Thornhold

know when one of his special edicts was used, and by whom. Brian Swordmaster, though a common tradesman and a quiet, modest man, was a great friend of the archmage. The story would get to her Harper master all too soon.

And then, she wondered, what would she be required to do?

This thought didn't set well with her. All her life, she had been told what to do. As a slave, she had been given little choice about anything. As an antiquities dealer, she had taken commissions and fulfilled them. Her methods were her own, and she prided herself in being resourceful, but the task itself was given her. The same could be said for her involvement with the Harpers. The first act that she could call truly her own was her decision to rescue the Stoneshaft clan from slavery She regarded that with pride and was not reconciled to tamely accepting that all her decisions would henceforth be made for her by others.

And yet, had that ever been truly the case? Even as a slave, she had directed her path. She worked hard at the gem trade, and before she was a woman grown, she was crafting better counterfeit pieces than any of her master's servants-or her master himself, for that matter. He'd taken an interest in her, and taught her about the rare pieces that they copied in the shop and sold as originals. Bronwyn had developed a genuine love of the old, beautiful things that came into her hands. Unlike her, they had a history, a past. These stories had more importance to her than the pieces themselves. And so she wheedled her master into letting her learn about the background of the pieces-so that they could make better, less detectable reproductions, she'd argued. This idea had pleased him, and Bronwyn had begun the path she now trod. When the master died, his son sold off the shop, including the slaves. She had bought her freedom by apprenticing herself out to a treasure hunter who'd done business with her master. Soon she went her own way. And, she realized with deep surprise, she had been doing so ever since.

Bronwyn sat for a long moment as she absorbed this. Then she nodded slowly and rolled the parchment into a scroll. She went down the back stairs and through the alley. There was always a messenger or two available for hire at the cobbler's shop two doors down.

The messenger was a youth she knew well. She gave him the scroll with instructions and an extra silver coin, then returned to her shop with a light step.

Whatever came of this venture, she would handle it as she always had: her own way.

It took Ebenezer the better part of two hours to round up his kin and get them headed out of the shop. 'Like herding cats, it is,' he grumbled as he shoved the last of them out of the door. The look of pure, desperate gratitude that Alice sent him brought a wry grin to his face. The Stoneshafts were a handful, and no mistake. He only hoped that Bronwyn's mysterious 'friends' had pickaxes big enough to chop through this particular problem.

Once the dwarves were out on the street, the problems compounded. Bronwyn's shop was on the Street of Silks, a nose-in-the-air piece of town where folks thought their shoes too good to sully with walking. Fancy carriages rattled past, drawn by teams of horses.

'Lookit the size of them mules,' marveled Benton, a cousin who'd never been out of the tunnels before his capture.

'How'd they get four of 'em to go in the same direction?' demanded Tarlamera, whose only experience with mules involved small, dusty pack animals nearly as stubborn as herself. The clan had kept a few for hauling back the gems and ore from the outermost mines.

That image suggested a solution to Ebenezer. 'Miners, ho!' he hollered. 'Tunnel size, seven. Fall in by clan rank.'

His clan scuttled into place with an alacrity born of long practice. A size seven tunnel meant that three dwarves could march abreast, and clan rank was easy enough: oldest first. Every dwarf knew where he ranked in comparison with any other dwarf so they found their places readily enough. The only break with tradition was when Ebenezer took his place at the head. Not a dwarf argued with him for that honor, though, seeing as he was the only one who'd ever been to the city before.

He marched them down the Street of Silks, past shops brimming with the fashionable doodads that humans seemed so all-fired fond of. These the dwarves passed without missing a step, but as they neared the Jester's Court, the scents drifting from the Mighty Manticore inspired wistful sighs from some of his kin. Ebenezer had some knowledge of the tavern owner, a half-dwarf but a good sort for all that. Coopercan, his name was, in honor of a backside as big as a barrel. When Coop settled down to keeping tavern, he'd kept some of his dwarven ways. There was no mistaking the smell of rothй roasting on a spit, stuffed with mushrooms and the tasty black rice that grew wild in the marshy hollows hidden among dwarven mountains. Coopercan always seemed to have a rothe roast going, and there were few scents that could get a dwarf to drooling betterthan that.

'Hoy, brother!' shouted a gruff female voice. 'I'm-a coming up.'

Ebenezer lifted his hand to his lips to hide his smirk. He'd been too long among humans, if he found humor in the usual dwarven method of 'asking permission.'

Tarlamera huffed up to his side. For several moments they marched in silence as he waited for her to speak her mind. 'We gotta go back to the clanhold,' she decreed.

He'd been afraid of that. Knew it was coming. Even so, he tried to scoff away the notion. 'And how might you be planning to do that? There's not enough of us left to take back the tunnels, much less hold them secure. The men that stole you away in the first place would be back, and the second harvest would be all the easier.'

The dwarf woman scowled and folded her arms. 'What are we to do, then?'

'There's dwarves in the city,' he told her. 'Bronwyn has friends what can find us work. We'll fit in, make our way. Make a life.'

Tarlamera glowered. 'Seems to me like you're putting too much weight in that human's say-so. Mountain dwarves in a city? What kind of life is that?'

'Better'n the one 'that human' stole you from, I'll tell you that for free,' he shot back.

She shrugged. 'There's that. But all I got to say is- Almighty Clangeddin by the short hairs!'

Ebenezer pulled up short, startled by his sister's oath and the force with which it was delivered. 'How's that again?'

She seized his arm and pointed. The road had widened up into a broad, cobblestone courtyard. At the far end was the enormous, elaborate palace built for the first lord of the city, and behind that swept the majestic summit of Mount Waterdeep. But somewhat closer was the sight peculiar enough to stop Tarlamera in mid- complaint, a tall, slender tower before which stood a skeleton, arms raised high and feet not quite touching the ground.

'Don't be going too close to that tower,' Ebenezer said casually. 'Alghairon's Tower, it's called. Been empty for a long time. Seems it used to belong to some big-axe wizard, long since gone to his ancestors. It's a monument now. The folks hereabouts let it alone mostly, except for the fellow you see there.'

'Good warding sign,' one of the dwarves behind them offered. That sent a weak chuckle rippling through the group.

The company got some strange looks as they marched in formation through the courtyard. Ebenezer didn't suppose they looked like much of a threat, as scrawny as they were, and not more than three weapons among the lot of them, but still he raised his hand in a conciliatory salute whenever a curious member of the guard looked their way.

They veered east onto Waterdeep Way, toward the massive castle that was the heart and strength of the city. Ebenezer had always admired that castle. 'Lookit that,' he said grandly, pointing up at the far towers. 'Four hundred feet high, that is.'

Tarlamera sniffed. Dwarves, as a rule, weren't terribly impressed with up. They were more interested in through.

'Got walls some sixty feet thick,' he added.

'That's a wall,' she admitted, impressed at last.

Ebenezer pointed ahead. 'See that sign what's a-hanging from that lantern pole? Marks the Way of the Dragon. Big street. Goes down to the Trade Ward and the man we gotta see.'

'I seen a man already,' the dwarf maid grumbled. 'Seen hundreds of 'em so far today.'

'This one's a smith. They say his pieces are as good as any human can make. Better than some