Swordmage botm-1

by Richard Baker

  “Ruining our fortunes or his?” Geran muttered darkly. He looked over to his uncle. “What did you say?”

  “I told him that his generous interpretation of the laws of concession did not take precedence over the harmach’s interpretation of the rest of the harmach’s laws, and that as far as I knew, I was still Harmach of Hulburg. I’m afraid Sergen left after that.”

  “I’m not surprised. The Verunas missed their chance at me on the Highfells and then again yesterday, so they sent Sergen to persuade you to arrest me for them.” Geran remembered Veruna’s mercenaries wrecking Mirya’s store, and his mouth tightened. It was bad enough that foreigners had such contempt for the harmach that they believed they could simply lay the town under tribute and plunder it in the guise of trade laws. But his stepcousin was clearly doing everything in his power to ensure their success. The question was, why? Sergen must have been bought completely-or smitten, perhaps-by Darsi Veruna, since he was so faithfully working in her interests… but something about that struck Geran as not quite right. Sergen had always been keenly aware of his own self-interest, even as a boy. It wasn’t like him to faithfully work at anything he didn’t want for himself. Which meant that Sergen wasn’t seeing to Veruna’s interests by keeping his Merchant Council out of the way of the foreign costers. He was likely seeing to his own. Perhaps the Verunas were working for Sergen instead of the other way around. “That must be it,” Geran murmured aloud.

  “Some new thought has struck you, I see.” Grigor set his hands atop the head of his cane. “What is it, Geran?”

  “I think Sergen means to supplant you, Uncle. He doesn’t work for House Veruna-they work for him. Everything he’s done to increase the power of the Merchant Council, he’s done to add to his own base of power. You must move against him before he moves against you.”

  “Geran, even if you’re right, I cannot easily remove him,” Grigor said wearily. “What happens if I attempt to oust Sergen, and he still retains control of the Merchant Council? I must tell you frankly that I don’t know if my Shieldsworn could overcome the council’s combined forces. Even if my Shieldsworn succeeded in disarming the foreign companies, we’d face the complete ruin of Hulburg’s commerce, because you can be sure that the merchants will put a stop to all trade in or out until they are once again content with the state of affairs. Unless, of course, the Bloody Skulls prove as dangerous as Kara fears, in which case we all might be swept into the sea because we were too busy fighting each other to defend our borders against Warlord Mhurren’s horde.”

  Geran stood in silence for a long moment. He hadn’t really appreciated the difficult course his uncle was trying to chart. Do nothing and allow the foreign interests to devour Hulburg a small bite at a time… or resist and risk catastrophe? In that light it was not unreasonable to seek some accommodation with the foreigners, an understanding about just what belonged to them and what remained the harmach’s. “Would it be better if I left Hulburg?” he finally said. “It seems that I’ve brought troubles to your doorstep that you hardly need. If I went back to Tantras, Sergen would no longer have the pretext of my so-called scofflaw deeds to challenge your authority.”

  “You didn’t cause our troubles, Geran. They were here before you returned, waiting for you to find them.” The harmach glanced out the window; the day promised more warm spring rain, somewhat out of season even for the end of the month of Ches. “I think you’ve opened my eyes to the dangers that I’ve been trying to grope my way through for some time now. I am not happy to see these things as they are, but only a fool would hope to remain in ignorance instead of facing an ugly truth.” The old lord laughed softly and without humor. “On the other hand, I’m pleased that at least one of the men who murdered Jarad Erstenwold has met with justice, and I’m pleased that you took a stand against extortion in any guise. Darsi Veruna was long overdue for just the sort of check you’ve given her thugs; they’ve bullied honest Hulburgans for too long. But now I fear for your life. The Verunas will certainly seek a way to retaliate against you, so that they will not appear weak to their rivals and competitors.”

  “I won’t hide in Griffonwatch,” Geran answered him. “House Veruna struck their bargain with the King in Copper for a reason, and I still mean to find out why. And I don’t believe for a moment that Sergen will leave Mirya Erstenwold alone, not as long as I’m here.” He shrugged. “What’s happened so far is only the first pass of steel in a long fight.”

  “I can’t have you pursue a vendetta against House Veruna, Geran,” the harmach said sternly. “Like it or not, the laws of concession apply to you as much as any Hulburgan. You can defend life or property, as you did against the Verunas wrecking the Erstenwold store, but they must offer you a cause to intervene. After all, any free man is obligated to protect others who are threatened with harm. But, whatever you do, stay out of Veruna’s compounds or tradeyards. If you fall into their power in one of the concessions, I won’t be able to protect you.”

  Geran grimaced, but he nodded. Trade concessions were much the same all over the lands of the Inner Sea; in effect, the property owned by House Veruna was a little piece of Mulmaster in the middle of Hulburg’s dock district, just as the Red Sail’s storehouses in Impiltur were protected by the laws of Tantras. But something else in the harmach’s words had given him the glimmers of an idea… “I understand, Uncle Grigor,” he replied. “I’ll watch where I step.”

  “Good lad,” said Grigor. He stood up slowly, gripped Geran’s shoulder, and limped out of the room.

  Geran sat down at the small writing desk and gazed out the window for a time, organizing his thoughts. Then he returned to his magical studies and finished weaving his wards and protections. He threw his good wool cloak over his shoulders, buckled on his sword belt, and went in search of Hamil.

  It took longer than he expected. Hamil was nowhere in the Harmach’s Tower or the upper bailey. Geran finally resorted to asking the servants and guards and found the halfling in the castle’s sallet, a large, wooden-floored practice room near the lower gatehouse. Hamil was engaged in a furious, hard-fought bout against Kara, so Geran waited and watched. He’d known for years that Hamil was one of the fastest blades he’d ever seen and an expert acrobat as well, but he remembered Kara as exceptionally quick footed and agile. Both fought with buckler and rapier-equally unfamiliar to each, really, since Hamil preferred knives, and Kara usually carried a long sword. She was twenty inches taller and had a considerable advantage in reach and strength; when Hamil managed to get inside her guard, his smaller stature turned to his advantage. While Geran watched, Kara raced across the floor and spun past Hamil, her practice sword flicking out in a lightning-quick passing cut, but Hamil batted the stroke high with his buckler and lunged at her hip. Kara was not there; she was already moving away, opening the range to restore the advantage of her reach.

  Hamil pressed closer and quickly somersaulted up under Kara’s blade, but the ranger stood her ground, twisting away from his point, and brought her own rapier straight down from overhead in an inverted thrust that touched Hamil at the back of the neck. Geran smiled to himself; she’d met Hamil’s unorthodox attack with a similarly unorthodox riposte. The halfling’s roll would have worked better with a shorter blade; it simply took Hamil too long to ready his attack with the rapier, though Geran did not doubt that he would have spitted most ordinary swordsmen; Kara was almost as quick as he was. “Not bad,” Hamil admitted. He straightened up and gave her a small bow of respect.

  “Likewise, Master Hamil,” Kara said with a smile. She stepped back and saluted with her rapier. “I’m afraid I must attend to my duties. If I don’t leave soon, I won’t be able to get back by tomorrow.”

  “Riding up to the watchtowers again?” Geran asked.

  “I want to have another look around Raven Hill. If the Bloody Skulls mount a raid against us, I think it’ll come from that quarter.” Kara looked at Geran’s cloak and tunic and frowned. “You’re not leaving the castle, are you?”
>
  “I won’t find many more answers here, Kara.”

  “The Verunas will be looking for a chance to challenge you, Geran. You’d be wiser not to play their game.”

  Geran shrugged and picked up another practice sword from a rack close at hand. He executed several quick blocks. “The Mulmasterites begin to open barrows-Jarad fails to stop them. We learn that Urdinger is seeking something in an ancient priest’s barrow-Hamil and I fail to keep the Infiernadex out of their hands. Sergen’s Merchant Council threatens Hulburg’s small traders-so I try to drive off Veruna thugs who are trying to intimidate and bully Mirya Erstenwold.” The practice sword whistled through the air as he spoke; then Geran shifted from parries to a sudden, fierce thrust at his unseen foe. “Everyone who finds himself in opposition to House Veruna does nothing but parry. I think it’s time for a riposte.”

  Kara frowned unhappily. “Geran, what do you intend?”

  He turned and looked over to Kara. “Is Durnan Osting still a captain of the Spearmeet?”

  “Durnan? Yes, I suppose so.”

  Hamil looked up at Geran. “What’s the Spearmeet?”

  “My apologies, Hamil. It’s the militia of Hulburg. In the years after the Spellplague, Harmach Angar decreed that all landowning households must arm a spearman and drill together regularly. Most of the old families of the town pass down a mail byrnie, a steel cap, a good hide shield, and some weapons. Some of the townsfolk-especially those who live up in the Winterspear-used to take it quite seriously.”

  “Only a few of the musters still gather now,” Kara said. She looked at Geran and folded her arms over her mail shirt. “There hasn’t been much need for the Spearmeet in recent years. What do you want with them?”

  “The Spearmeet is made up of old native families like the Erstenwolds,” said Geran. “They’re the people who have the most loyalty to the harmach, and they’ve got little reason to be happy with foreign merchants taking over the town. I think it might be a useful lesson for the Merchant Council if a thousand Hulburgans decided to put on their family mail and shake the rust off their old spears. Besides, if the orcs of Thar are coming, it might be a good idea anyway.”

  “They’re not professional soldiers, Geran. I doubt that the Verunas or Sokols or any of the others would be much impressed. But still, you may be right about the Bloody Skulls.” Kara brushed some of the perspiration from her face and then nodded. “I’ll speak to the harmach about calling out the Spearmeet simply to count heads and see who turns out. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Thank you, Kara,” Geran said. He looked over to Hamil and asked, “How do you feel about a visit to a taphouse?”

  “I regard the prospect with pleasure, as always,” Hamil answered. “But isn’t it a little early?”

  “Not if you want to speak to the master of the house before his establishment is full of customers demanding service.” Geran waited while Hamil stripped off his practice jerkin, pulled his fine ruffled shirt over his torso, and threw on his cloak. Then they took their leave of Kara and left the sallet. The taphouse Geran had in mind was close by Griffonwatch, so he and Hamil strolled down the castle’s causeway on foot through the light rain.

  In the square of the Harmach’s Foot, Geran turned right and followed the Vale Road to the north, away from the town proper. Wagons and carts creaked by alongside them, a steady parade of provisions heading out to the mining camps, and farmers headed in the other direction, bringing food into town for sale. A couple of hundred yards brought the two companions to the Troll and Tankard, on the northern edge of the town. It was a big, sprawling building, its lower floor made of heavy fieldstone, its upper story timber. The taphouse stood astride the ancient walls of Hulburg. Even though they had been destroyed centuries ago, a low mound of broken masonry ran from the building’s foundation to the riverbank. “Here we are,” Geran said. He led Hamil to the sturdy front door and let himself inside.

  The interior of the taphouse was as drafty and drab as the inside of a barn. The air was thick with the smell of brewing beer, and dozens of small kegs were stacked up along the walls. Little daylight filtered in through the small, dirty windows high overhead. “Charming,” Hamil muttered. “I can see why you favor the place, Geran.”

  A beefy, brown-bearded man with a swaying belly under his apron appeared from the back room, carrying a heavy keg over his shoulder. “Good morning, sirs!” he said in a booming voice. “The taproom doesn’t open until noon, but I can sell you a keg or two now if that’s what you’re needing.”

  “I’m not here for your beer, Durnan Osting. I’m here for you.” Geran threw back his hood and shook the water from his hair.

  “Lord Geran!” the brewmaster said. “Well, I’ll be! I heard you were back in town. And I heard all sorts o’ tales, too-stories o’ fighting Chainsmen in the Tailings, battling ghosts up on the Highfells, learning some manners to them Veruna sellswords, and a duel ’gainst Anfel Urdinger yesterday eve. The taphouse was full o’ the talk. Is it true?”

  “Some of it, at least. I don’t recall fighting any ghosts, but I’ve crossed blades with a few of the Veruna men in the last tenday-including Urdinger.”

  “I heard you killed him.”

  Geran nodded. “I did.”

  The brewmaster grinned fiercely. “Good! Never did like that red-haired bastard anyway. Wish I could’ve seen it myself.” He set down his keg and brushed his big hands against his apron. “You said you wanted me for something. What can I do for you, m’lord?”

  “I’ve seen how House Veruna’s men intimidate Hulburg’s merchants. Are they troubling you too?”

  The brewmaster frowned. “It ain’t just the Verunas. All o’ the big foreign merchants collect so-called dues for the gods-be-cursed council: the Verunas, the Sokols, the Double Moon men, the Jannarsks of Phlan-they’ve got the Crimson Chains on their payroll, believe it or not-and even the Marstels, who’re supposed to be Hulburgans. They’re leaning on me and me boys too. I ain’t knuckled under yet, but now they’re threatening folks who do business with me. If the provisioners and smaller alehouses ain’t buying me brew, well, things’ll have to change for the Troll and Tankard.” Durnan looked at the kegs stacked up against the wall and scowled. “It wasn’t so bad last year or the year before, but nowadays… They’re ruining everyone, Lord Geran. The harmach needs to do something about it. Is that why you’re here?”

  “Not exactly,” Geran admitted. “My uncle’s got to be careful to respect the concessions, Durnan. He’s convinced that they’re a necessary evil, and I suppose I see that Hulburg can’t get along without them. But I think there’s a lot that can be done that won’t set the harmach directly against the Merchant Council. It just needs to be a little… informal.”

  The brewmaster raised an eyebrow. “Go on,” he said.

  “The problem with the Merchant Council is that it doesn’t respect the interests of Hulburgans. It exists to protect and enrich foreigners. What we need is a different sort of Merchant Council… an alliance between the small merchants and craftsmen who are under coercion from the foreign Houses. If there were a hundred armed Hulburgans on the street corners, watching to make sure that council thugs couldn’t rough up people or wreck their stores to intimidate them, I think things might be different in town.” Geran leaned against the bar and tapped his hand to the hilt of his sword. “I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Mirya Erstenwold’s shop, but there’s only one of me-”

  “Two,” Hamil interjected. “I’m not about to let you fight this out alone, Geran.”

  “Two, then, but I need more help,” Geran continued. “I can’t be everywhere at once. We need more blades on our side.”

  Durnan scratched at his beard and squinted, thinking it over. Geran remembered that the burly brewmaster was more deliberate than he usually let on with his boisterous manner and loud voice. “It’d take more’n a hundred men,” he finally said. “You’d need more like three or four hundred, since we all got to be able to keep at our trades and p
rovide for our families. I could stand a watch one day in four, and me boys too, and some o’ the stouter fellows who work for us. But we couldn’t all be off on guard every day.”

  “I agree. That’s why I was thinking of starting with the Spearmeet.”

  Durnan stared at Geran and then let out a sharp bark of laughter. “By Tempus, you don’t do things by half measures, m’lord!”

  “How many men are in your muster, Durnan? You’re still a captain of the Spearmeet, aren’t you?”

  “Aye, I am. I’ve got two hundred in name, maybe sevenscore in fact. Of those, about a hundred would be worth anything in a fight.”

  “What of the other captains? How are their musters?” The Spearmeet was made up of six mustering companies, each about two hundred strong-or at least it had been when Geran was a lad. He didn’t know if that was still true.

  “Tresterfin’s boys are pretty good, but the others don’t really measure up to mine or his,” the brewmaster said proudly. “We drill every couple o’ months. Some o’ the other musters ain’t tried that in years. But you could find a couple of dozen good men in each, I’d wager.”

  Hamil cleared his throat. “Geran, a hundred men on the street might not be enough. Veruna alone has at least that many, and they’re trained mercenaries.”

  “We don’t need to be able to beat them, Hamil,” Geran answered. “We just need to raise the cost of intimidating Hulburg. The harmach’s willing to tolerate the foreign costers, but he certainly won’t tolerate Hulburgans cut down in the streets simply for standing up for themselves. Sergen and his foreign friends know that.”

  “It’ll come to a fight before it’s done,” the halfling said. “Mark my words. The council Houses will try to punish men who are standing those watches-burning a few houses or businesses while the men are away protecting their neighbors, or perhaps baiting one of your patrols into an open fight.”