“I suppose I’ve seen worse,” he muttered. Once, early in his travels with the Company of the Dragon Shield, Geran had been imprisoned in the dungeons of the lord of Impiltur for a few days. That experience was one he didn’t like to recall. This cell was hardly comfortable, but at least it was clean, and the food they’d set out for him was not crawling with vermin.
He spent some time examining the possibilities for escape. If he could somehow get free of the mage shackles, his magic would be extremely useful in that regard. He still had the word of minor teleportation fixed in his mind, so it would be simple enough to exit the cell. However, he had to be able to see the place he attempted to reach with the spell. All he could see from inside his cell was the corridor immediately beyond the bars, and he was certain he could hear at least one or two more heavy doors between him and freedom. Of course, there was the problem of the guards too. They were armed, and he wasn’t. He might be able to surprise one and get his sword away from him, especially if they didn’t realize that he was out of his cell….
Or perhaps that was exactly what Sergen was hoping he would try, so that he could be conveniently killed while trying to escape.
“Damnation,” Geran growled to himself. He sat down in the middle of his chains. That was just the sort of suspicious notion that would have crossed Hamil’s mind in this situation. Of course, the halfling could have gotten out of the manacles any time he liked, squeezed through the cell bars, and likely walked out right under the guards’ noses without them ever realizing he’d gone. Be patient, the swordmage told himself. Harmach Grigor must be trying to secure my release. Attempting to escape might make that more difficult for the harmach.
Geran used the water in his jug to wash the dried and crusted blood from his wounded forehead, wincing as he did so. There was a knot that felt like a goose’s egg about three inches above his right eye, and it did not feel much better when he finished. Eventually he grew tired again and fell asleep.
When he woke again, more black bread and porridge had been set out for him, along with a fresh jug of water. He ate and drank again, and decided to see what it would take to get out of the mage shackles. The easiest approach would have been to try to abrade or snap the chain securing the rune-carved bands to the ring in the cell floor, but that would still leave the shackles around his wrists and stop him from using his magic. No, he would have to get his hands out of the manacles. Geran didn’t see how he could do that without breaking every bone in his hand first, and even then he might not be able to do it. That left cutting through the bands or pulling the rivets apart. Mostly to occupy himself he spent several hours trying to pry open the manacles, to little effect other than making his fingers sore with the effort.
He slept and ate again and resolved to try to abrade one of the chain links by the floor ring into a tool he could use to work on the mage shackles. But before he got very far, he heard the outer door creak open and the sounds of approaching footsteps. Brighter lanternlight flickered in the corridor. Awkwardly he climbed to his feet. Whatever was coming, he’d meet it standing and face forward.
“All right, here he is.” One of the Council Watch soldiers came into view, holding a lantern. To Geran’s surprise, Kara and Mirya followed, with several more Watch soldiers behind them. “Don’t pass anything to the prisoner, or we’ll have to search both o’ you.”
Kara frowned in annoyance but let the warning pass without protest. “Hello, Geran,” she said. “Are you well? How are they treating you?”
“Well enough,” Geran answered. “The fellows who captured me were none too gentle, but the council men have left me alone. They’re feeding me a couple of times a day. I’ve had worse. Is Hamil all right?”
“Yes, he’s waiting outside.” Kara kept her voice neutral, but her brilliant eyes blazed with anger. “He wasn’t allowed in here, since the Council Watch fears that he would try to break you out.”
“I’m surprised they allowed you to visit me.”
“They’d no liking for the notion,” Mirya said. She wore a plain blue dress with a white shawl and had her hair gathered in a single long braid down her back. Geran noticed that the bruise on her face had almost completely faded. “Two days now I’ve been trying to get in to see you.”
“That might not have been very wise, Mirya,” Geran said quietly.
Mirya crossed her arms in front of her body like a battlement, her face set in a stern scowl. “Oh, I’m not in any danger right now, Geran Hulmaster. Half of Hulburg’s taken up for me, thanks to your way of teaching foreign brigands to think better of wrecking Erstenwold’s. It seems the Verunas have no wish to stir up more trouble on my account—at least for now.” She looked over at the nearest Watch soldier and angrily asked, “Why is he chained up? There’s no call for treating him like that!”
“Lord Sergen’s orders, mistress,” the Watch guard said. “He’s known to study elf magic, so the Keeper of Duties instructed us to keep him in mage shackles. We can’t risk him using magic to escape.”
“Lord Sergen’s got a generous definition of his own authority,” Kara muttered. She fixed her bright gaze on the guards. “Give us some privacy. On my honor as a Hulmaster, we’ll do nothing but speak with him.”
The Council Watch soldiers shifted uncomfortably and looked at each other. “We’ll allow you some leeway, Lady Kara,” the first one said. “But keep away from the bars, or you’ll have to leave.” The guards moved out of Geran’s sight down the hallway, but he could tell from Mirya’s glance that they were not very far off.
“This may sound awful, but—what day is it?” Geran asked.
“It’s the fourth of Tarsakh,” Mirya answered. “Early in the morning, in case you couldn’t tell.”
Geran glanced down the hallway and couldn’t see the guards. He lowered his voice a little. “Did Durnan Osting get the Spearmeet companies to take to the streets?”
“No, but apparently Hamil did. He went down to the Troll and Tankard and spoke on your behalf.” Kara put on a studied frown of disapproval. “Now I’ve got six or seven vigilante bands roaming all over town, shadowing every foreign armsman they see and picking fights. There was an ugly brawl late last night in the Tailings—twoscore Spearmeet under one of Osting’s sons rousted out a gang of Crimson Chains and beat them senseless. Several people were badly hurt. It’s only a matter of time before this turns to killing, Geran. You’ve got no idea what you’ve started.”
“Perhaps,” Geran admitted. “But I certainly won’t shed a tear if the Chainsmen discover that Hulburg isn’t to their liking anymore. Are the Spearmeet really doing that much more than you would if you had a couple of hundred more Shieldsworn?”
Kara grimaced. “Well, if I had that many Shieldsworn, of course I’d be able to keep the harmach’s laws in the city without any call for the Council Watch. But the Spearmeet musters aren’t Shieldsworn.”
“They’re not the Spearmeet, Kara,” Mirya said. “Only the harmach himself can call out the Spearmeet, you know. It’s the Moonshields you’re speaking of, and they’re just Hulburgans who choose to associate with other like-minded folk and make sure to step in if they see someone in need.” She allowed herself a sly smile. “If most Moonshields happen to be Hulburgans who also belong to the Spearmeet, well, that’s just a coincidence.”
“Moonshields?” Geran asked.
“Well, I think the official name is something like the League of Good and Loyal Defenders of Hulburg and Protectors of the Moonsea Coast, but Hamil suggested that we ought to find something to serve as a nickname.” Mirya reached into a pocket hidden in her skirt and drew out a small emblem—a plain silver shield-shape with a blue crescent moon painted on it. “Some of the storekeepers are painting this device on their doors and signboards to let everyone know where their loyalties lie.”
“You too, Mirya?” said Kara.
“After word of Geran’s arrest got around town, Durnan Osting begged me to come to the Troll and Tankard and speak,” Mirya answered
. “These are my friends, my kin, and my neighbors, Kara. What else can we do? The Council Watch works for the foreigners. Who’s to keep the law in Hulburg if we don’t stand up now?”
“Speaking of my arrest, Kara,” said Geran, “Sergen claims that he’ll arrange a special council session to try me for murder under Mulmaster’s laws. I never studied much of the harmach’s laws, but I seem to remember that the harmach himself has to hear high crimes like murder. How is it that the Merchant Council can hold me?”
Kara fell silent for a long moment, and her mouth tightened. “That’s currently under dispute,” she said.
“Under dispute? What’s there to dispute? If I’m accused of murder—and I shouldn’t be, since Urdinger struck at me first and it was a fair fight after that—then it’s a matter for the harmach. I’m not so arrogant as to think that Hulmasters are above the law, but I don’t understand why the harmach’s allowing the Merchant Council to usurp his authority.”
“The Verunas have found several so-called witnesses who say you rendered Urdinger helpless with an evil charm, then cut his throat,” Mirya said. “I’m sorry to say it, Geran, but there’s more than a few folk—most of whom ought to know better—who find themselves wondering whether you killed Urdinger in self-defense or murdered him.”
“That’s a damned lie,” Geran growled. “Does anyone believe them?”
Kara lowered her voice again. “I doubt it, Geran, but the Merchant Council refuses to surrender you. They claim it’s a charge of murder and that they’re entitled to try you under Mulmaster’s laws.”
Geran was speechless for a moment. “You mean to say that the council has decided to set aside the harmach’s law and use their own instead?”
His cousin simply met his eyes. “As I said, we dispute that.”
“Who rules in Hulburg, Kara? The harmach or the Merchant Council? It can’t be both.”
“I know it, Geran. For what it’s worth, the council doesn’t seem ready to proceed with their trial yet. Perhaps Sergen realizes that he’d give the harmach no choice if he keeps on his course. We’re doing what we can.” Kara sighed. “I’m afraid I must go. I haven’t heard from several of my scouts in Thar yet, and I fear that the Bloody Skulls have something to do with it.”
Geran took a deep breath and shifted in his chains. The idea of arranging his own freedom was growing in its appeal; he didn’t know much about Mulmaster’s laws, but he doubted they would favor his account of events. “I’m sorry, Kara. I shouldn’t have spoken in anger.”
Kara gave him a small smile. “I understand, Geran.” Then she left, her mail coat jingling with her steps.
Mirya lingered a moment longer.
“It’s on my account that you’re in that cage, Geran, and that’s wrong,” she said. “If I’d found some other way to deal with the Verunas—”
“It might not have mattered, Mirya, because I likely would’ve killed Urdinger on Jarad’s account instead.” He looked down at his chains and bared his teeth in a grim smile. “I know it won’t bring back your brother, but I can’t say that I’m sorry that Anfel Urdinger’s dead.”
She looked away from him, and her shoulders fell a little. “Justice for Jarad wouldn’t be worth your life. If it turns out that you’ve come back to Hulburg after all these years only to—well, I couldn’t live with myself. Not after what I did to you.” Her face softened for a moment, and Geran glimpsed the girl he’d known more than ten years ago—shy, tender, and kind, haunted by a strange and distant sadness he’d never quite understood.
“Mirya, I don’t know what you think you did to me,” he finally said. He never would have guessed that she’d have the strength to keep Erstenwold’s in business, to hold her own against competitors like House Veruna, and to raise her daughter at the same time. Her life hadn’t been easy in the years that he’d been away, and she’d found true iron in herself to meet its challenges. “I’m the one who left. It was my decision. I never meant to hurt you.”
“It’s not what you think,” she said. She stepped closer and set her hand on the bars of the cell. “I—”
“Mistress Erstenwold, step away from the cell,” the council armsman said sharply. The man hurried forward with a frown. “And you need to be leaving, anyway. I’ve given you a good long time to talk, and the last thing I need’s trouble for it.”
Geran looked through the bars at Mirya. “Don’t worry about me,” he told her. “Watch out for yourself, Mirya. Keep Selsha safe, and stay close to home. I’ve got a feeling that Kara might be right about the troubles heading our way.”
She held up her hand in parting and hurried away. The Watch guards saw her out, and the heavy iron door leading to the dungeon clanged shut behind them. Geran let out a deep breath and sank to the floor amid his chains.
TWENTY-ONE
7 Tarsakh, the Year of the Ageless One
The mood of Hulburg was growing ugly, Sergen decided. As his coach rolled and bounced through the streets, he passed by corners and through squares where small knots of disheveled peasants and laborers stood around in their blue hoods, shivering in the cold early-spring mists and rains that had settled over the town. Angry glares followed his coach, and sometimes a fist was shaken in his direction. Of course most of the rabble had no idea who was in the fine carriage, since his driver and footmen wore no House colors other than that of the Council Watch, and he kept his curtain drawn. But the mere fact that he was riding in a fine coach marked him as a man of wealth and power, and in Hulburg that signaled an affiliation with foreign merchants. That was sufficient to draw the ire and resentment of Hulburg’s commoners these days.
His driver flicked the reins, and the coach jerked ahead as the team picked up its pace to climb the causeway leading up to Griffonwatch. Several other coaches and carriages crowded the lower courtyard of the castle; the harmach still had power enough to command immediate attendance when he called his council to attend him. Sergen scowled in annoyance. This summons had come only an hour after sunrise, such as it was on this gloomy day, and he had still been in his bed. “A few more days, and I’ll see to all such annoyances,” he told himself. The carriage came to a stop, and he rose and let himself out even before his footman could open the door for him. An appearance of haste and concern would be seemly this morning.
“Good morning, Lord Sergen.” One of the castle valets hurried down the steps to take Sergen’s fine fur cape and matching cap. “The Harmach’s Council is assembling now. They are waiting for you.”
“Very well,” Sergen answered.
He swept through the doors of the great hall, ignoring the Shieldsworn there while his own armsmen hurried to catch up with him. The dusty old barn of a banquet hall was about as full as the last time he’d been summoned to a council by his uncle—perhaps thirty or so guards, attendants, and advisors hovered around the eight members of the harmach’s circle. Sergen noted that his stepuncle was already seated on his high seat. He quickened his step to reinforce the impression of haste, and set his face in a tight frown of determination and concern. “Forgive my tardiness,” he said as he took his seat. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for long.”
“Not at all, Sergen,” the harmach said. “You arrived on the heels of Lord Marstel and Master Goldhead. But now that we’re all here, we should begin immediately. Kara, the floor is yours.”
Kara stood up from her seat at the foot of the table and moved around to stand in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped space. She was fully armored, wearing her long mail coat with greaves and vambraces that were adorned with golden griffons. Her spellscar was hidden under all that metal, of course, but the eerie azure of her eyes gave away her deformity. A shame, Sergen mused … she was otherwise a very handsome woman with a fine figure, and as she was not related to him by blood, she might have made an advantageous match for him to secure his claim. On the other hand, Kara fancied herself a warrior and a captain, and it might have been difficult or impossible to break her to his will. Of course, he wouldn
’t have needed to remain married to her for long to establish the façade of legitimacy, and that was all that was required.
“My friends,” Kara said gravely, “war is upon us. My scouts have discovered the Bloody Skull horde. They’re marching southward even as we speak. As of last night they were less than twenty miles from the northernmost of our watchtowers, which places them about thirty miles from Griffonwatch. The Bloody Skulls will reach our outposts tomorrow evening, descend into the northern end of Winterspear Vale, and arrive here near sunrise of the day following. We may see bands of marauders and pillagers in the Winterspear as early as tonight.
“We’re not certain of the Bloody Skulls’ numbers, but we’ve seen at least two more tribes marching with them—the Red Claw goblins and the Skullsmasher ogres. There may be more we haven’t encountered yet. My scouts believe the horde numbers at least two thousand warriors, and it may be twice that.”
“How could so many orcs approach so closely without being seen?” Master Assayer Goldhead demanded.
“The weather’s favored the Bloody Skulls for several days, Master Goldhead. The rain has hidden them well. And I fear that several Shieldsworn scouts likely found the Bloody Skulls but were caught before they could return and report. At least four are missing.”
“Can you stop them, Lady Kara?” the wizard Ebain Ravenscar asked.
“No, my lord,” Kara said. “Not without help. The Shieldsworn number two hundred. We can harry their advance with cavalry, but if we try to hold in the face of that horde, we’ll be swept away.” She looked at Sergen and then around the other faces at the table. “However, the mercantile concessions hold hundreds more trained and well-armed mercenaries. With their aid I think I might be able to prevent the Bloody Skulls from entering the Winterspear Vale.”
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