They marched beneath the castle gate, and Edelmark took them directly to the great hall. The Harmach’s Council was gathered to await him, but as Geran approached, he realized that this was not the council he knew. In the places formerly reserved for Grigor Hulmaster’s advisors and the officers of the realm, the heads of the large merchant companies sat-the masters of the Double Moon Coster, the Iron Ring Coster, House Jannarsk, and of course Nimessa Sokol, whose face was set in an unhappy frown. Marstel’s former seat was vacant; instead the old lord now slumped in Harmach Grigor’s great wooden seat. Wulreth Keltor still held his seat as Keeper of Keys, but no other councilor who’d served under Grigor was at the table. How many of the others had been forced to flee? Geran wondered. How many were dead? The murmur of voices in the hall fell still as he drew near, and the men and women gathered in Griffonwatch’s hall silently watched him.
Captain Edelmark stepped forward and addressed Marstel. “Lord Harmach, I have brought Geran Hulmaster,” he said.
Marstel stirred himself and peered at Geran. “So you have,” he said. “Very good. We have some important matters to discuss, I believe. What of Seadrake?”
“She is moored to the old Veruna wharf. I left a company to guard the ship.” Edelmark frowned tightly. “There is a detachment of almost fifty Shieldsworn aboard, my lord. They should be disarmed immediately, and the ship placed under guard.”
“I would advise against it,” Geran said. “Unless I order them to stand down, Seadrake’s company will resist any such attempt.”
“They’re outnumbered five to one,” the captain said. “You’ll have them stand down, or you’ll be responsible for their deaths.”
Geran turned his head slightly and spared Edelmark a single glance. “I do not answer to you,” he said firmly. Then he looked back to Marstel. His surprise at the situation was rapidly giving way to a mounting anger. Marstel was seated in his uncle’s throne, calling himself the harmach, and he was acting as if he’d always been there! He took two steps forward. “Lord Marstel, what is going on here?” he demanded. “Why are you in my uncle’s seat? Where is Harmach Grigor?”
“The Hulmasters no longer rule in Hulburg,” Marstel said. He sat up straight, and a spark came into his eye. “No longer! Your uncle’s misrule nearly destroyed this realm. The Merchant Council intervened-we had no choice in the matter. Our armsmen moved to restore order, and Grigor Hulmaster opposed our actions. He has been removed from power. As the ranking peer remaining in Hulburg, I have duly assumed the title of harmach.”
“Duly assumed?” Geran repeated. His anger was a hot, white blaze that threatened to sweep him away, and he clenched his fists as he spoke, but he held his temper for the moment. “By what authority do you claim power, Marstel? There is no peerage in Hulburg, no established precedence! You have no right to name yourself harmach. As far as I can tell you are a usurper, plain and simple. Now tell me: what have you done with my family?”
Easy, Geran! Hamil warned. Keep your temper in check. There will be a time for anger and action later. Don’t convince Marstel that he can’t allow you to live.
Marstel’s face darkened, and he half rose from his seat. “I will not be spoken to in such a tone!” he roared.
“He deserves an answer!” Nimessa Sokol said loudly. Ignoring Marstel’s apoplectic fit, she stood and met Geran’s eyes. “Your family is alive, Geran. They’ve taken refuge in Thentia-or so we’ve heard.”
Geran took a deep breath. Nimessa’s loyalties lay with House Sokol, of course, but he couldn’t imagine that she would have had any willing part in unseating his uncle, Grigor. In any other circumstances he would have greatly enjoyed the opportunity to tell her about the destruction of Kraken Queen and the small amount of justice he’d been able to extract against the Black Moon Brotherhood on behalf of her friends and servants killed aboard Whitewing, but that would have to wait. “Tell me, Nimessa. What happened?”
“As Lord Marstel said, the Merchant Council moved to restore order by disarming all militias,” she said. “I argued against it, but the council was resolved; House Sokol had no choice. Harmach Grigor resisted, so the council resolved to recognize Lord Marstel as harmach. The council’s armsmen and the council-sanctioned militias defeated the Shieldsworn and drove them back to Griffonwatch. It seems that Lady Kara found a way to spirit your uncle and the rest of your family out of the keep and get them away from Hulburg.”
“A desperate act on the part of a weak man clinging to power, heedless of the welfare of his realm,” Marstel rumbled. “Had he truly been concerned for Hulburg, Grigor would have abdicated honorably. I intended to see to it that he was comfortably established in any neighboring land. But, since he has not yet done the honorable thing by renouncing his claim, the Hulmasters are banned from all lands and possessions under the harmach’s rule.”
“Banned?” asked Geran. “Hulburg is named after the family Hulmaster, in case you’ve forgotten. Do you mean to tell me that my whole family has been exiled from the realm Hulmasters have ruled for two hundred years?”
Marstel sat back in his stolen throne and smiled to himself. “My edict stands. No Hulmaster is to set foot in Hulburg, on pain of death. Of course, you could not have known this while voyaging abroad, so-despite your rudeness and your hostile manner-I suspend my own edict until you are escorted to the border of the realm. I am not unreasonable, after all.”
The warning of Aesperus becomes clear, Hamil observed. You carried on with your intended course, and Hulburg fell into the hands of the harmach’s enemies. But who is the forgotten foe?
“My lord errs on the side of compassion,” Captain Edelmark said. “Geran Hulmaster is well known as a scofflaw, rabble-rouser, murderer, and worse. Better to deal with him here and now than to let him go free.”
Geran ignored the captain and looked at the other House leaders, their advisors and captains, and saw nothing but guarded expressions and stern frowns. Nimessa Sokol looked down at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. Then his eye fell on a figure he’d overlooked before, a slender man in a long, hooded cassock of dark gray who sat in the place that had once belonged to the Master Mage of the realm. The hood shadowed the man’s face, but a dark suspicion fell over Geran’s heart. He knew everyone else sitting at the council table, even if he did not know them well. But the hooded man he did not know, even though he felt that he should.
As if he sensed the weight of Geran’s gaze, the hooded man reached up with his hands-one made from rune-carved silver instead of living flesh-and drew back his cowl. Geran stepped back with a gasp, sick astonishment momentarily overwhelming him. “Rhovann!” he breathed. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? I am Master Mage of Hulburg, as it so happens,” the moon elf replied. He smiled coldly. “Lastannor the Turmishan decided his services were no longer needed. I have been retained in his place.”
“Indeed.” Sarth studied the sneering wizard, a stern frown on his ruddy face. “Who is this, Geran?”
“Oh, has he not told you of me?” The mage affected mild surprise. “Geran and I have been acquainted for years. We knew each other well in Myth Drannor. I am Rhovann Disarnnyl, of House Disarnnyl.” The false humor in his eyes died, and he held up his silver hand. “Two years ago, your friend Geran gave me this to remember him by. I have given much thought to a suitable gift for him, let me assure you.”
Geran stared at his old rival, barely able to form a thought in his head. Rhovann was here, in the house he’d grown up in, and in payment for the maiming he’d suffered under Geran’s blade and his own exile from Myth Drannor he’d come to Hulburg to visit ruin in return. Rhovann simply smiled and contemptuously turned his back on Geran to address Marstel. “Lord Harmach, please forgive the interruption. As you see, Geran Hulmaster and I are acquainted with each other. You were about to banish him, I believe?”
“Yes, of course,” Marstel rumbled. He rose to his feet and pointed to the door. “Geran Hulmaster, you are hereby banished from the realm of
Hulburg. Do not return on pain of death! Captain Edelmark, you will take a detachment of guards and escort this man from the town immediately.”
Edelmark set his hand on his sword hilt and bowed. “At once.” He beckoned to the armsmen in the hall, summoning a dozen soldiers for the task.
Geran stood unmoving for a moment. For an instant he considered drawing his sword and rushing Rhovann, in the hope that by striking down the embittered mage he might put an end to the madness that had taken over Griffonwatch. But even if he succeeded, he’d have all of Marstel’s guards to deal with, plus the mages and captains of the various merchant Houses. He’d die with his blade in hand, and most likely Hamil and Sarth would follow him to the grave. That was the thought that stayed his hand; destroying himself to throw down Hulburg’s enemies was one thing, but his action would doom his friends as well. Rhovann evidently meant to savor the irony of arranging for Geran’s banishment from his homeland, just as Geran had brought about Rhovann’s banishment from Myth Drannor two years past. It was a sore blow indeed. But to rail against his fate, to fight off Edelmark or launch himself blindly against his foes-all he would do is give Rhovann the pleasure of seeing how badly he’d been hurt. Geran took a deep breath and resolved to deny his old enemy the satisfaction.
“I expect the crew and armsmen of Seadrake to be treated well,” he told Marstel. “They have fought bravely for Hulburg. You need not worry about the Black Moon pirates again. I will order my crew to disperse peacefully and acknowledge Lord Marstel’s authority, if you swear before Amaunator that they will be free to come or go as they like.”
Marstel frowned, but nodded. “Agreed,” the old lord said.
Geran looked over to Sarth and Hamil. “Watch over Mirya and Selsha for me,” he said in a low voice. Then he squared his shoulders, turned his back on Marstel, Rhovann, and all the rest of the usurper’s court, and strode off to meet his exile.
EPILOGUE
29 Marpenoth, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Snow dusted the Galenas’ foothills, a dozen miles northeast of Hulburg. In the lowlands sodden stands of alder and maple still wore their fall coats of yellow and orange, but the forest-covered hills and steep-sided vales were a couple of thousand feet higher than the Winterspear valley, and their rocky crowns had been streaked with white for tendays now. Kardhel Terov, Warlock Knight of Vaasa, stood by one of the windows of his iron tower and studied the snows of the slopes above him with a dour frown. He was a stern man of fifty years, with close-cropped hair of iron gray and a strong, clean-shaven jaw. His eyes were a startling crimson hue, the mark of a pact for power he’d made long ago. Here, in the sanctuary of his iron tower, he did not bother with his great armor of black plate; it rested on a stand against the opposite wall. Instead he wore long robes of scarlet and black, embroidered with draconic designs.
He glanced up at the leaden sky, and his frown deepened. He needed no magic to see that more snow was coming soon. There were no true passes between Vaasa on the east side of the Galena Mountains and Thar and the inhabited lands of the Moonsea North on the west side. The lowest saddles between the Galenas’ mighty peaks remained choked with ice and snow year-round. But travelers of unusual determination could manage the journey in the summer and the early months of fall. Unfortunately, the weather seemed to suggest that unless Terov returned to Vaasa soon, he would be forced to go home by another path-either the long and tedious voyage down to the Sea of Fallen Stars and back again through the realm of Impiltur, or the dark and dangerous route under the mountains, through the mines of forgotten dwarven strongholds and the warrens of fierce orc tribes. Not even a Warlock Knight and his entourage were guaranteed a safe passage by that road. No, it would be much more convenient to conclude his business in these lands and depart soon.
A soft knock at his chamber door interrupted his brooding. Terov turned his head. “Enter,” he said.
Behind him, a pale, red-haired woman in a plain gray cassock and mantle of darker gray let herself into the room. She wore a thin black veil across her eyes. “Lord Terov, the priest from Hulburg has arrived.”
“About time,” the Vaasan lord muttered. “Very well. Show him to the great room. I will be down directly.”
The veiled woman nodded and withdrew. Terov allowed himself one more look from the window-the snow on the mountains was strikingly pretty, even if it portended no small amount of inconvenience for him-waited a short time to show his guest that he was not in fact waiting on his arrival, and then left his chamber. A single, curving stairway of riveted iron led down to the tower’s lower floors. The tower itself seemed not much larger than a farmer’s grain silo from the outside, but its interior was much more spacious, and Terov kept it well appointed with comfortable furnishings and a small staff of guards and servants. It was his most prized possession, a small magical fortress that he could summon into existence wherever he traveled. The iron tower could easily accommodate half a dozen guests in great comfort, as well as twenty or more guards and servants in plainer lodgings, and it was virtually impervious to attack.
A large fireplace and a row of narrow, arched windows guarded by iron shutters dominated the tower’s great room. It served as Terov’s sitting room and dining room, and from time to time as his audience hall. Inside, the Warlock Knight found his guest waiting for him. “Welcome, Valdarsel,” he said. “I trust your journey was not difficult?”
The priest of Cyric shook his head. “No, my lord. Not at all. The ride was only three hours or so.”
“Good. I know I summoned you here on short notice, but I felt that it would be useful to speak face to face.” For months now, Terov had relied on the occasional sending spell or carefully guarded letter to keep in touch with his servant in Hulburg. He trusted Valdarsel’s ambition and competence, and he was so far highly pleased with the results of the Cyricist’s assignment to organize a faction in Hulburg that could unwittingly serve Vaasa’s purposes. Still, it was useful from time to time to make sure that Valdarsel remembered whom he worked for-hence Terov’s visit to the borders of the harmach’s domain. “So tell me, Valdarsel: how do matters go in Hulburg?”
“Well enough, my lord. As you instructed, I have secured a seat on the Harmach’s Council. The gangs I control are restive, but so far I have held them in check with promises of property taken from native Hulburgans. Harmach Marstel cannot so much as scratch his nose unless the wizard Rhovann remembers to instruct him to do so. There may be some trouble on that front soon enough; despite his patents of nobility and Rhovann’s guidance, Maroth Marstel is not much of a harmach, and I imagine that it will be hard to keep that fact hidden for much longer.”
Terov shook his head. “The only opinions that matter are those of the merchant costers, and if Marstel continues to restore the leases and royalties they formerly enjoyed under Sergen Hulmaster, they won’t trouble themselves with what sort of ruler he is. Continue.”
“The Hulmasters have taken refuge in a modest estate-an old family holding from the time of Grigor’s grandfather, it seems-in Thentia’s lands. A small number of guards and servants accompanied them into exile. They aren’t penniless, my lord, but I doubt that they’ll have the means to mount a challenge to Marstel’s rule any time soon.”
Terov looked sharply at Valdarsel. “I fail to see why they are permitted to live at all.”
“I am puzzled too. Certainly it would be wiser to eliminate any possibility that a deposed dynasty might someday reassert its claim. But the mage Rhovann has taken no steps to tidy up that little detail, at least no step that I’ve seen.” Valdarsel shrugged. “In all honesty, my lord, I believe that Rhovann prefers the Hulmasters to live with their defeat, and does not especially care whether Marstel’s rule is secure or not. He hates Geran Hulmaster far more than he enjoys wielding power through that hapless old oaf Maroth Marstel.”
“Hmmm.” The Vaasan lord considered the priest’s words for a long moment. “If Rhovann is not inclined to act, then you must, Valdarsel. I requ
ire the Hulmasters to be eliminated-all of them. And if you can arrange to implicate Maroth Marstel, so much for the better.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult, my lord.” Valdarsel smiled coldly. “If anything unfortunate befalls the harmach in exile, suspicion will naturally fall on the man who seized his throne. But I will ensure that strong evidence of his involvement surfaces to confirm what everyone will suspect anyway.”
“Good. With a little work, I imagine we might bring down Marstel and his Merchant Council as well-which will of course leave Hulburg with a crisis of leadership, to say the least. You should be well placed to exploit that. I mean for Hulburg to be under Vaasa’s control by spring.” Terov gave his guest a predatory smile. “You will be richly rewarded on that day, Valdarsel. I promise you that on my ring of iron.”
The Cyricist inclined his head. “My lord honors me with his confidence.”
“You have done well so far. Finish the Hulmasters, and the rest should fall into place.” Terov reached out to set a hand on Valdarsel’s shoulder. “Now, I am afraid I must turn you out into the weather again. I start back for Vaasa today, and I cannot delay any longer or leave the tower here.”
Valdarsel bowed again. “Occasional discomfort is good for the character, my lord. Besides, you have the more difficult journey. May the Black Sun guard your steps as you make your way home.”
“And you, my friend,” Terov answered. He walked Valdarsel from the great room down to the foyer by the tower’s door and waited as a servant gave Valdarsel a dry cloak to replace the sodden one he’d worn on his ride from Hulburg. Another servant waited in the drizzle outside, holding the reins of the priest’s horse. Valdarsel mounted, touched his brow and bowed to Terov, and then rode off down the lonely trail leading back toward Hulburg.
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