his face avid with curiosity. As the ancient scene played out, the Harper watched the shifting emotions on the younger man's face with something akin to pity. Danilo had delved into the kiiri's storehouses and found the memories disturbing, but the reality behind the Knights of Samular was sure to have a far more profound effect on the young paladin.
When at last the vision faded away, Algorind sat back in his chair. His heart raced as if he had been among the followers of the great Samular, fighting to oust a warlord from his fortress. And the Fenrisbane-or Kezefbane, as the order's scholars would have it-the size-shifting siege tower that had featured in Algorind's recent humiliation, had been a mighty weapon used for the glory of Tyr. And yet…
There had been something profoundly wrong with the Kezefbane. Evil clung to it like mist rising from a swamp. Apparently Algorind had not been the only one to sense this. The twin-born grandsons of Samular, identical unbearded lads clad in the white and blue of Tyr's sworn warriors, wore identical expressions of horror as they regarded the white-haired, white-cloaked wizard who commanded the siege tower.
What might have come of that, Algorind would never know. An arrow shot by one of Thornhold's defenders brought down the wizard. And while Samular's followers swarmed over the walls, the wizard died in the arms of his paladin brother. There could be no mistaking the resemblance, though Samular was broader and his brown hair was untouched by age, and the paladin had wept as he referred to the wizard as his twin, his other-self.
Strange. None of the stories Algorind had learned at Summit Hall mentioned Samular as twin-born, or spoke of his wizard brother. Of Wurthar and Dorlion, the twin-born paladins who built the Holy Order of the Knights of Samular, he had heard much. Tales of their mighty exploits and virtuous lives had been the mainstay of his early training.
He lifted his gaze to the Harper's watchful, sympathetic face. 'Tell me of Samular's brother.'
'That's Renwick Caradoon.' Danilo quickly told the story he'd been piecing together.
'It would appear,' he concluded, 'that Renwick tricked Khelben Arunsun-a wizard who is commonly thought to be the current archmage's ancestor-into helping him banish the demon Yamarral, along with the inhabitants of an entire keep, to a small plane, one from which the demon cannot escape of his own power. The conditions of the original blood token agreement probably stated that Renwick's power would continue until the demon was returned to the Abyss. By banishing him, Renwick made sure this couldn't happen. Rather clever, keeping a demon exile by his own magic.'
Algorind shook his head sadly. 'All those people sacrificed to one man's ambition! I suppose it is a blessing Renwick Caradoon died before those ambitions could be fully realized.'
In response, Danilo handed over an ancient book, which was opened to a sketch of a tall, round tower. 'That is Caradoon Keep, which Renwick used as his lair during his life, and to which he retreated after death.'
'But how could he retreat after he-'
Danilo cut him off with a gesture of one hand. 'Turn the page.'
The paladin did so, and immediately recoiled in surprise. The old tower now stood just outside a vast fortress of sand-colored stone. He knew this place very well, for he had been raised and trained there.
'Have you never wondered why that tower was outside the walls of Summit Hall?' the Harper asked softly.
Algorind nodded. 'The masters said only that it contained a great and powerful magic that the Knights of Samular must safeguard. Renwick Caradoon?'
'I'm afraid so. Renwick intended to hold his power for a very long time, either as a living man or a lich. I thought at first that Samular imprisoned him, but have come to suspect that Renwick imposed exile upon himself as a means of penance.'
'And the Knights of Samular distrust Khelben Arunsun, Waterdeep's archmage, because his ancestor and namesake took unwitting part in Renwick's plan?'
A fleeting smile touched the Harper's lips. 'Let's just say my esteemed uncle is more than capable of making his own enemies.'
'Indeed. There is much distrust between the Harpers and my order.'
'And with good reason. The Kezefbane was only one of the magical items Renwick created or recovered from Ascalhorn. To this day, men seek those items-and not all of them belong to your order. In fact, there is a secret society in Amn dedicated to this purpose. Under Khelben's direction, the Harpers have been opposing them for years. Since the society and your order share certain goals, the Harpers' efforts sometimes conflict with the activities of Samular's knights, especially where the bloodline of Samular is concerned. For obvious reasons, the society in Amn has an interest in Samular's descendants. It is my belief that Bronwyn was bound there when she was stolen as a child.'
A disturbing possibility occurred to Algorind. 'And Cara Doon, as well? Bronwyn's niece?'
'Most likely. Cara is going to be particularly attractive to these people. Not only does she possess one of the rings of Samular, but she has prodigious magical talent. Her mother was Ashemmi, an elf with enormous ambitions, a black heart, and the morals of a cat. In fact, I would not be surprised to learn she was recruited to seduce Dag Zoreth in hope of breeding a magically gifted child of Samular's bloodline.'
'That is… monstrous,' Algorind whispered. 'And Sir Gareth traffics with these people? How could he keep such evil hidden for so long?'
'I can think of several reasons,' Danilo observed, 'foremost among them Sir Gareth's fame. People, even paladins, usually see what they expect to see. Consider also the wound that withered his arm and ended his active career. Well-mannered people avert their eyes from lamed men so as not to appear indelicate. Every Dock Ward pickpocket knows this trick, and some use it to good effect, for good folk are disinclined to gawk at people who have obviously suffered some injury.'
