Thornhold

company, then.'

Algorind's brow furrowed in puzzlement. 'Sir?'

'You don't know? There's a group of young paladins and acolytes from the training school, led by Laharin Goldbeard himself. They are making a paladin's quest of it,' the man said. His eyes grew warm and distant with remembered glories. 'I would go myself, but for the injuries that keep me tending gate.'

'Yours is an honorable task and a service to Tyr' Algorind said, noting the wistful note that crept into the knight's voice. 'But sir, of what great task do you speak?'

'You have been out of the thick of things. Taking a time of solitude, like old Texter?'

'Not by choice. Sir, the task?'

The knight's face turned grim. 'Why, the reclaiming of Thornhold, of course. Riders are taking word throughout the northlands. The Knights of Samular are gathering to march north. Paladins of other orders are joining in, and those who claim no order at all. It has been many years since such an anny of righteousness gathered together. May the Zhentarim tremble.'

Algorind caught the gatekeeper's arm. 'Sir, I have just come from Thornhold. I was but a few hours' foot travel away when the capture was complete. I saw the smoke of destruction rise, and exchanged blows with a Zhentish patrol from the army who took the keep.'

The knight's eyes widened. 'Why did you not say so at once? You, Camelior! Come here, and take this young knight to the council room with all haste.'

Algorind fell into step beside his guide. He was led into the largest of the three buildings and into a vast hail. Six long tables dominated this hall, their edges cunningly shaped so that all fit together to form a single large hexagon. Paladins sat around the outer edge only, so that all could converse. Bright banners hung from the ceiling, proclaiming the standards of the many orders and the solitary knights who served the Halls of Justice.

Algorind's gaze sought out Sir Gareth, and he noted the stunned look on the old knight's face. This made him exceedingly self-conscious. Neatness and cleanliness were rules of the order and for him to appear thus was an affront, but Algorind had little time to consider his hero's response, for Camelior quickly relayed the message that Algorind had given the gatekeeper to the assemblage.

'Another seat, if you please,' called Laharin.

Pages-young boys brought to the temple to be tested for suitability to the life of Tyr-leaped to do the Master Paladin's bidding. Algorind found himself escorted and seated with discomfiting ceremony. All eyes were upon him when Laharin urged him to speak.

Again Algorind's eyes sought out Sir Gareth. The old knight solemnly tapped one finger to his lips, reminding Algorind of his pledge of discretion. The conflicting duties made Algorind feel uncomfortably like a tethered hawk bid to fly and hunt.

'I rode north to Thornhold to carry a message of a personal nature to Hronulf,' Algorind said carefully. Sir Gareth's faint nod assured him that these words were well chosen. 'When I was but a few hours away, I saw black smoke rising into the sky. From the scent, I knew it to be a bier.'

Algorind fell silent for a moment in respect to the fallen. All around him knights and priests bowed their heads or formed the hand gestures that affirmed their faith and commended the spirits of their brother knights into the hands of Tyr.

'I heard a patrol and lay ambush.' Algorind blushed to admit this, but he was sworn to the truth. 'There were four men, mounted and well armed. They were searching for a woman who had been in the fortress at the time of the attack. She escaped, and none knew how, but it seems likely that she took with her a ring that belonged to Hronulf.'

Murmurs of consternation rippled through the hall. 'And did you seek this woman?' demanded Laharin.

'Sir, I believe I caught sight of her. She was in the company of a dwarf and riding south for Waterdeep. If it is your wish, I will seek her out.'

Sir Gareth rose slowly, and his expression was that of a man determined to meet a fate of his own making. 'Brothers, I may be able to shed some light on this matter. Some days ago, a young woman came to me earnestly seeking word of Hronulf of Tyr. She gave me the name Bronwyn. A slight woman, with large brown eyes and very determined bones about the cheeks and chin, and a very long braid of brown hair. Is this the woman you saw?'

'By your description of her size and hair, it seems likely,' Algorind agreed. 'I was too far away to stop her, much less look carefully at her face.'

Sir Gareth sighed and sank down to his chair. 'I have gravely erred,' he admitted. 'I spoke of Hronulf to this woman, and perhaps my words sent her to Thornhold.'

'Do not reproach yourself, brother,' Master Laharin told him. 'You had no reason to doubt the motive for the young woman's questions.'

'No, none, but I did not pray to Tyr to test her heart and her chosen path. That was a terrible oversight.' Sir Gareth's brow furrowed suddenly, and he looked to Algorind. 'How is it that you are come so late with this news?'

This was the moment Algorind had been dreading. 'My horse was stolen from me by the dwarf who accompanied the woman. I had to walk back to the city.'

'In that case, your progress is most noteworthy,' Laharin said dryly. 'Tell me, did you fare any better in retrieving the child of Samular's blood?'

'Oh, yes, sir.' Algorind said earnestly. He looked to Sir Gareth for confirmation.

The old knight swept the room with a steady gaze. 'Upon hearing of the fall of Thornhold, I feared for the child's safety. She was taken to a place of secret fosterage, outside of Waterdeep. It seemed a wise precaution.'

'But-'

Sir Gareth shot Algorind a glare that stopped his protest as surely as an arrow to the heart. How was it, Algorind marveled, that the knight could make this claim? He himself had delivered the child to Sir Gareth well before the fall of the stronghold and had been told at that time that the girl was to be taken to secret fosterage. Perhaps she had been moved to a safer place, Algorind concluded, finding consolation in this reasoning.

'How, then, are we to proceed?' asked a knight whose name Algorind did not know, a man of middle years and exceedingly ruddy visage.

'This young paladin has a quest to complete,' Laharin suggested, nodding to Algorind. 'He is able. The loss of his horse is the first fault I have seen in him in nearly ten years of training and service. Let him find the woman and the ring she carries.'

'I agree,' Sir Gareth said quickly. 'With your permission, brothers, I would like to lend Algorind a horse from my own stables. This matter is too important to await his earning of another steed.'

'That might not be needed,' put in another knight. 'A tall white horse was delivered to our gates just yesterday. Is it possible that this horse thief had a change of heart?'

'I will stop by the stables and see if the horse is mine, sir,' Algorind said gratefully, 'but I cannot speak for the dwarf.'

Greatly relieved to have discharged his duties, and eager to see if the white horse was in fact his lost Icewind, Algorind requested permission to leave so that he might attend his new task.

Laharin's stern face softened as he studied his former student. 'No, you are sorely tired and no doubt in need of food and rest. Clean the dust of the road from you, then return and break bread with your brothers. Lord Piergeiron has consented to dine with us. The pages will show you to the barracks, where you may wash and find fresh clothing. Return in all haste.'

Algorind did not need prompting. One of the pages led the way to the barracks. He made short work of washing off the road dust and exchanging his worn garments for new. There was nothing to be done about the holes in the sole of his boots, but after the page attacked them with goose grease and rags, they were at least clean and well shone.

He hurried back to the hall, arriving just as the echoing call of horns announced Lord Piergeiron. He found his seat beside Master Laharin and rose with the others to greet the Lord of Waterdeep.

Piergeiron was a most impressive man, tall and well made. His brown hair was thick and only lightly touched with gray, though by all accounts he had lived more than threescore years. He nodded graciously to the assembled paladins, bidding them to take their seats. He carried himself with becoming modesty, Algorind noted, and wore