The sorry affair rambled on for another hour and a half before it mercifully staggered to an end. A poor script, a bumbling score, and actors who seemed to think that the height of their craft was to shout their lines at the audience made for a memorable night at the theater, Sergen decided. The best humor of the evening had come from watching for the next unexpected gaffe or badly delivered line. And, to be honest, he felt a distinct sense of relief when the curtain finally dropped at the end of the show. In that much, at least, watching The Bride of Secomber was not unlike repeatedly striking one’s head against a wall: It felt good when it ended.
“I believe I might go down to the proprietor and beat him until he returns my eight silver talents,” he said aloud. “The coin’s a pittance, of course, but as a matter of principle, I won’t stand for robbery.”
“What did you expect in Hulburg?” Darsi Veruna asked. She ignored the half-hearted applause rippling through the audience as the cast members came forward to take their bows. “In Mulmaster, the audience might wait around for the opportunity to stab one or two of those actors when they leave the theater.”
“An enlightened and cultured city,” Sergen remarked. He looked over to Darsi, who made a small face at him. “I’ve been thinking. I believe the Bloody Skull threat offers just the opportunity we’ve been looking for. In fact, the worse it appears, the better for us. To that effect, I have a small request for you, my lady.”
Darsi motioned with her hand. “Go on, my lord.”
“Would you place your pet Umbryl at my disposal later this evening?”
“Possibly. What do you want her to do?”
“Take a direct hand—or claw, I suppose—in negotiations with the Bloody Skull emissaries. I’ve determined that the harmach is about to send their heads back to Mhurren with some suitably insulting reply to the orc king’s demands. Of course, my uncle doesn’t know that’s what he intends to do. I must see to it for him.” Sergen leaned closer, since the lights were brightening and the audience was beginning to file out. “As far as my uncle and the rest of the idiots on his privy council will know, the orcs will simply disappear. They’ll guess that Morag and the others ran out of patience and left early.”
“But you’ll have the orcs killed?”
“I will have the orcs killed and make sure that it’s clear to everyone here that they broke camp and left. I need Umbryl to carry their heads in a bag back to Bloodskull Keep and drop it at Mhurren’s feet. That should bring the Bloody Skull horde to Hulburg’s doorstep in a matter of days.” Sergen smiled.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Darsi said, “but if the Bloody Skulls are as strong as they claim to be, won’t that result in the sack of the city and the loss of a tremendous amount of House Veruna property? As well as no small risk to our own lives?”
“It might, except that we now have a powerful ally who can repel the orc horde whenever he likes: Aesperus. The King in Copper owes us a great boon, and fearsome though he may be, he’s a man—so to speak—of his word.”
Darsi stood and motioned for her ladies and attendants. One hurried forward to drape an expensive stole around her lovely shoulders, while the men-at-arms—resplendent in light shirts of gleaming mail with surcoats of green and white—began to clear the rest of the departing crowd from her path. She lowered her voice and leaned close to murmur in his ear. “Speaking of Aesperus, my men report that he took the trinket he wanted right out of your cousin’s hands. Geran will soon report to the harmach that the lich has the book and that armsmen of House Veruna gave it to him.”
The ambitious lord scowled. “It would’ve been better if your men had killed him in the Highfells, so that he wouldn’t carry tales back to my uncle.”
Darsi ran her nails softly across Sergen’s chin. “I think I am glad that I’m no kin of yours, my dear. Do you really hate them all so much?”
Sergen’s expression darkened even more. “The Hulmasters wronged my father grievously, Darsi. Whatever befalls any of them is nothing compared to the humiliation they heaped upon him. They will make amends for their perfidy. I’ve sworn to it.” He paused for a moment, collecting himself, and then found the sardonic smile he habitually affected. “In any event … yes, you’re right, Kara will no doubt demand an explanation from you within an hour of Geran’s return. An attempt on the life of a Hulmaster, even a rootless vagabond like Geran, will no doubt fill her with righteous wrath. You’ll have to make a show of surrendering those responsible.”
They made their way out of the private box and strolled slowly down the carpeted stairs to the foyer. Veruna men kept the rest of the crowd at a comfortable distance, earning a few resentful glances that Darsi ignored. “My men are loyal and well paid, but I doubt that they’ll confess to an attack against the Harmach’s own nephew simply because it’s convenient for me if they do.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Sergen answered. “Your men are protected by the laws of concession. I can argue that it’s an affair for the Council Watch, not the Shieldsworn, and I’ll make sure that my dear stepsister remembers that. Of course, I’ll have to thoroughly investigate the entire matter … very thoroughly. By the time I’m forced to move, it should all be moot.”
He accompanied Darsi outside to where the Veruna men had already drawn up her coach, and joined her inside when she graciously invited him to. He dismissed his own driver and coach, and they drove away from the Crown and Shield through the cold fog blanketing the streets.
After a long silence, Darsi spoke again. “I think you may be too confident of your cleverness, Sergen,” she said. “Your wayward cousin has exposed House Veruna’s efforts to scour the Highfells for Aesperus’s book. And he must certainly suspect our involvement in Jarad Erstenwold’s death. The harmach may not be a decisive man, but this isn’t something he will let lie. Geran is dangerous to us. We need to find a way to neutralize him.”
“Leave him alone. He’ll soon grow bored,” Sergen replied. Darsi shot him a dubious look, and after a moment he sighed and met her eyes. “Or he might not. Very well, what do you propose?”
“We can’t move directly against him,” Darsi said, idly examining the exquisite rings that graced her hands. “It would lend far too much credence to any accusations he makes against my House.” She thought for a moment, looking out the coach window at the glowing halos the streetlights carved from the drifting mist. “Ideally, we would find a way to encourage Geran to neutralize himself, something that might encourage him to abandon Hulburg again or discredit him in the eyes of the harmach. Perhaps he can be lured into drawing steel against us. If we’re seen to be simply defending ourselves from an unwarranted attack, well, that would be acceptable.”
Sergen nodded in agreement. Darsi Veruna was so beautiful, so sophisticated in her decadence, that he sometimes overlooked the sharpness of her mind. She was right, of course, but how to encourage Geran to foil himself? He closed his eyes, summoning to mind everything he knew of his stepcousin … and something occurred to him. “Ah, I think I’ve got it,” he said. “The key to Geran is Mirya Erstenwold. If I know him at all, you’ll find that he will go to great lengths to protect her, great lengths indeed.” He smiled coldly. “Why, with the proper motivation, he might even do something rash.”
SIXTEEN
27 Ches, the Year of the Ageless One
As it turned out, Geran and Hamil did not reach Rosestone until almost noon, hungry and exhausted. The monks were happy to provide them with a good meal and allowed the two travelers to rest in their hostel. By the time Geran and Hamil rested and told the story of the tomb of Terlannis and the appearance of Aesperus to the Initiate Mother, the afternoon was waning, so Geran reluctantly decided to spend the night at Rosestone. It was noon of the second day after their fight at the barrow when the two companions trudged wearily up the causeway of Griffonwatch and climbed to the Harmach’s Tower, footsore and fairly well soaked from a long morning’s walk in the warm spring showers that had settled over Hulburg during the pre
vious night.
“Look! Look! Hamil and Geran are back!” Kirr and Natali were at their lessons in the family’s great room but cast aside their primers and crowded close to the weary travelers, shouting a dozen questions at once. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone for days! Did you fight any monsters? Did you find any gold?”
Geran looked down in surprise at the top of Natali’s head as she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. He shrugged his rucksack off his shoulder and patted her back with his other arm. Strange how quickly children decide you’re family, he mused. They’ve known us only for a tenday, but I can’t remember the last time someone was so happy just to see me walk in a door. Maybe it was still the novelty of someone new under the same roof. “One question at a time, you two,” he said. “We’ve been out on the Highfells, riding all over the moors. And yes, we met some fearsome monsters, and no, we didn’t find any gold, and then our horses ran off so we had to walk all the way home.”
“Did you see the orc army?” Kirr asked. “Do you think there’s going to be a battle?”
“Orc army? What orc army?” Geran asked.
“Bloody Skull orcs came to Griffonwatch while you were gone,” Natali explained breathlessly. “We weren’t supposed to watch, but we did. We crept into the Great Hall and listened to them talk to Grandfather and all the other important people like Kara and Sergen and the rest. They seemed very angry, and they threatened Grandfather. They said that if he didn’t give them five wagons full of gold they’d burn Hulburg.” She looked up at Geran, a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. “Do you think the orcs will really come here?”
“I doubt it, Natali,” Geran said. “The orcs of Thar haven’t mounted a serious attack against Hulburg since before I was born. We’ll have to watch out for raiding parties, though.” The Bloody Skulls? he wondered. They’d never troubled Hulburg before.
It seems that a lot has happened in five days, Hamil said silently to Geran. I wonder what all this is about? For Kirr, he smiled and set his hands on his hips. “We didn’t see any orcs, General Kirr. But we did see a big black ghost-panther that hunted us for days, and we barely escaped from bloodthirsty ghosts who chased us through fog and shadow. We defeated a sphinx made out of bronze, and finally we met the King in Copper himself and lived to tell the tale. So what do you think of that?”
Kirr’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. He stared up at Hamil and simply said, “Ohhhhh.”
“Better not say too much more, Hamil,” Geran said. “Erna will give us an earful if we fill them with stories that keep them up all night.”
“Tell us! Tell us!” Natali said. “We won’t tell Ma.”
Geran shook his head. “Maybe later, but only if your mother says I can. Now, I need to put on some dry clothes.”
He left the young Hulmasters downstairs and went up to his room to change, taking his battered rucksack with him. He took a few moments to wash his face and towel off, found a clean change of clothes in the trunk at the foot of his bed, and trotted back down the stairs to the great room, settling his baldric and scabbard over a much drier tunic. But at the foot of the steps he found Kara waiting for him, her face taut with worry.
“The Shieldsworn told me you’d returned,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here, Geran. A lot’s happened in the last day or two. The harmach wants to speak with you right away.”
“I need to speak with him too,” Geran said. “I have quite a story to tell you, and I’m not sure what it all means.”
“Where have you been for the last few days?”
“Up on the Highfells, but that’s part of the story. You’ll hear it soon enough if you have half an hour to spare.” He heard a light step on the stairs and glanced up; Hamil was coming down as well, having availed himself of the chance to change into dry clothes too. “Hamil, will you join us? My uncle wants to speak with me, and it might be helpful to have two accounts of the last few days.”
“Of course,” the halfling replied. He nodded to Kara. “A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”
“And you, Hamil,” Kara replied. She offered him a fleeting smile and inclined her head. “This way; the harmach’s hearing counsel in the trophy room.”
Geran and Hamil followed her as she led them down a flight of stairs into what would have been the foundations of the Harmach’s Tower. However, since the tower sat atop Griffonwatch’s steep crag, its basement formed another floor just beneath the buildings of the upper courtyard. A long row of windows facing south looked over rain-slick balconies and ramparts toward the Moonsea, a dark gray line beyond the rooftops of the town. The castle had several such hidden floors, some carved out of the living rock in the heart of the hill. Geran fondly remembered exploring all of them with Kara and their cousin Isolmar when all three were children not much bigger than Natali or Kirr. At the end of a long hall stood tall double doors of dark, gleaming wood. There were no Shieldsworn guards in sight; they were well within the Hulmaster family quarters, and the harmach’s men usually watched the doors and halls that led into this part of the castle instead of standing guard within the family residence.
Kara paused by the doors, knocked twice, and let herself in. The room beyond was a large chamber with heavy wooden beams overhead, a long table of fine cherry wood, and a handful of dusty bookshelves and mounted trophies along the walls—a red tiger pelt, a suit of plate armor, a dusty wyvern’s head, and the two-handed greataxe of a frost giant, a weapon fully ten feet long. The chamber was really a smaller, more secure banquet room than the great hall that divided the lower castle from its upper parts, one that just happened to be decorated with a handful of trophies taken by Grigor’s father in his youth.
“Uncle, I’ve brought Geran,” she said.
“Have you? Good.” Harmach Grigor sat in a large, high-backed chair at the head of the table. To his left sat the old keeper of keys, Wulreth Keltor, and beside him High Magistrate Theron Nimstar. Across the table Sergen Hulmaster paced absently. The harmach looked up from his advisors and motioned to Kara. “Come in, come in,” the old lord said. “I am afraid we have much to discuss, and little time.”
“First things first.” Sergen turned to face his stepsister, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore an elegant black tabard embroidered with a golden dragon design, and his habitual smirk was nowhere to be seen. “Did you find any sign of the orc delegation?”
“No, none yet,” Kara answered. “I haven’t had the chance to examine the site personally, but my scouts tell me that their camp is empty and there’s no sign of Morag and the others. I can only guess that, for whatever reason, they decided to leave.”
“But that makes no sense,” Theron Nimstar protested. “They gave us until sunset tomorrow to give our answer. Why leave before they have heard it?
“Perhaps they expected the harmach to refuse outright and were merely playing at offering a chance to buy peace,” Sergen said. “They might have already settled on war, in which case the whole point of the delegation was simply to take our measure.”
“That seems unlikely,” Kara answered. “Orcs are direct—far blunter than we would be. For good or ill, they rarely say anything they don’t mean. They wouldn’t feign a demand for tribute.”
“I’ve heard that this Mhurren has human blood,” Sergen answered. “Perhaps he’s got some human guile in him, too.”
Kara frowned but held her tongue. Geran took the opportunity to step forward. “Forgive me, but Hamil and I have been riding all over the Highfells for days, and we returned only an hour ago. When did the Bloodskulls show up? What do they want?”
“They came to the Raven Hill watchtower under a flag of truce three days ago and demanded to be taken to the harmach,” Kara answered him. “The Shieldsworn escorted them to Hulburg, and the Harmach’s Council heard them out the day before yesterday. They issued a demand for tribute and gave us three days to choose whether to pay or fight.” Kara glanced to the Harmach and then back to Geran. “The orcs were camped in the ruins
of the old Windy Ridge post, waiting for our answer. But they seem to have left.”
“Perhaps their nerve failed them, and they feared they would be killed for throwing such an insult in our teeth,” Wulreth Keltor said aloud.
Kara shook her head. “That’s not likely, either. I can’t offer a good explanation for why they left, but I’m certain of this: If the Bloody Skulls didn’t wait for our answer, then they’ve chosen war, and we must prepare ourselves.”
No one spoke for a long moment. Then Harmach Grigor sighed and looked over to the two officials. “Theron, Wulreth, I suppose there is no more point in debating whether we should pay or negotiate. If the orcs have chosen war, then that is that. Wulreth, find some coin to finish the repairs to Daggergard’s gate. I want that work finished as soon as possible. Raid other works if you must. For that matter, we may need to hire mercenaries to fill out our ranks—I’ll take every copper you can find me.”
The keeper of keys made a sour face, but he nodded. “I will do everything I can, Lord Harmach.” He stood and bowed to the harmach; Theron did likewise. Then the two officials left the room, hurrying off to attend to their appointed tasks.
Geran waited for them to leave then cleared his throat. “Uncle Grigor, I think the Bloody Skulls aren’t the only problem at hand. I need to tell you what I’ve learned in the last tenday about Jarad’s murder, House Veruna, and the King in Copper.”
“Aesperus?” Kara shot a surprised look at Geran. “What in the world does he have to do with us?”
Sergen snorted. “He’s a useful bogeyman for scaring ill-behaved children, nothing more.”
The swordmage ignored his stepcousin’s derision. “I’m not sure, Kara, but Aesperus has something to do with House Veruna, and they in turn had much to do with Jarad’s murder.”
Swordmage Page 20
