Corsair

Forgotten Realms

Blades of the Moonsea: Corsair

By Richard Baker

15 Ches, The Year of the Mages in Amber (1466DR)

The shrill ring of steel on steel woke Geran Hulmaster in the dark hour before dawn. He rolled up onto one elbow in his bed, listening with his brow creased in the darkness of his room. He could hear cries of alarm spreading through the castle of Griffonwatch, his family’s ancestral home. For a long moment he wondered if he were caught in one of those strange dreams that came with a delusion of wakefulness. Then the shouts and the commotion started again, and Geran came fully awake.

He threw off his covers and jumped out of bed; the flagstones of the floor were cold under his bare feet. Fighting in Griffonwatch? he wondered. He’d lived in the castle of the Hulmasters all his seventeen years, and never had the castle come under any kind of attack. Oh, there were the occasional barracks-room brawls down in the Shieldsworn quarters, but that was down in the castle’s lower bailey, where the soldiers and the servants had their lodgings. And he doubted that the fighting he heard was any kind of drunken brawl. It sounded serious and deadly.

He tucked his nightshirt into the thin breeches he usually wore to sleep and stepped into the boots standing by the foot of the bed. He was a tall, sparely built young man, with arms and legs that seemed a little too long for him and a wild mop of thick black hair that fell across his keen gray eyes. Stamping his feet to the floor to seat his boots, he stumbled over to his sword belt and buckled it around his narrow waist. Geran had been training at arms since his twelfth birthday, and his hands already had the hard-earned calluses of an accomplished swordsman. Whatever commotion was loose in Griffonwatch, it would find him ready for a fight.

Geran gave his boots one more stamp then hurried to his chamber door and threw it open. The hallway outside was empty, but he could hear the sounds of fighting echoing from the lower parts of the castle. “Who attacks us?” he muttered to himself. Ores or goblins from Thar? Brigands from the Highfells? How could they have gotten all the way into the castle? And why would they attack the harmach’s soldiers in their own fortress? He’d never heard of ore raiders or human bandits trying anything like that before.

Since the Hulmaster family quarters seemed quiet for the moment, Geran headed down the stairs leading to the tower’s lower room. There he found his cousin Kara, who stood by the door leading out to the upper court. The door was ajar, and she peered out cautiously with her eerie, spellscarred eyes glowing faintly blue in the dim light, a short sword bared in her hand. She was a year younger than Geran, but she could use her blade almost as well as he could use the the sword at his hip. Like him, she wore her nightclothes, but she’d belted her gown tight around her waist so that it wouldn’t hinder her. She spared him a quick look then returned to watching the courtyard.

“What’s going on?” Geran asked in a low whisper.

“I don’t know, but I heard fighting,” she answered. “What should we do?”

He frowned and peered out into the courtyard as well. A cold, steady rain pelted down in the night, and he shivered in his thin nightshirt. The Shieldsworn guards who normally stood watch by the Hulmaster quarters weren’t at their posts. All of the sudden, he found himself unwilling to answer Kara’s question; his curiosity was rapidly giving way to dread. Something was terribly out of place in the house of the Hulmasters this night. Geran thought he knew what it was to be in a fight. After all, he’d held his own in a skirmish or two up in the Highfells, riding against ores and other such savages alongside the Shieldsworn. But it was a different matter to wake up to a battle in his own home wondering which of the soldiers or servants he knew were already lying dead in the halls.

Several armored figures emerged from the doors leading down from the courtyard to the great hall. Geran tensed, dropping his hand to his sword hilt, but Kara shook her head. She could see as well as a cat in darkness—a gift of her spellscar. “It’s your da,” she said.

Bernov Hulmaster strode across the courtyard with several Shieldsworn at his back. Geran and Kara stepped back from the door as he and his guards entered. Geran’s father was only an inch taller than Geran, but he was a thick-bodied bear of a man with a stout beard of gray-streaked brown; Geran got his black hair and his lean build from his mothers side of the family. Bernov wore his battle armor and a heavy cape against the weather, and he filled the doorway with his broad shoulders and pauldrons. His face was set in a grim scowl.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Bernov said. “Are you two all right?”

“Yes, Da,” Geran answered. “We’re fine. But we heard fighting.”

“I know.” Bernov glanced around the family’s hall, as if he expected enemies to burst out of the shadows at any moment. “I want you and Kara to stay here. Bar the door when I leave, and admit no one to the Hulmaster quarters except the harmach or myself. And no one’s to leave, either. Keep your mother, your aunt, and Sergen here until I tell you it’s safe. Do you understand me?”

Geran did not understand at all, but he managed a weak nod. “What’s happening? Are we under attack?”

Bernov’s scowl deepened again. “It’s your uncle Kamoth. He tried to murder the harmach and seize Griffonwatch. The harmach survived, but the castle is still in doubt. I fear some of the Shieldsworn are his, so you’re not to trust anyone.”

Kamoth tried to kill the harmach? Geran stared at his father. Kamoth Kastelmar was husband to Geran’s aunt, Terena, Bernov’s sister. Their older brother, Grigor, was harmach of Hulburg, lord over the town and the surrounding lands. Geran knew that his father didn’t think much of Kamoth and hadn’t ever really trusted the man, but he couldn’t believe that Kamoth was capable of the sort of treachery that was apparently afoot. He liked Kamoth. The Hillsfarian nobleman had married into the family only two years past, bringing with him his son, Sergen, but even though Geran and Sergen didn’t get along, Kamoth had never had a hard word for Geran. Kamoth had a wicked sense of humor and the charm of a born rogue, but the capacity for treason and murder?

“There must be some mistake,” Geran said.

“There’s no mistake. Kamoth and his men killed the guards by Grigor’s door, but another Shieldsworn happened by and caught them at it. They killed her too, but not before her shouts raised the alarm.” Bernov reached out to set a hand on Geran’s shoulder, and his expression softened. “I know you think highly of Kamoth, Geran. But he’s turned against us, and he means to kill every last Hulmaster and take Hulburg for his own. He’s an enemy now.”

Another sharp exchange of swordplay came from lower in the castle, and Bernov glanced over his shoulder. “I have to go. Stay here, and keep the door barred.”

“Wait! I’ll come with you,” Geran said. “I can help.” He wasn’t a match for his father yet, or Kamoth either, but he could best many of the Shieldsworn in the practice yard.

Bernov smiled and squeezed Geran’s shoulder with rough affection. “I know it, Son. But I’m worried for your mother and the rest of the family, and I’d feel a lot better if I knew that you and Kara were here to keep this door closed and make sure they all stay safe.”

Geran knew his father was simply putting a good face on ordering him to stay out of the fighting, but he acquiesced anyway. “I understand,” he replied. Bernov nodded and strode back out into the rainy courtyard. Kara shot the heavy iron bolt into place.

They waited in silence for a quarter-hour or more, straining their ears for a clue as to what was taking place in the castle outside the Harmach’s Tower. From time to time new shouts echoed through the halls below, punctuated by sharp cries or the clatter of steel against steel. But the sounds of fighting steadily diminished; Geran thought that one side or the other must be getting the upper hand. He wished that he hadn’t agreed to remain in the tower. If he’d gone with his father, he might have been able to tip the scales in some close skirmish. He was old enough and skilled enough to fight for the harmach.

The door to the tower rattled against its bolt. Geran and Kara both jumped at the sound and turned to look. The door—a sturdy construction of thick oak planks riveted together with bands of iron—shook again in its frame. “In the tower, there! Open up!” a man called from outside.

“It’s Kamoth!” Kara gasped.

Geran nodded. Together they drew their blades and stood facing the door. Its bar was sturdy enough to stop anything short of a small battering ram. There was a small scratching sound … and the small spyhole in the door swung open, pushed by the blade of a dagger. The panel was only about the size of a hand, but it was enough for Geran to recognize his uncle’s features peering through from outside. Kamoth’s bright blue eyes fell on him, then crinkled at the corners in a warm smile. “Ah, there you are. Geran, my boy! And Kara, my dear! Open the door, will you?”

Geran glanced at Kara, but she did not move. Kamoth was her stepfather, but she’d known her uncle Bernov all her life. Kamoth’s brows knitted together. “Hmm, perhaps I wasn’t sufficiently clear. Draw back the bolt, if you please, because I’d like to come inside the tower.”

“We can’t do that,” Geran answered.

“Oh? Why in the world not?”

“My father told us to keep this door barred until he or the harmach tells us otherwise.”

Kamoth glanced away and muttered something under his breath. But he returned to the spyhole a moment later, his eyes bright and kind. “Be that as it may, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you just let me in for a moment. I’m in need of a few things from my quarters, and then I’ll be right out again.”

Geran straightened his shoulders and looked his uncle in the eye. “My father told us you tried to kill the harmach tonight. Is it true?”

“A terrible misunderstanding, my boy. I’ve some important letters in my room that I need to show your father to clear this all up. Now, mark my words, you two—open that door before this whole affair takes a tragic turn. It’s dangerous for me to stand out here on this doorstep talking to you.”

Geran felt himself starting to waver. He wanted to give Kamoth the chance to explain himself, even though he knew exactly what his father had told him to do. But he felt Kara standing at his shoulder. “Don’t do it, Geran,” she whispered. “There are more men just behind him.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “We won’t let you in, not against my father’s orders. If you’re innocent, you should give yourself up.”

Anger flashed in Kamoth’s eyes, but swiftly passed. “Well, I never took you for a fool, my boy. That’s it, then—I’d best be on my way. Kara, give my regards to your mother. I’ll certainly miss her, I will.” There was a small sound of movement outside, then Kamoth’s face vanished from the spyhole.

Geran waited a moment then cautiously crept up to peer from the small spyhole. The rain-slicked courtyard outside was empty.

“What’s going on here?” At the foot of the stairs leading up to the family quarters, Geran’s cousin Sergen stood in his nightshirt. He looked at Geran and Kara and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Was that my father at the door?”

Geran and Kara exchanged looks. “You’d better tell him,” Geran said to her. “I doubt he’ll believe it from my mouth.”

“Believe what?” Sergen demanded. He was a dark-haired youth of fifteen years, wiry like his father, but he was paler than Kamoth and stood a good four inches shorter than Geran. He’d come to Griffonwatch two years past when Kamoth married Terena Hulmaster. Geran didn’t like him very much; in his experience Sergen was quick to find fault with others and quicker still to take offense when someone found fault with him.

Kara grimaced and looked over to their stepcousin. “Your father tried to kill the harmach. He’s got men in the castle.”

“What? That makes no sense!”

“Can’t you hear the fighting?” Geran snapped. “Those are Kamoth’s men fighting the Shieldsworn. Your father’s a traitor.”

“That’s a lie!” Sergen snarled. “You’re a damned liar!”

“No, I’m not,” Geran said coldly. “In fact, I wonder if you’re in on this too.” He took two steps toward Sergen and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t particularly like Sergen calling him a liar for no other reason than saying something Sergen didn’t want to hear. He’d earned more than a little trouble for teaching Sergen manners with his fists before, but that wouldn’t stop him from doing so again if his stepcousin didn’t mind his words.

“My father is no traitor!” Sergen shouted. He balled his fists and refused to give ground. Geran frowned; he’d never known Sergen to challenge him so directly. “And I’m not, either! Say it again, and I’ll knock your teeth out, you lying bastard!”

Geran started forward with the intention of extracting an apology from his stepcousin, but Kara reached out to set a hand on his arm. “Wait, Geran,” she said. “He really does think you’re lying. He doesn’t know anything about this. Kamoth didn’t tell him.”

“Stop saying that!” Tears of anger gathered in Sergen’s eyes. “My father is no traitor!”

Kara did not reply. Geran glared at his stepcousin, but to his surprise, a small measure of compassion for Sergen stopped him from another sharp retort. By sunrise Sergen would know the truth of events. If Geran had been in his place, he knew he’d find the shame of his father’s actions absolutely unbearable; he might as well allow Sergen to enjoy his ignorance for a few hours more. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll say nothing more on it.”

Sergen looked suspiciously from Geran to Kara. “Where is my father, then?”

Kara sighed and her voice softened. “He’s gone. I think he’s leaving Hulburg.”

“Leaving?” Sergen stared at Kara for a moment. Then, without another word, he brushed his hand across his eyes, turned, and bolted up the stairs leading back to his room.

Geran guessed that his stepcousin did not want to let him see how he’d been wounded. He watched Sergen retreat and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what all of this meant for Sergen, for his aunt Terena … for all of the Hulmasters. Sergen would likely never believe it. Any pleasure Geran might have felt at his stepcousin’s humiliation was rapidly souring in his stomach. Not even Sergen deserved what his father had done.