“Whether he did or not, it was little help to him,” Geran replied. He turned his attention to the Vaasan lord and advanced on him, setting the point of Umbrach Nyth at Terov’s neck before the Warlock Knight found his feet. “I have you at a disadvantage, my lord. Yield, and order your men to yield as well, or I’ll slay you where you stand.”
Terov glowered at Geran for a moment before he sighed and raised his hand to the handful of soldiers still on their feet. “Very well,” he said. “I yield. Borys, Naran, you others—lower your weapons. We can do no more here.”
Kara trotted forward and dismounted beside Geran. “Where is the real Marstel?” she demanded of Terov.
“I have no idea,” the Warlock Knight answered. “If you don’t have him, and I don’t have him, then I would guess that he is either dead or locked away in some secure dungeon of Rhovann’s. This one here”—he nodded at the sodden, bubbling puddle in the empty armor—“has ruled in Hulburg for a couple of months now.”
Geran risked a glance at the frozen skirmish behind him. Several Shieldsworn were on the ground, but none of the Council Guards were still in the saddle, and only four of the Vaasans remained. Hamil and Mirya slowly rode forward along the road as Sergeant Kolton directed his Shieldsworn to dismount and disarm their prisoners. Mirya closed her eyes and murmured a prayer of thanks as she saw that Geran was unhurt; Hamil took in the scene with a broad grin, and gave Geran a wink.
Looks like you’ve got the rascal right where you want him, he said to Geran. Run him through already, and let’s go have breakfast.
“Not quite yet,” Geran murmured. He looked back to the Vaasan. “Who are you? And what is your quarrel with Hulburg?”
The Warlock Knight’s face might have been made of stone. “I am Kardhel Terov, fellthane and Warlock Knight. I have no particular quarrel with Hulburg. It is simply not in Vaasa’s interest to leave Hulburg in the hands of a weak ruler who might fall under the sway of Mulmaster or Hillsfar.”
“You say you’ve got no quarrel with us, but I don’t see it so. Last year on this very spot I fought Vaasan knights who were aiding the Bloody Skulls in their attack on Hulburg. Mhurren and his orcs would have razed Hulburg to the ground if we hadn’t fought and bled here to stop them. Now I find that you meant to keep Maroth Marstel as a pawn to use against us whenever you felt like it.” Geran narrowed his eyes. “You’ve caused my family and my people a great deal of blood, grief, and tears, Vaasan. Don’t play games with me if you value your life.”
“There are repercussions for slaying a Warlock Knight, Hulmaster.”
“Which I care nothing for at the moment.”
Terov grimaced. “I am not toying with you. We have done nothing more than back the strongest faction in our designs to bring Hulburg within our orbit. Last year the rising power in the Moonsea North was Warchief Mhurren. This year the master mage of Hulburg was ascendant. If your position had seemed strongest to us, we would have approached you, but in fact the survival of House Hulmaster seemed highly unlikely until the last day or two. I would dearly like to know how you ruined Rhovann’s construct warriors at a single stroke, by the way. In any event, the grief we caused your family was incidental to your own lack of strength.”
“We seemed weak, so what you did to us was justified?” Geran snapped. “Show me your iron ring!”
Terov hesitated, but the shadow sword at his throat did not waver. He drew off his gauntlet and held up his right hand. The ring was surprisingly plain in appearance, a simple band of iron.
Geran shifted Umbrach Nyth to his left hand and seized Terov’s right hand in the clasp of his leather-gauntleted silver fist. “Swear on your ring that you will truthfully answer the next question I ask.”
“That is hardly necessary—”
“Swear it or I’ll kill you myself,” Kara said from beside Geran. Terov’s eyes blazed with anger, but he nodded. “I swear I shall answer truthfully.”
“Did you direct the Cyricist priest Valdarsel to arrange the assassination of my family?” asked Geran in a cold voice.
Terov flinched—not much, only a slight flick of the eyes, but a flinch nonetheless. “Yes,” he answered. “But, as I said—”
“Shut your mouth!” Geran snarled. Before he knew what he meant to do, he released Terov’s hand and struck him in the face with his right hand. A sharp jolt of fresh pain seared his arm as the damaged bones of his wrist took the impact, and a trickle of fresh blood started from beneath the silver cuff at the end of his arm. But Terov’s jaw broke under the weight of the silver fist. The Warlock Knight spun to the ground, spitting blood and broken teeth. Geran strode forward and seized Terov by the gorget, setting the point of his sword at the Vaasan’s throat.
“Murdering bastard,” Hamil said aloud. “If you don’t kill him, Geran, I’ll be happy to take care of it for you.”
“I yielded, damn you!” Terov snarled through his bloody lips.
Geran glared at the Vaasan, but in his mind’s eye he saw Harmach Grigor gasping out the last breaths of his life in Lasparhall, and dead Shieldsworn and servants strewn through the manor. His sword arm almost quivered with the need to take the Vaasan’s life. He felt Mirya frown in deep distaste, shrinking from the blow she sensed gathering in him. Somehow he found that he didn’t want her to see what he meant to do next; her disapproval held him from striking for a heartbeat as he looked down at the villain helpless under his blade. There was no question that Kardhel Terov deserved whatever fate he chose to mete out, that the blood of Grigor Hulmaster and perhaps hundreds more Hulburgans was on his hands. But slaying the Warlock Knight, however richly he deserved death, would not deter Vaasa from meddling in Hulburg’s affairs again.
As a Hulmaster I can justly take his life, Geran thought through his cold fury. But as the Lord Hulmaster, is this the right thing for Hulburg?
“Strike if you think it is right, Geran,” Kara said softly. “He has earned it.”
Geran’s eye fell on the leather gauntlet covering the silver hand he now wore in place of his own. A spot of blood stained the cuff, dripping from where Rhovann’s hand joined his arm. Suddenly he felt exhausted, tired of the never-ending circle of strife and suffering he seemed to be caught in. Looking down at Terov, he realized that he didn’t hate the man. After all, he hardly knew him. He might hate the things Terov had done, but that was not the same thing. And he knew that a war with Vaasa could end in only one way for Hulburg. “Nothing will be ended if I do,” he murmured aloud.
This is why I shouldn’t be harmach, he told himself. Compromise isn’t in my nature. He sighed, and lowered his blade from Terov’s throat. “Can you speak for Vaasa?” he said. “Will the Council of Knights be bound by what you agree to here?”
Terov wiped the blood from his chin and nodded. “Yes,” he replied.
“Swear to it.”
“Damn it, yes, I swear it by my ring. My word can bind the Council of Knights.”
Geran reached down and took Terov’s ring hand again. “Then swear to me that Vaasa will never again interfere in Hulburg’s affairs or support Hulburg’s enemies for the purpose of harming my family or realm, and I will let you leave here alive and unharmed.”
Terov shook his head. “I cannot swear that oath. Never would make it impossible, and therefore powerless. Five years I could promise you.”
“Make it twenty,” Kara said.
Terov grimaced, holding his jaw gingerly. “Ten, and in all candor, that is all I can promise without intent of evasion. There are limits to the authority I wield on the council’s behalf.”
“Ten years, then,” Geran decided. “Swear it, and you can go.”
“I swear on the part of the Council of Knights that no Warlock Knight or agent of Vaasa shall interfere in Hulburg’s affairs or give support to Hulburg’s enemies for the purpose of harming the realm or persons of the Hulmasters, to be so bound for ten years from this day.”
Geran felt an eddy of magic gathering in the ring under his hand. He rel
eased Terov and stepped back, sheathing Umbrach Nyth. The Warlock Knight stood up slowly, and regarded Geran for a long moment. The gray turret of his iron tower was a dark shadow peeking through the trees by the shores of Lake Hul. “May we collect our wounded and dead?” asked Terov.
“Go ahead,” the swordmage answered. “But I want that tower out of Hulburg’s territory by the end of the day tomorrow.”
“We will be gone by sunset today.” Terov motioned to his soldiers, who quickly gathered their wounded comrades. The veiled mage was sorely hurt, and Geran wasn’t sure if she would survive or not, but the Vaasans quickly fashioned a litter for her. They left the Council Guards where they’d fallen or sat wounded under guard, and set off on foot down the road.
“That’s done for now, but what happens in ten years?” Mirya asked as they watched Terov and his soldiers march away.
“I have no idea,” Geran answered. “But I’ve got to believe that in ten years we can find a way to convince the Vaasans that we’re capable of looking after our own affairs—or, at the very least, are more trouble than we’re worth for them.” He shook himself, and turned toward Hulburg again. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
EPILOGUE
11 Tarsakh, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
A little less than a month later, the great hall of Griffonwatch was as full as Geran had ever seen it. It seemed that half of Hulburg had gathered in the harmach’s hall. Bright sunshine flooded in through the windows high overhead, and the smoke-darkened rafters had been dusted, scrubbed, and freshly lacquered. Old banners that had been removed by Marstel’s servants were back in their places, repaired and cleaned for the occasion; after all, it had been more than thirty years since the coronation of a new harmach. Geran leaned against a doorway in the back of the hall, watching as his young cousin Natali sat in the harmach’s seat, receiving the oaths of allegiance and well-wishing of her new subjects. She wore a dress of rich yellow, and her dark hair was coiffed beneath a slim gold tiara for the occasion. Her eyes looked big, dark, and perhaps a little frightened, but she’d been coached well for the ceremony, and Kara—wearing a fine dress and an elegant coiffure instead of her customary riding clothes or arms and armor—stood right beside her.
“You’ll do fine, Natali,” Geran murmured, even though he was much too far away for her to hear him. The musicians at the far end of the hall blew a small fanfare of their trumpets. Roars of approval, applause, and shouts of “the Lady Harmach!” and “Harmach Natali!” echoed throughout the great hall. Geran joined in, settling for raising his fist in the air and shouting “Huzzah!” since he’d learned the hard way that it was a bad idea to applaud with his new hand. He hadn’t found any way to remove it short of simply amputating it from his wrist, so he simply kept it hidden beneath a thin glove of fine leather that matched his formal coat.
“Well, that was close,” Hamil remarked to Geran. He, Mirya, and Sarth watched from beside Geran. “They almost made you king, there. Good thing you picked the wrong chair, but poor Natali!”
Geran answered his friend with a smile and took Mirya’s hand, admiring the dress she wore—an elegant gown of a soft rose hue with beautiful embroidery and delicate patterns of tiny white pearls. Where she’d found something like that in Hulburg, he couldn’t fathom, but she looked lovelier than he’d ever imagined in it. She read the unspoken compliment in his gaze and smiled softly for him.
“The realm’s in good keeping,” she said. “And this time I think it will stay that way. You’ve done right by your uncle.”
“I hope so.” Geran turned to Sarth, gripping the tiefling by the shoulder. The tiefling still leaned on a cane, but Geran guessed that he wouldn’t need it for much longer. “You’re looking well, Sarth. I’m glad that you’re here.”
“It is a great day for your family. I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Sarth replied.
“You’re staying, then?” Mirya asked him.
“I believe I am.” Sarth nodded at the people filling the hall. “Hulburg is one of the few places I’ve been where my deeds seem to outweigh my appearance. In fact, Kara has asked me to assume the title of master mage; I find that I like my prospects.”
“I, on the other hand, have decided that I can’t bear the prospect of another summer in a land where it never gets warm enough to kick off your shoes, or lie in the sun, or think about jumping into a nice, cool lake,” Hamil said. He gave a dramatic shiver. “I think I’ll be returning to Tantras soon. The Red Sails have been without my attention for far too long. If I stay away much longer, I might find that I am no longer a man of means, and that would be truly tragic.”
“You’ll visit soon, I hope,” said Mirya. “Selsha thinks the sun rises and sets on you, you know.”
“Well, I certainly can’t trust Geran to look after Red Sail business here by himself. I’ll be back at least once before the end of the summer to see to a few things. Maybe more than once, if Geran gets himself in some trouble that I have to fix.”
Kara appeared at Geran’s elbow, having briefly escaped from her well-wishers. She leaned forward to embrace Sarth, then Hamil, and then Mirya as well. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “And my thanks to each of you for what you’ve done for us. Without your help, Maroth Marstel would still reign in this castle. We couldn’t have set things right without you.”
Mirya curtsied, and Sarth bowed his head. “It was our pleasure,” Hamil replied with a bow of his own. “And the right thing to do, Lady Regent.”
“Enough of that nonsense, Hamil,” Kara replied. “And you too, Sarth, Mirya. Kara is my name, and I’ll be sore if you don’t use it. Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to have a word with Geran. I promise to return him soon.”
Geran looked at Mirya and his comrades, and shrugged. “Please, excuse us.”
“Let’s find some fresh air for a moment,” Kara said. She led him to the stairs and threaded her arm through his. Together they climbed up to the balcony overlooking the hall and the upper courtyard beyond, the traditional dividing line between Griffonwatch’s public chambers and the personal residence of the Hulmasters. The sun was bright and the day promised to be warm for Tarsakh, but the shadows still held a chill; spring in Hulburg was never all that warm.
“Did I do the right thing by Natali?” Geran asked Kara as they walked. “I feel that I’ve stolen the rest of her childhood by what I’ve done today.”
“At times it will be hard for her, but you shouldn’t worry for Natali. I can shelter her for some time yet, and she’ll have all of us to keep an eye on her. No one will expect her to be anything other than a lively young girl for a few years, except maybe once in a while when she has to dress up for some banquet or ceremony.”
He paused to look down at her. “Thank you, Kara. That eases my conscience.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Geran. I’m not through with you. You owe me something for chaining me to the throne for the next ten years.”
“Owe you?”
“Yes, you owe me. You mean to stay near Hulburg, I presume?”
Geran thought of Mirya and Selsha. No, he wasn’t going anywhere for a while—and he didn’t want to, either. Hulburg was where he meant to be, and he’d fight to stay here. “I think you know that I’m finally home to stay.”
She smiled at him. “In that case, you won’t mind taking a seat on the Harmach’s Council. I need someone to do for me what I did for Uncle Grigor, a family member I can trust with all my confidences, someone who can see to things I can’t see to as the harmach’s regent.”
“You want me to captain the Shieldsworn?” he said with a frown.
“Not unless you want to. If we need the Shieldsworn in campaign I’ll lead them myself, and if we don’t, then it’s a task that wouldn’t suit you very well. No, you seem better at improvising, breaking rules, taking action when others wouldn’t—things I’ve never done well.” Kara’s expression grew serious. “We have powerful enemies that bear watching: Mulmaster, the Crimson Cha
ins, the tribes of Thar, and soon enough the Warlock Knights. I want you to watch them for me. Think of yourself as the royal spymaster if you like, but if I know you, I imagine you’ll rely on your own eyes and ears more than others. Do the things I can’t do from the harmach’s seat, and tell me what I need to know. Are you willing?”
Geran thought it over for a moment. In fact, he’d been a little worried about what he’d do with himself. He’d assumed he’d busy himself with looking after the Red Sail Coster’s affairs in the Moonsea … but as Hamil had told him more than once, he wasn’t much of a merchant. What Kara was asking him to do intrigued him, and wheels were already turning as he considered the first steps he might take to establish sources of information. There was no reason the harmach of Hulburg couldn’t be the best-informed ruler in the Moonsea, and that would be a potent tool to lay in Natali’s hands when it came time for her to take her throne.
“I’m willing,” he told Kara. “We won’t be surprised by our enemies again, that much I promise you.”
“Good!” she said. They returned to the stairs leading from the upper courtyard to the balcony overlooking the great hall. The sounds of music and laughter filled the room. “In that case, I think the Harmach’s Council is filled. Deren Ilkur’s agreed to resume his place as keeper of duties, and old Theron’s back as high magistrate. Sarth has agreed to assume the title of master mage, and Mirya should make a fine keeper of keys.”
“Mirya?” Geran asked, surprised.
“It was long past time for Wulreth Keltor to retire, especially since he didn’t seem to object to staying on in Marstel’s service when the rest of Uncle Grigor’s council was dismissed. Mirya’s got a sharp mind for accounts and she’s made a go of Erstenwold’s for years in the face of competition from the foreign costers. I think the Tower treasury could use someone exactly like her to put Hulburg’s finances in order.” Kara nudged him in the ribs. “And I must say that if you didn’t know that Mirya and I discussed the question this morning, you’re off to a very poor start as my secret spymaster.”
Avenger: Blades of the Moonsea - Book III Page 37
