The golem inclined its head, then turned and padded away. Rhovann put Bastion out of his mind, and turned his attention to the work at hand. The latest group of runehelms was almost finished; he had one more crucial step to see to. He went to a circle of silver runes inlaid in the workroom floor, and began to chant an incantation. The room around him began to grow dim, the shadows lengthening and taking on strange new shapes, and the air grew cold; light and warmth had little power in this place. Dark currents of power that Rhovann could barely perceive under most circumstances suddenly twisted into sharply defined focus, ready to his hand. He bared his teeth in a cold smile; here, in this realm, he was at his strongest. The spell of transference complete, he stepped from his silver circle into the Plane of Shadow.
The shadow workroom resembled his own workroom in the harmach’s castle, but that was the way of the Shadowfell. It had little true existence of its own, and merely imitated the daylight world-although never perfectly. Many of the furnishings and accoutrements from his workroom weren’t present here, or stood in the wrong place. Likewise, there were things present in the Shadow that didn’t exist in the living world version of this chamber. Before him, a complicated apparatus of silver coils and dark glass seethed slowly with a thick black substance. Rhovann approached the device, placed a rune-carved mold of silver beneath it, and carefully decanted eight marble-sized drops of liquid ebon into the impressions. Within moments the drops congealed into lustrous shadowy pearls, fixed in their form. “Good,” he murmured aloud. Then he returned to the silver circle and reversed his incantation, shifting himself back to the normal world. The shadows faded, and the air grew warm again.
Rhovann looked down at his shadow pearls, studying them for any imperfections. He found none. Satisfied, he carried them over to the great copper vats in which his runehelms grew. Murmuring potent spells, he took a shadow pearl and pressed it into the damp gray clay of each runehelm’s uncovered face, otherwise devoid of any features at all. Setting his mold aside, he took blank visors and affixed them to the empty faces of each of his new creations, whispering more words of power over the creatures to awaken the shadow pearls that would animate them.
A small commotion by the door of his laboratory caught his attention. He ignored it until he finished the last of the spells required. Then he brushed off his hands and looked up; Bastion stood waiting with Mirya Erstenwold, one great hand clamped around her upper arm. Rhovann noticed that her hands were bound behind her back and she’d been gagged, but her eyes were bright and furious. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “You may remove her gag, Bastion.”
The golem obediently undid the gag. Mirya spluttered as it came free, working her jaw with a wince of pain. “What do you want of me?” she demanded. “You’ve no right to send your monster off to fetch me whenever you feel like it!”
“I thought we might have a brief chat, Mistress Erstenwold,” he answered.
“You sold my daughter and me to pirates, you black-hearted bastard. I’ve nothing to say to you!”
Rhovann shrugged. “It would have been easier to have the two of you killed, Mistress Erstenwold; it was a matter of some inconvenience to spare your lives. I did so because I take little pleasure in wanton killing.” She glared at him, but he thought there was a shadow of fear behind her anger now. He sighed, and went on. “You have seen Geran Hulmaster since his exile, haven’t you?”
“You know that I have,” she replied. “As I told Edelmark, he wanted to see how I was getting along. He didn’t share any of his plans with me.”
“I’m sure. Well, let me come to the point. I expect that sometime within the next few tendays Geran may slip into Hulburg and contact you again. You will inform me at once should he do so.”
“Edelmark’s already threatened me, Rhovann.”
“Oh, you don’t understand. This is not a threat. It is a statement of fact.” Rhovann stepped close, and drew his wand with his silver hand. Mirya’s eyes widened in fright, but he touched the tip of his wand to her forehead and began a spell of domination. She shuddered in sudden panic and tried to pull away, but Bastion held her motionless, unable to retreat. The mage locked his eyes with hers, and bent the full power of his magic against her. She fought, and fought hard, her will surprisingly strong for someone untrained in the magical arts. For sixty heartbeats or more they struggled in silence, until finally her defenses crumbled under the relentless pressure of his enchantment. Her eyes, blazing in anger before, suddenly went blank and glassy, and her chin drooped toward the floor.
“When next you see Geran Hulmaster, you will do everything in your power to betray him to me,” Rhovann whispered in her ear. “Delay him in your home, lure him into meeting you in a specific place, seduce him-whatever you must do in order to keep him or maneuver him to a place where he can be caught. All you need do to summon me is to tell any runehelm-the helmed guardians in the streets-to tell me that you have Geran. Do you understand so far?”
“Yes, I understand,” Mirya said in a weak voice.
“Good. Now you will forget that we have spoken today, and carry on about your business as you normally would until you meet Geran Hulmaster again. Give no sign or indication to anybody what you intend, and do your best to conceal what you have done until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Mirya repeated.
“Very well. Bastion, unbind her.” Rhovann waited for the golem to free her wrists before finishing. “Now return home. If anyone asks what you were doing at the castle, you will say that you were questioned about Geran’s expedition against the Black Moon pirates. Supply whatever details are necessary to allay suspicion. You may go.”
Mirya’s eyes cleared, and she frowned. Without another word to Rhovann, she let herself out of the laboratory and hurried away. Rhovann returned his wand to his belt, feeling quite pleased with his own cleverness. Whatever else the next few tendays brought, Geran’s days of skulking around unnoticed in Hulburg were at end.
NINETEEN
27 Alturiak, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
For days, Geran, Hamil, and Sarth rode as hard as they dared to push their mounts, hoping to outdistance any possible pursuit from Myth Drannor. Geran didn’t believe that the coronal’s warriors had any special reason to pursue them with a vengeance, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility that the Disarnnyls would make every effort to keep him from escaping justice. If he allowed himself to be recaptured, there would be no leniency from the coronal-of that much he was certain. Ilsevele might have been able to arrange matters with the Council of Justice given time, but he couldn’t see that she’d entertain any pleas for understanding after he’d gone to such lengths to flee her authority. Deciding that it would be better all around to leave Myth Drannor as swiftly as possible, Geran urged his companions to the best speed they could make, hoping that no guard companies were in position to intercept them.
Early on the morning of the third day, they emerged from the great forest of Cormanthor into the open lands along the southeast coast of the Moonsea. These lands had been settled long before, but large parts of the countryside had fallen into ruin in the last century, pillaged in wars between the surrounding cities and finally swept clean by the Spellplague. Sarth reined in and rubbed at his back with a small groan. He was not a good rider, and the last few days had been a sore trial for him. “I would not have believed it possible, but we seem to have gained our freedom,” the tiefling said. “Which way now? To Hillsfar?”
Geran brought his horse to a halt alongside Sarth. “I’m afraid we can’t slow down yet. Myth Drannor might not claim any land beyond the forest, but that doesn’t mean her warriors wouldn’t pursue us beyond the woods.”
“Do you really think they’re chasing us?” Hamil asked.
“The coronal doesn’t have a choice. She has to show that she won’t play favorites, and letting us go when she might still catch us wouldn’t look good at all. We might have fooled them by coming through the woo
ds, but I think it’s wisest to assume they’re close behind us until we know they aren’t.” Geran glanced at the dark line of forest behind them.
“So, as Sarth said a moment ago: Which way now?” Hamil asked. “Do we head for Hillsfar anyway, or do we ride around the Moonsea and strike for Phlan?”
Geran thought it over for a moment. “Hillsfar. But let’s stay off the roads and stick to the countryside as much as we can.”
They continued on their way, heading northeast across the empty countryside. Keeping the dark edge of the forest a few miles to their right, they rode through long-abandoned fields divided by crumbling stone walls and hedgerows, and a little before noon the next day they spotted the walls and rooftops of Hillsfar. Geran allowed himself a long sigh of relief; Myth Drannor’s agents might soon learn where they’d gone, but taking them into custody would be another matter altogether-the city’s authorities would never permit the elves to arrest fugitives who hadn’t broken any Hillsfarian laws. Geran and his friends went to the city’s docks and booked passage on the first vessel bound for Thentia, then returned to the city’s mercantile district to sell their mounts and await their sailing in a comfortable inn.
With a day and a half to pass before their ship sailed, Sarth retired to one of the inn’s private rooms and made a careful study of their Infiernadex fragment, something he’d been unable to do during their brief rests during the flight from Myth Drannor. Geran left him to it for several hours, busying himself with several minor errands around the city. When he returned, he found Sarth busily copying the fragment to fresh parchment.
“What have you learned from Aesperus’s spellbook?” Geran asked him.
“First of all, it is not Aesperus’s spellbook,” Sarth answered. “Rather, it is an older spellbook that was in Aesperus’s possession for a time. Much of what I know about the complete manuscript comes from the writings of mages who had an opportunity to examine the tome before it fell into Aesperus’s hands. That is what led me to Hulburg in the first place. In any event, the Infiernadex is the work of one of my forebears from ancient Narfell, recording several rituals and spells not found anywhere else. Many of those are diabolic in nature, and too dangerous even for one of my blood to wield safely. Others are simply rare and powerful; those I hoped to master.” The tiefling managed an awkward shrug. “I have spent most of my life in search of greater command over the arcane arts. Perhaps I have not given much thought to the question of what I intend to do with such power once I hold it.”
“You’ve chosen to save Hulburg at least two or three times in the last few months. That seems a good use for the power you wield.” Geran looked over Sarth’s shoulder at the cryptic pages spread out before him. They meant little to him; he’d been schooled in the elven tradition of magic, and the Infiernadex was based on another tradition, written in another language altogether. Even if he could read it, it might not make much sense to him. “Can we safely give it to Aesperus?” he asked.
The sorcerer looked down at the old parchment, thinking. “Yes,” he finally said. “I am not happy about the prospect, but I’ve learned all I can from this. What does it matter if this knowledge is perilous? Aesperus is a perilous power already. But I must warn you, Geran, that the day may come when the King in Copper must be dealt with.”
“I hear you,” Geran replied. He set a hand on Sarth’s shoulder, and left the sorcerer to finish copying the manuscript.
They sailed for Thentia aboard an Iron Ring tradesman the next day. The crossing was much easier than their last one; the westerly winds were on their quarter instead of their bow, which made for a swifter and easier trip. On the evening of the 6th of Ches, the ninth day since their escape from the coronal’s tower, Geran and his companions set foot in Thentia again. For the first time in a tenday he allowed himself to believe that he wouldn’t spend the next decade or two as a prisoner in Myth Drannor, and began to breathe easier.
They hired a coach to drive them out to Lasparhall, and arrived in the Hulmasters’ manor an hour after sunset. Geran was pleased to see that things looked much as he’d left them. He allowed the guards at the door to relieve him and his friends of their sparse baggage, and went straight to the family’s private hall to see if anything remained of dinner. While the three of them helped themselves to a late supper laid out by the kitchen staff, Kara Hulmaster appeared in the doorway. The Hulmaster captain threw off the heavy mantle she wore over her armored shoulders and hurried in to catch Geran in a bone-cracking hug. “Geran!” she cried. “I was worried about you. Where have you been?”
“Well met, Kara,” he replied. “We landed in Thentia a couple of hours ago. As for the delay, well, I’m afraid we ran into some difficulties in Myth Drannor.”
“We managed to get pinched, he means,” Hamil said. “We spent a charming seven days as guests of the coronal before escaping her jail and absenting ourselves from the realm as quickly as possible. Fortunately Geran had friends willing to help spring us free, or we’d be there still.”
“I should have known that you’d find trouble wherever you went.” Kara released Geran and moved on to Hamil, leaning down to give him a warm embrace before moving on to take Sarth’s hand. “Did you find the tome that Aesperus asked you to retrieve?”
The swordmage nodded. “Yes, we’ve got it.” He glanced out the window; the evening was already well on. “I’ll go out on the Highfells and summon him tomorrow night. We’re tired from days of hard travel, and I want to be well rested and clearheaded when we speak again, just in case there’s some misunderstanding. But right now I need a hot meal and a few hours of sleep in a warm bed before I do anything else.”
“That much I think we can provide,” Kara said with a smile. “It’s good to have you back, Geran. All three of you, in truth. It seems that every time I turn around there’s something else that needs the Hulmaster’s attention, and while you’ve been away, that’s been me.”
“How are things proceeding here?” Geran asked. “Any more trouble with spies or assassins from Hulburg?”
“Some trouble with spies. We’ve caught a few of Rhovann’s creatures lurking about. And I suspect that some of the drivers and provisioners in Thentia are paid to report on what they see of our encampment or hear from our soldiers.”
That didn’t surprise Geran. There were simply too many keen-eyed folk in and around Thentia who wouldn’t think twice about taking a few coins to tell stories. He hadn’t really imagined that he’d be able to keep all their preparations secret from Marstel and Rhovann. “Will we be ready to march when we planned?”
Kara hesitated. “We’re as ready as we can be, I suppose. Another month of drilling and stockpiling supplies wouldn’t hurt, but it would sorely stretch our treasury and we’d lose some of our sellswords. But there’s troubling news from Hulburg. I’ve heard reports that Marstel’s struck a bargain with the Warlock Knights. He’s granted the Vaasans a trading concession, and it’s rumored that strong companies of armsmen will soon arrive from Vaasa to reinforce his Council Guard.”
“The Warlock Knights?” Geran muttered. The Vaasans had allied themselves with the Bloody Skull orcs a year previous. He’d briefly dueled a Warlock Knight in the Battle of Lendon’s Dike, trading blows with the human sorcerer before the tide of battle had swept them apart. And there’d been plenty of stories of Vaasan magic playing a crucial role in the orcs’ attack on the town of Glister at the northern margin of Thar. The Warlock Knights had disappeared quickly enough once the threat of the Bloody Skull horde had been smashed, and as far as Geran knew they’d played no role in the Black Moon troubles or the Cinderfist unrest … or had they? Had his traitorous cousin Sergen sold out Hulburg to the Vaasans after he’d failed to sell out the town to the merchant lords of Melvaunt and Mulmaster? “What’s their concern in this?”
“If you’re asking for my guess, I’d say that they put the Cyricists up to their mischief with the Cinderfists,” Kara answered. “Before we were driven out of Hulburg, I’d turned up a
few hints that the priests of Cyric were paid in Vaasan gold, but I never caught them at it. The Black Moon troubles drew all of my attention. What exactly they hope to gain from meddling in Hulburg, I couldn’t say.”
“How many Vaasans are coming? When will they arrive?”
Kara shook her head. “I’ve got scouts ringing the Highfells and the moorland now. They haven’t run across any Vaasans yet, but then again, the Galena passes are still snowed in and likely to stay that way for another month or more. I doubt we’ll see any large numbers of Vaasan soldiers in Hulburg before the end of Tarsakh, at the earliest. Even then, it would be a hard crossing.”
“That is another argument for striking at Marstel soon,” Sarth observed. “It would seem better to attack before Vaasan soldiers reinforce the Council Guard.”
As if we needed another reason to move with haste, Geran reflected. He didn’t like the idea of the Vaasans choosing sides, but he couldn’t see that it changed the essential facts of their situation. Every day that went by with Marstel in control of Hulburg was another day for the usurper to tighten his grip on his stolen realm, another day for Rhovann to devise arcane defenses and create deadly new soldiers, another day for the foreign mercenaries and brigands to plunder the honest folk of the town. “We should see to it that High Lord Vasil knows what we know about the Vaasan meddling,” he mused aloud. “Thentia won’t want to see another power gaining influence in Hulburg. It might buy us some additional help.”
“I’ll have Master Quillon speak to his counterpart in the high lord’s palace,” Kara said. “Now, for more important matters … what in the world did you do to end up in the coronal’s dungeons? Other than you, Geran, of course I expected you to be imprisoned. I want to know how Hamil and Sarth got on Ilsevele’s bad side.”
“You expected me to be imprisoned?” Geran protested, but he was too late; Hamil was already embarking on the story of their brief sojourn in Myth Drannor. Instead, he shrugged and sat back to listen to his friend’s version of the tale, which featured more than a few colorful exaggerations.
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