A bolt of crimson lightning struck the knot of Vaasans from the side, tearing through the swordsmen. The Warlock Knight parried the spell with an arcane defense of his own, but several of his guards were down, smoke rising from their burned armor. Geran glanced to his right and saw the tiefling Sarth leading a counterattack from that side of the line. The sorcerer threw bolts of fire and blasts of thunder with reckless abandon, burning down the Bloody Skulls. “Back to Thar with you, vile ones!” he shouted between spells. “There is no victory here for you today!”
It was just the opportunity he was looking for. While the Vaasans turned their attention to Sarth and his barrage of spells, Geran scrambled across the blackened overgrowth and embers of the dike’s face, dodging past battling orcs and Hulburgans. He reached the Vaasans and cut down one of the mage’s bodyguards with a single thrust between the shoulder blades. His old mentor, Daried, would not have approved, but this was no contest of skill and honor; this was a fight for survival.
The Vaasan mage blasted Sarth off his feet with a spell that made the ground under the tiefling’s feet slam upward as if struck from below by the hammer of some subterranean titan. Then he glanced over his shoulder and saw Geran lunging at him. The Warlock Knight snarled an arcane word and threw up a shield of dazzling blue light that stopped Geran’s point as firmly as if he’d tried to drive his sword into a granite wall. Then he leveled his staff at Geran and hurled an unseen thunderclap back at the swordmage, but Geran deflected the blast with a word in Elvish and a flick of his swordpoint.
“You follow the elven ways!” the mage snarled in frustration.
Geran did not reply, but instead attacked again, trying to find his way around the Vaasan’s magical defense. His enchanted blade rang and shivered as he struck at the edges of the glowing blue haze protecting the Warlock Knight. He managed to slip the point around the edge and give the Vaasan a nasty cut to the meat of his left arm; the mage cursed in pain and jumped back a step, but he missed his footing and tumbled down the earthwork, rolling to the foot of the hill. Geran started after him, but several rampaging ogres suddenly swarmed up the embankment in front of him, momentarily hiding the Vaasan mage from him. Geran evaded them, but when he looked again the Vaasan was gone. He’d fled the scene or simply been swept away in the tide of battle.
The orcs around him raised a ferocious cheer, and Geran looked up. A large banner waved in the air nearby, a square of mustard yellow marked with the image of a crimson, dripping skull. Below the banner he saw a knot of big orc warriors dressed in fine black mail, each with a painted skull over the heart … and in the center, an orc who wore armor of black plate. That must be Mhurren, Geran realized. The chief of the Bloody Skulls must have tired of watching his assaults stall on the tangled embankment of Lendon’s Dike. He meant to lead his warriors to victory.
The swordmage ran over to the human soldiers nearest him, a number of battered and exhausted Shieldsworn. The soldiers of Hulburg had nothing left to give, but he had to ask it of them anyway. “The banner!” he shouted to them. “We’re going to take the banner! Follow me, lads!”
The Shieldsworn soldiers raised a strong cry and surged toward the orc banner, sliding down the embankment after Geran. A huge, grossly fat ogre strode up to meet him and smashed a hammer with a head the size of an ale barrel down at him, but Geran leaped aside. The monster raised its mighty weapon for another swing, but the swordmage darted in close to its crooked legs and sliced out its hamstring with one long cut. The creature bellowed and fell, its arms flailing, but Geran pressed forward. “To me!” he shouted.
A few yards away he heard another rallying cry—Kara darted into the fray from the other side, cutting her way closer to the banner at the head of another small band of Hulburgans. She had her bow in hand, and its deadly song floated over the roars and shouts of the fighting. She shot down two of the warlord’s Skull Guards, each with an arrow in the heart, and then retreated before a sudden rush from the others, allowing her soldiers to meet them blade to blade. A moment later she threaded her way back into the fight and shot again, killing the orc who carried the standard. The banner wavered and began to fall before another of the Skull Guards seized it from its dying bearer and raised it aloft again.
“Hulburg is mine, you spellscarred slut!” Mhurren roared. “You defy me for the last time!” He leaped for Kara with a heavy fighting spear in hand. She calmly nocked her arrow and drew, taking aim at the eye-slit of his visor—only to be roughly jostled aside at the last moment by one of the Skull Guards, who smashed his Shieldsworn foe out of the way and nearly took her arm off at the shoulder with his whistling axe. Kara jumped back and stumbled to the ground.
Mhurren roared in triumph and raised his spear for the killing thrust, but then Geran shouldered his way past the Skull Guard in his way and leaped at the warlord. Mhurren whirled with catlike speed to meet Geran’s attack, catching the swordstroke on his shield and responding with a furious fusillade of overhand spear-thrusts, stabbing again and again for Geran’s heart. The swordmage parried the first, twisted away from the second, parried the third, but then Mhurren stepped close and slammed his shield into Geran’s right side. The warlord had a small spike on the boss of the shield, and it punched a deep wound in Geran’s shoulder. Geran staggered back, losing his blade from fingers that suddenly went weak as water, and he gasped desperately for breath. “So much for Hulburg’s champions!” the warlord gloated.
He lunged for Geran’s belly, and the swordmage twisted aside once more and caught the spear-shaft just behind the head with his left hand. Mhurren bared his fangs and tried to wrench his weapon back, but Geran kept on his feet and followed Mhurren around, staying away from the shield-spike and the spearhead both. The orc warlord was as strong as an ox, and he was much fresher than Geran; he was going to get his weapon back, and soon. In desperation, Geran released the spearhead and used the heel of his left hand to strike a sudden blow up at the bottom of the half-orc’s helm. The visor jammed up a couple of inches and momentarily covered Mhurren’s eyes, blinding him so that Geran could leap free, but not before a wild slash with the heavy war spear laid open his right thigh.
“Damn you!” Mhurren snarled in rage. He reached up to pull his visor back into place—
—and Kara’s bow sang again.
The visor Geran had knocked two inches out of place had given her the mark she needed. Her arrow took Mhurren just under the line of his jaw, plunging through his throat to pierce the back of his neck. The warlord gaped silently, dark blood foaming over his chin. He fumbled at the arrow, and then he sank to the ground and fell still.
“The warlord has fallen!” one of the Skull Guards cried out in Orcish. “Mhurren is dead!”
The orcs nearby turned to look, disengaging from scores of personal duels, and an eerie hush descended over the battlefield around the fallen warchief—a hush that slowly spread as news of Mhurren’s death spread through the horde. All along the dike, the orcs and their allies slowed their surge, looking uncertainly toward the center where their king’s banner no longer flew. Two of the remaining Skull Guards stooped by Mhurren’s body and hoisted the fallen chief up on their shoulders; more orcs came to help carry him, and the small knot of warriors retreated from the breach. Geran, Kara, and the Shieldsworn standing close backed off slowly and let the orcs carry away their chief. More of the Bloody Skulls to each side began to disengage, glaring at the defenders of Hulburg and shaking their spears in anger.
Hundreds of Bloody Skull warriors lay at the foot of the dike or strewn through the gap of the Vale Road, far more than Geran had thought. Between the first attempt to storm the dike, the assault of the undead warriors, and the second attack against the dike, the Bloody Skulls had paid a terrible cost in blood. In the distance, behind the orc lines, he saw a dozen black-clad horsemen clambering into their saddles—more of the Vaasans. They surveyed the field for a short time, and then turned and rode off to the north.
He realized that he was still
standing unarmed and retrieved his sword, picking it up with his left hand. He could still fight if he had to, but not very well. He took a deep breath and glanced over at Kara. “Should we attack the orcs while they’re leaderless?”
“With what?” she replied. “If we have a third of our strength left, I’d be surprised. No, I think it best to hold our ground for a while and see what the Bloody Skulls do. If Mhurren doesn’t have a clear successor, they’ll be fighting each other soon enough.”
Geran shook his head, suddenly amazed to find himself alive and still on his feet. Blood streamed down his right arm from his wounded shoulder, and he realized that the slash across his thigh was bleeding as well. “Then I guess the battle is over,” he said.
THIRTY
2 Mirtul, the Year of the Ageless One
The rumble of distant thunder rolled over the misty green peaks of the Highfells as a springtime storm drifted eastward past the harbor of Hulburg. It was raining, but it was a soft, cool drizzle—not the icy downpours of Tarsakh or Ches. The magnificent Arches that graced the southeast side of the harbor glimmered white in a dazzling sunbreak only a mile away. It seemed a good omen to Geran. He looked up at the skies and said, “You’ll have fair weather for your crossing, Hamil.”
The halfling grimaced. “I think I’m owed it,” he answered. He no longer wore his arm in a sling, and he walked with only the trace of a limp from the wound he’d taken in the fight by the postern gate. “To be perfectly honest, I’d rather ride around the Moonsea than cross it.”
“It’s at least six or seven hundred miles out of your way,” Kara said with a smile. She’d come down to the harbor to see Hamil off, despite her many duties as commander of what was left of the Shieldsworn. She wasn’t the only one; Mirya and her daughter, Selsha, were there to say their good-byes too, and of course Natali and Kirr had insisted on escorting Hamil to his ship. The ranger rested a hand on Natali’s shoulder and smiled at Hamil. “Most of that’s impassable mountains and trackless wilderness filled with hungry monsters. Are you certain you’d like to go that way?”
Hamil made a show of thinking over his answer for a long time. “No, I suppose not,” he finally sighed. “Better the sea I know than the mountains I don’t. Besides, if I take too long getting back to Tantras, the Double Moons or Sokols or Marstels will gobble up all of Veruna’s leavings before the Red Sails can stake a claim.”
“Don’t be worried about that,” Geran replied. “My uncle’s already promised the Red Sails the best of the Veruna docks and storehouses.” House Veruna, of course, was no longer welcome in Hulburg. After their role in the attack against Griffonwatch—an accusation that Darsi Veruna had vehemently denied, though she had no answer to the charges that her mercenaries had dealt with the King in Copper or abandoned the field during the Battle of Lendon’s Dike—the Verunas had holed up in their fortified compounds for three days before it became obvious to Darsi that she and her clerks, servants, and sellswords would be burned out by a Hulburgan mob if they remained. In the dark hour before dawn, the Verunas had boarded their ships and slipped away to Mulmaster, abandoning their holdings throughout the harmach’s domain. Harmach Grigor had already revoked their concessions and leases anyway, and the Merchant Council had chosen not to lodge any protests on Veruna’s account … a wise decision in Geran’s estimation. His only regret was that they’d also carried away his cousin Sergen, who’d made his escape aboard one of the Veruna ships.
“I think the captain’s anxious to cast off, Hamil,” said Kara. “You should go aboard.”
The halfling sighed. “Some dutiful persons often say that there’s no point in putting off unpleasantness,” he observed. “For my own part, I’ve never understood that reasoning. Should I be struck dead by a bolt of lightning a minute from now, I’d rather not have spent my last moments beginning to get seasick.” But he picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder, setting foot on the gangway.
“Farewell, Hamil!” Natali said. She darted over and gave him an enthusiastic hug, followed a moment later by her younger brother.
“Don’t go, Hamil!” Kirr said. “You can stay in Griffonwatch with us!”
“Now, that’s enough of that,” Hamil managed to say, and Geran smiled to see a bright gleam in the corner of his friend’s eye. It seemed that Hamil wasn’t quite as unattached as he would like to believe. Both children were only half a head shorter than he was, and it took the halfling a long moment to extricate himself from their embrace. He grinned fondly at the two of them and reached over to muss Kirr’s hair. “I always liked human children. It’s the only time your kind are sensibly sized. Anyway, I’ll be back by the end of the summer, sprouts. I promise.”
Geran stepped back and touched his hand to his brow. “A swift and safe journey, Hamil. I’ll see you in Tantras soon. Sweet water and light laughter until we meet again.”
“Someday someone must explain that bit of Elvish nonsense to me,” the halfling muttered. But he waved to Geran and the others, and boarded the ship—a sturdy two-masted ketch named Thentian Star. The master of the ship shouted orders to his sailors. They hauled up the gangway and took in their mooring lines, raising a half-sail on the foremast to carry them away from the wharf. Kirr and Natali ran along the dock, waving to Hamil, as the ship slid clear of the pier and began to beat away from Hulburg. Hamil stood by the sternrail waving back at the children until the ship began to rock in the sea-swells.
“I’m going to miss him,” Kara said as she watched the Thentian Star beginning to pick up speed. “A good friend, and a better man than he lets on.”
“He’d never admit it,” Geran said. It pleased him that Kara and Hamil had hit it off so well. Few people impressed the halfling, and Kara had never been one to let many people get close to her. The spellscar had something to do with that, of course. So many people regarded it as some sort of character flaw instead of an accident of birth. The rain began to fall more heavily, and he finally shivered and looked away from the retreating ship. “We ought to be going. Hamil’s going to outrun this rain, but we won’t be so lucky.”
“Come along, children,” Mirya said firmly. She corralled the young Hulmasters and her own daughter and shooed them on; the three children skipped ahead of the adults, leading the way as they climbed from the wharves up into the center of the town. There were still plenty of foreigners thronging the streets, but Geran thought the mercenaries and House bravos they passed seemed to swagger just a little bit less. Of course, most of the storefronts displayed small silver shields with blue crescent moons on them, and on two occasions they passed by small bands of Hulburgan men who wore blue bands around their left arms. More than a hundred Spearmeet had been killed at Lendon’s Dike, and hundreds more wounded, but those who’d stood shoulder to shoulder against the Bloody Skulls were no longer shy about proclaiming their allegiance to the harmach and their willingness to stand up to anyone—anyone—who had a mind to push around Hulburg’s folk.
“When do you think you’ll be leaving, Geran?” Mirya asked as they walked.
“A couple of days, I suppose. I want to finish looking through Sergen’s papers before I go.” His traitorous stepcousin had been forced to abandon his private villa and his chambers at Council Hall and take shelter in the Veruna compound with little warning, so Geran had appointed himself the task of sifting through the correspondence and accounts Sergen had been unable to take with him or destroy. He’d also helped Kara organize bands of riders in the last two tendays to chase off orcs and ogres lingering in Hulburg’s hinterlands. After their defeat at Lendon’s Dike, the horde had fallen apart swiftly, with the subject tribes quickly abandoning the orcs and retiring to Thar. The last Geran had heard, several minor Bloody Skull chiefs were feuding over control of the tribe. “And I heard that a wyvern was sighted up near Lake Sterritt. I really should borrow a few Shieldsworn—”
“Geran,” said Kara, interrupting him, “we’re glad to have your help, but if your heart’s telling you to go back
to your life in the south, then you should go. No one in Hulburg will hold it against you.”
Mirya glanced at Geran but said nothing. He walked on in silence for a short time, watching Natali, Kirr, and Selsha exploring the street ahead. He hadn’t been much older than Natali when he’d started to discover the familiar streets and squares for the first time, though Hulburg had been a smaller and safer place then. He looked into his own heart, trying to read what was written there, and discovered that he simply couldn’t tell any longer. Certainly he’d come to Hulburg with the intention of returning to Tantras after satisfying himself that Jarad Erstenwold’s charge had been kept, that justice was dealt out to his murderers, and that Jarad’s family and his home were well. He’d seen to that as well as he could, and if Darsi Veruna or his traitorous cousin ever crossed his path again, well, he’d attend to them as well. He had a house in Tantras, and friends, and a stake in the Red Sail Coster. But he couldn’t honestly say that his heart was calling him back to the city on the Dragon Reach. If there was a place that called to his heart, it was Myth Drannor, and that was a place he could never return to. Perhaps there was some far shore, some hidden treasure, that might cure him of that, and he thought for a long moment about how it would feel to go in search of it. It hadn’t been so different when he’d left Hulburg for the first time as a twenty-year-old with the whole world ahead of him.
“I’m afraid my heart hasn’t seen fit to tell me much of anything in quite some time, Kara,” he finally said. “I’ve got some affairs to look after in Tantras, but after that? I have no idea. I have a hard time remembering what seemed so important to me only a couple of months ago.”
They arrived at Erstenwold’s, and the three children pelted up the steps of the porch and into the shop. Mirya had reopened it a tenday ago, and she was doing quite well; miners and woodcutters who had been abandoned by Veruna’s withdrawal had turned to Erstenwold’s for their provisions, especially since many of the outlying camps had been burned or sacked by marauding bands from the Bloody Skull horde.
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