“Dealing with Rhovann and Marstel, once and for all,” he replied. He nodded at Hamil. “You remember my old comrade Hamil?”
“Of course, but I thought he had more sense than to follow you into Hulburg with the Council Guard and merchant costers and Rhovann’s awful constructs all watching for you.”
“My mother warned me to choose my friends wisely,” Hamil answered. He jumped to his feet and took Nimessa’s hand, brushing his lips to her fingers with a sigh. “She was always so disappointed in me.” Nimessa smiled, and inclined her head to Hamil.
“I hope to do something about Rhovann’s constructs soon enough,” Geran told her. “Did the Council Guard march to meet our army? Hamil and I parted ways with Kara yesterday morning, and we haven’t had any word of Marstel’s movements since.”
“Marstel’s soldiers are assembling on the field by Daggergard,” Nimessa said. “He’s also ordered the merchant companies to put their armsmen under his command and send them to the muster. No one knows what he intends to do with them.”
“What of Sokol’s armsmen?” asked Hamil.
Nimessa smiled. “Regretfully, a serious flu has left most of my soldiers too ill to leave their barracks.”
Geran nodded, trying to imagine what he’d do in Rhovann’s place. After a moment, he decided that it didn’t matter; he intended to carry on with his task of dealing with Rhovann’s constructs. “House Sokol’s been a good friend to my family over the last few months,” he told Nimessa. “Tomorrow we find out if that was a wise decision for you or not. Do you think your armsmen might recover any time soon?”
“Yes—when I’m confident that we won’t be caught out all alone by taking your side. We’ve only got a couple of dozen blades to offer.”
“My thanks.” Geran looked over to Hamil. “We’d better be on our way. We have a lot to do this evening.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Hamil lamented. He bowed again to Nimessa, and made his way outside.
Geran followed after him, but Nimessa caught his arm at the door. She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. “For luck,” she murmured. “Keep yourself safe.”
He paused. He didn’t want to say what was on his mind, but it was important to him that Nimessa understood his motives, especially if things did not go well in the next day or so. “Nimessa, the last time I was here, I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you the way I did, and I’m sorry for it. My heart’s given to another. It’s just taken me a long time to see it.”
Nimessa looked down at the floor, and sighed. “You have no cause to apologize to me, Geran. You’re in love with Mirya Erstenwold, even if you forgot it for a time. I know it was selfish of me, but I can’t say I regret what happened.” She gave herself a small shake, and met his eyes again with a small smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve told Mirya how you feel, have you?”
He was silent for a long time before he finally said, “I don’t know how.”
She rolled her eyes. “Say what’s in your heart. The rest is up to her.”
“It seems so easy when you put it like that.” He laughed softly at his own foolishness, and caught her hands in his before turning and heading out the door.
Hamil was waiting for him outside. The halfling glanced at Nimessa, who stood watching from the doorway, and back to Geran. If I were a suspicious fellow, he said silently, I’d wonder what just passed between the two of you.
“It’s a good thing you’re not a suspicious fellow, then,” Geran said to him. “Come on, let’s get to it.”
“Suit yourself,” Hamil replied. They mounted and rode slowly out of the Sokol tradeyard, heading up Bay Street. The street was eerily quiet; every so often they passed groups of merchant companies folk huddled together, trading rumors and speculation about the Hulmasters’ army and whether or not Marstel’s Council Guard would march out to meet it or stand their ground in Hulburg. In one of the wilder rumors Geran came across, Kamoth Kastelmar was due to arrive in a new pirate fleet at any moment to raze the town, even though the harbor ice still hadn’t broken up enough for ships to reach Hulburg’s wharves. He wondered briefly what the bystanders would do if he suddenly revealed himself before deciding that it probably wasn’t a good idea.
They reached the gates of the Double Moon Coster, and paused briefly. Geran looked down at his small friend. “Do you still want to give it a try?” he asked.
Hamil nodded. “The Double Moons might surprise you,” he said. “I’m on good terms with a number of their folk. I think I can convince them to discover a barracks full of sick mercenaries at the very least. Of course, you might have to remember their help when it comes time to negotiate their rents and terms of concession.”
“If I have my way, the Jannarsks and the Iron Ring will be out along with the Verunas when things are settled. The Double Moons are more than welcome to some of those leavings if they help us now.” Geran glanced around, looking for any sign of someone paying too much attention to them, and decided that Rhovann and Marstel were likely occupied with Kara. “I’ll see you at midnight. You know how to find everyone on your list?”
The halfling snorted. “It’s not that big a town. I’m sure I’ll manage.” Between them, Geran and Hamil hoped to visit a dozen or more loyalists, passing word to be ready to strike. Geran would have liked Hamil’s blade at his side if he ran into trouble, but there were far too many people who knew that Hamil was one of his close companions—a human and a halfling together might easily spark a suspicion that wouldn’t rise if they separated while wandering the town.
“Good luck, then,” Geran said. He rode off without a second look, fixing an ill-tempered glare on his face and taking the middle of the street to play the part of a mercenary mage to its hilt. Turning up High Street, he crossed the Winterspear at the Middle Bridge—guarded by more runehelms, although they continued to ignore him—and headed north on the Vale Road, intending to visit Burkel Tresterfin and a few other loyalists whose homes were a little ways out of town. But he was turned back a little past the Troll and Tankard by Council Guards, who were halting all travel up the Winterspear Vale. Giving up on the idea of calling on Tresterfin, he turned back southward and headed for Mirya’s house.
He rode once past the lane leading to Mirya’s house, looking for any sign of Rhovann’s spies or guards while feigning an interest in the nearby shops. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so he followed the road toward the Harmach’s Foot and turned into the woods that surrounded the base of Griffonwatch’s hill when he reached a bend in the lane. Mirya’s house was just on the other side of the woods; after eighty yards or so he emerged from the belt of trees in Mirya’s backyard. Dismounting, he looped his reins over a hitching rail and knocked at the door.
There was a small clatter inside, and the sound of swift footsteps on the floorboards. Then Mirya drew back the bolt and opened the door, a frown creasing her brow. “Yes, what—?” she began, and then recognition widened her eyes. “Geran! You’re here!”
“So much for the disguise,” he observed. Well, that wasn’t the fairest test. Mirya knew his face better than almost anyone, and she’d learned to look twice at strangers on her doorstep. “May I come in?”
“Of course, come in! I don’t think there are any spies about, but I can’t be sure of it.” She opened the door the rest of the way and stood aside as he hurried in.
“Thank you,” he answered. He took a seat on a stool by the fire, warming his hands. It was a raw, cold day even with the spring sunshine, and he’d been outside for most of it. Geran noticed that the doorjamb was splintered, and several pieces of furniture and crockery were missing; apparently the house had been broken into and searched not too long ago, but she’d tidied up since. “It seems you’ve had some more trouble with Marstel’s thugs. Are you all right?”
“Well enough. Selsha’s still at the Tresterfins, but Erstenwold’s is scraping by.” Mirya put a kettle on a hook by the fire, and sat down on the stool opposite his. “We’ve heard
that the Hulmaster army’s on their way. Why aren’t you with your soldiers?”
“I left them in Kara’s hands so that I could slip into Hulburg and see to things here.”
“What in the world is more important than beating Marstel’s army?”
“Defeating Rhovann’s runehelms, and raising the loyalists against Marstel,” Geran answered. “Kara I trust to handle Marstel’s Council Guard without my help, but the runehelms I mean to deal with tonight. Sarth and Hamil are meeting me at the Burned Bridge at midnight to help with that. I was hoping that you could help me with the loyalists.”
“I thought you didn’t want me risking my neck in any such foolishness.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t, but I’ve got a feeling that you’re a little too stubborn to give it up simply because I asked you to.”
She gave him a wry smile. “You know me too well, Geran Hulmaster. As it so happens, I know a few stouthearted folk who might help. But I’ll warn you that many of my friends have had a hard time of it. It’s a wonder I’ve stayed out of Marstel’s prison.”
“I guessed as much.” He leaned forward. “If I do what I mean to tonight, Kara’ll have the Shieldsworn here by noon tomorrow. I want to raise the loyalists and seize all the strongpoints we can while the Council Guard’s busy.”
She frowned deeply, no doubt anticipating the fighting that would cause. “Can you really defeat Rhovann’s gray guardians?” she asked.
“I’ve got good reason to think so. But if I’m wrong, I suppose we’ll call off Kara’s attack and retire toward Thentia.” He paused, imagining what that would mean. “I guess that would be the end of it for our cause. One way or the other, this war will be decided tomorrow.”
“It’ll be hard on those of us who are left if you fail.”
“I know it. In fact … after we arrange things with the loyalists, I want you to go on up to Tresterfin’s tonight, and make ready to flee Hulburg if worse comes to worst. I’d like you and Selsha to stay there until everything’s decided. I think I can see you past the Council Guard roadblock and still meet Sarth and Hamil later on.”
She scowled stubbornly. “Because you don’t want to fret about me?”
“Yes, because I don’t want to fret about you.” Geran looked down at his hands. “It will make things easier for me if I know that you and your daughter are out of harm’s way. Please, stay at Tresterfin’s, and keep out of the fighting tomorrow.”
“Jarad would understand that I’ve just as much at stake in Hulburg as you do. How do you think I would feel, hiding in the countryside and wondering if everything and everyone I care for might not see out the day? How can I stand aside and let others fight my fight?”
“I’m not asking for Jarad. I’m asking for myself.” He reached out to take her hands in his, and looked into her face. For a moment he struggled with his old hesitation, his fear of hurting her again, but this time he did not stop himself from saying what he wanted to. “I love you, Mirya,” he said. “My heart’s full of you, and I don’t ever want to be parted from you again. Please—for me—promise that you’ll keep yourself safe through what’s to come?”
She stared at him, her face stricken. “Geran … don’t do this to me again,” she said weakly. “I can’t bear it. Besides, it’s Nimessa Sokol that you love.”
“No, it’s not, Mirya. It’s you.”
She rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, damp with tears. “You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?”
He winced. I should have known she’d guess at that, he told himself. Mirya was far from stupid, after all. With a sigh, he looked her in the face and said, “Nimessa and I have been together, yes. It was a passion of the moment months ago, and it’s over now. She’s not the one I see when I close my eyes at night, or the one I worry for when I’m away, or the one whose words I want to hear when I’m troubled and alone. You are, Mirya. So please, I beg of you—stay out of Hulburg tomorrow, because my enemies may hurt you or Selsha to strike at me, and that would ruin me.”
“So I’m supposed to wait like a widow for news of whether you lived or died?” she demanded. “Can’t you understand how it tears the heart out of me to wonder where you are and whether you’re safe too? Because I do. Against every ounce of common sense I should have by now, I love you, and I’m a fool for it. Tonight you’re laying your heart at my feet, and I can’t say no to you. But where will you be tomorrow? What will it be that takes you away from me the day after? I’ve no strength to live like that.”
He fell silent for a long time. Somehow he’d never understood until this moment that she could love him, and still be unable to let herself give in to what she felt. Without any idea of what else he could say, he shook his head helplessly. “I’m not the man I once was, Mirya. I can’t love anyone but you. When we’re done with all this, I want to marry you. Will you have me for your husband?”
“Damn you, Geran Hulmaster, why would you say something like that?” Mirya drew a deep breath, and stood up to pace away from him. She said nothing more for a long time, as Geran watched her. Finally she turned back to meet his eyes again. “It’s some apology you owe me—not the least for that little bit about Nimessa Sokol—and I won’t be easy on you, but that’s for the day after tomorrow. This isn’t the time for either of us to be foolish. If we see out the next few days, we’ll talk of this later.”
He stood as well. “Later,” he said softly. She didn’t say no! he told himself. She hadn’t said yes, either, but she didn’t say no. “You’re right, Mirya.”
“Get used to saying that,” she answered. “Now, what must you do tonight?”
“I’d thought I’d call on one or two more loyalists before I meet up with Sarth and Hamil. It’s still a few hours shy of midnight.”
Mirya cocked her head, struck by a sudden thought. She frowned, gazing off into space as she gave it her full attention.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I have a better idea,” she finally answered, still seemingly distracted by her thought. “We’ll go to Erstenwold’s, and I’ll bring whoever you need to see to you. For that matter, I’m in contact with a few loyalists. If I call for them, they’ll carry messages for you. You’ll be able to stay out of sight.”
Geran weighed the idea quickly. Erstenwold’s might be watched, of course, but it was centrally located—and it had access to Hulburg’s buried streets, which might prove very useful. She’s got an instinct for skullduggery, he reminded himself. “Very well,” he replied. “Let me leave my horse in the barn, and we’ll do as you suggest. Time’s growing short.”
TWENTY-ONE
14 Ches, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
Kara Hulmaster sat in her saddle at the edge of the Hulmaster encampment in the Highfells, watching as Maroth Marstel’s army marched to meet her. “Well, then,” she murmured aloud. A blustery wind out of the south held the banners and pennants of her small army aloft, fluttering and snapping in the breeze. The afternoon was waning, and the half-ruined silhouette of Rosestone Abbey was a jagged stump against the southern sky; heavy gray clouds marched in serried ranks to the Moonsea, a few miles away. It would rain soon, a cold hard rain, and she wondered which side the weather favored more.
For the last four days she’d led the Hulmaster army eastward over the Highfells, intending to take up a position within striking distance of Hulburg in accordance with the plan she’d worked out with Geran. But instead of waiting in camp for events to develop, it seemed she had a battle on her hands. Along the line of the old abbey walls her Shieldsworn stood to arms, watching as company after company of the Council Guard and their merchant allies formed up across the moorland a thousand yards distant.
“It seems that Marstel dislikes waiting,” Sarth observed. The tiefling sat awkwardly on his own mount close by Kara, gazing at the ranks of the Council Guard marshaling a half mile away. “You expected him to stand on the defensive in Hulburg, did you not?”
“I did,” Kara answered, frownin
g unhappily. Rosestone Abbey was a little less than ten miles from Hulburg, and its ruined outbuildings offered good defensive ground and shelter against the elements for a camp. If she needed to, she could hold her army in position for a month right where she was; Rosestone was in a good position to cut off Hulburg from the overland trade routes, but not so close that Marstel could attack her without leaving Hulburg uncovered—or so she’d thought. “It seems that Marstel’s captains have a different view of the situation than we do.”
“Marstel’s captains might be worried about loyalists joining your ranks if he allows you to come any closer,” Sarth guessed. “Or it may simply be impatience, or a concern for the perception of weakness. Maroth Marstel’s motives do not necessarily have to make sense to you.”
I hope Geran knows what he’s doing, Kara thought as she studied the enemy ranks. The warriors in Marstel’s Council Guard wore surcoats of red and yellow, but they weren’t the only formation facing her. Behind the ranks of footsoldiers small companies of merchant company armsmen sat on horseback, each in their own colors. There were House Jannarsk riders beneath a banner of dun and red, Iron Ring Coster mercenaries in brown and black, and even a large band of House Veruna armsmen in their coats of green and white. She pursed her lips in anger at that sight; the Verunas had done their best to help her stepbrother Sergen in his bloody-handed coup attempt of a year past, and she’d taken great pleasure in watching them abandon their position in Hulburg when Sergen’s plots came to nothing. But here they were again, restored to at least some of their former holdings by Marstel. We’ll set that right soon enough if things go well, she promised herself. But most worrying of all, she could make out the towering shapes of scores of runehelms in a tight knot around Marstel’s banner.
Kendurkkel Ironthane strolled up to where Kara and Sarth sat their horses, a battle-axe leaning on his shoulder. “They’ve got us in numbers by a wee bit,” the dwarf observed. “Can’t say as I’m happy t’ see those big gray ones over yon. I’d hoped the wizard would keep ’em close t’ home.”
Avenger: Blades of the Moonsea - Book III Page 25