Swordmage (3 page)

“Take ‘em, lads!” he snarled.

The two men on the steps came at Geran in a quick rush. He retreated several steps, emptied his mind with the quick skill of long practice, and found the invocation he wanted. “Cuillen mhariel,” he whispered in Elvish, weaving a spell-shield with his words and his will. Ghostly streamers of pale silver-blue light gleamed around him, seemingly no more solid than wisps of fog. Then Geran stood his ground as the first man lunged out at his skull with the knobbed cudgel. The swordmage passed the heavy blow over his head with the flat of his blade, then slashed the fellow’s left leg out from under him with a deep cut to the calf. The Chainsman went down hard with a grunt of shock.

The second man came at him an instant later. Geran spun away from the one blow, batted aside the other with a hand-jarring parry near his hilt, and smashed the rose-shaped pommel of his blade into the slaver’s nose. Something crunched, and blood gushed as the fellow staggered back and sat down heavily in the street.

A sharp thrumm! whistled in the street. Geran caught a glimpse of a crossbow’s bolt just before it struck him high on the right side of his chest—but his hasty spell-shield held. The bolt rebounded from a sharp, silvery flame flaring brightly in the shadows of the street and clattered away across the cobblestones. The Chainsman leader stood open-mouthed, a small empty crossbow in his good hand.

“Damn it all, he’s a wizard!” the first slaver by Geran snarled. The fellow scrambled awkwardly to his feet and

quickly backed away, favoring his injured leg. Then he I turned and fled into the night. The man with the broken |> nose followed, lurching blindly after him. On the other | side of the street, the remaining two Chainsmen were I limping away from Hamil as fast as they could, giving up I the battle.

| Geran ignored them. If they thought he was a wizard | and wanted no more of him, he wouldn’t say otherwise. He I advanced on the slaver Roldo. The man was already drawing I back the string of his crossbow for another try, but Geran | put a stop to that by striking him hard across the side of the | head with the flat of his blade. The blow split Roldo’s shaven I scalp and stretched him senseless on the wooden steps of the fe alehouse. “That was for taking a shot when I wasn’t look-I ing,” the swordmage growled. He was tempted to give the | “slaver something more to remember him by, but he held ? his temper. At least half a dozen spectators were peering i through the alehouse’s windows and doors, and some might f-not be friendly

Hamil sauntered up, sheathing his knives one by one as he j studied the scene. “You let yours run off with hardly a mark • on them.”

; “I’ll set that straight if I see them again. Did you find all your knives?”

; “I’m willing to loan them out for a time, but I want ‘em back when all the dancing’s done.” The halfling stooped down to wipe off one last bloody knife on the tunic of the unconscious Chainsman at their feet. “So, is this the typical evening entertainment in Hulburg?” “No,” said Geran, “it’s not.”

He returned his sword to the sheath and looked up at the old gray towers of the castle overshadowing the town. Dim yellow lights burned in a handful of the keep’s windows; other towers remained dark. Crimson Chain slavers seemed ro think they owned the streets. What in the world had happened to Hulburg while he was away? How long had it been like this?

He picked his bag up from the ground and took a deep breath. “Come on, Hamil,” he said. “I think it’s time to find out just what’s been going on around here.”

T\vo

// Ches, the Year of the Ageless One

The castle called Griffonwatch was not really a true castle. Most of its towers and halls were guarded by the steep - “bluffs of the castle’s hilltop and did not require a thick wall for i protection. Only on its lower northern face was Griffonwatch : truly fortified, with a strong gatehouse and a tower-studded J wall guarding access to the courtyards, barracks, and resi-; dences within. Geran had always thought of it as a great ; rambling, drafty, partially abandoned house that happened to be made out of stone, with the curious afterthought of one castlelike wall to guard the front gate.

“I have to congratulate the builders of the place,” Hamil [ said. “They picked the highest, coldest, windiest spot in this ; whole miserable town for their masterpiece.” The castle’s causeway was completely exposed to the northwest wind ir once the visitors climbed above the roofline of the sur-\ rounding town, and the faded banners above the gatehouse f flapped loudly in the stiff wind.

Griffonwatch’s gates stood open. Hamil’s step faltered as If they entered the dark, tunnel-like passage through the gate-? house. “I never liked these things,” the halfling muttered. I He had an instinctive aversion to anything that felt like an ; ambush, and the front entrance of any well-made castle was | designed to be a giant stone trap to its enemies. Menacing 5 arrowslits overlooked the approach to the castle and the

gate-passage proper. They stood dark and empty, but in times of war watchful archers would be posted there, ready to cut down attackers at the top of the causeway.

“Come on, Hamil,” Geran said quietly. He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “It’s out of the wind, anyway.”

At the inner end of the gate, the castle’s portcullis was lowered into place, blocking most of the passage. The heavy grate was fitted with a small swinging door. Two Shieldsworn guards waited there. They wore knee-length coats of mail under heavy woolen mantles and steel caps trimmed with a ring of fur for warmth. Both carried pikes—perfect for thrusting through the portcullis at enemies on the far side— and a pair of crossbows leaned against the wall nearby.

“Hold there,” said the older of the men, a sergeant with a round, blunt face like the end of a hammer. “State your name and business.”

Geran stepped out of the gate’s shadow and reached up to draw back the hood of his cloak. “I’m Geran Hulmaster,” he said. “And I’m here to call on the harmach and visit with whatever kinfolk of mine happen to be home this evening, Sergeant Kolton.”

The sergeant’s eyes opened wide. “Geran, as I live and breathe! It must be five years!” He fumbled with the small door in the portcullis and finally got it open. “Come in, sir, come in!”

Despite the sour mood that had settled over him after the encounter with the Crimson Chains, Geran smiled. He’d always liked Kolton, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the man’s surprise. “Eight years, Kolton. I haven’t been home since my father died.”

“Lord Bernov was a good man. Things around here might be different if he hadn’t fallen.” The sturdy soldier’s face softened with memories, likely some old campaign or skirmish riding alongside Geran’s father … and then Kolton’s thoughts turned, and a sudden grimace stole over his features. He sighed and looked closely at Geran. “M’lord, I don’t know how to tell you this—” he began.

Geran cut him off with a small motion of his hand. “I’ve heard about Jarad, if that’s what you are about to tell me. My mother wrote me as soon as she heard.” Geran’s mother lived in a convent near Thentia now, but she still had many friends in Hulburg. She’d heard about Jarad only a few days after the Shieldsworn captain had been found dead on the Highfells. Her letter had reached Geran in Tantras half a month ago, and he’d left for Hulburg within the day.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Kolton said. “I know he was a good friend o’ yours. He was a good captain too. We miss him sorely.”

They stood without speaking for a moment. The wind moaned across the stone battlements, and the castle’s banners crackled sharply. Geran shivered in the cold, and he glanced down to Hamil. The halfling waited patiently, his cloak held tight around his body. ‘ ” “Forgive me,” Geran said. “Sergeant, this is my friend and comrade-in-arms, Hamil Alderheart of Tantras. He’s a guest of the house.”

“Of course, sir,” Kolton said. “Leave your baggage here, gentlemen. I’ll have it brought up to your rooms shortly.”

“Thank you, Kolton.” Geran set down his duffel and worked his shoulder a moment. “One more thing—Hamil and I ran across some trouble in the Tailings on our way here. A gang of Crimson Chains led by some fellow calling himself Roldo tried to extort a toll from us.”

“We objected,” said Hamil. “Hard words followed, and there may have been a minor stabbing or two.”

“—and yes, we crossed steel. We didn’t kill any of them, but I thought the Shieldsworn should know.”

The sergeant grimaced. “You met Roldo, hey? I’m sorry to hear it, but I’ll not shed a tear over any cuts or bruises you gave him. He and his thugs’ve been causing trouble in the Tailings for months now.”

“Why haven’t you rousted them out, then?”

“It’s got to be murder or arson before we do, m’lord. We’re down to a hundred and ninety Shieldsworn, and that ain’t really enough to garrison Griffonwatch, man the

post-towers, and keep a patrol or two out in the Highfells. We leave the keeping o’ the law in the town to the Council Watch. The harmach’s men only get involved when it’s a matter of high justice.”

Geran looked sharply at Kolton. He thought he’d heard the sergeant well enough, but there was very little that made sense to him. One hundred and ninety Shieldsworn? The harmach’s guards should have been twice as strong. And he’d never heard of any Council Watch; that had to be something new. A town full of foreign merchants, gangs roaming the streets, and now this … it seemed that he had a lot of catching up to do, and suddenly Geran doubted he’d enjoy his education very much. A number of questions sprang to mind, but he settled for just one more: “Who or what is the Council Watch?”

“The lawkeepers who answer to the Merchant Council.” Kolton’s blunt face didn’t move much, but his voice had a flat, hard tone. “They look after council matters and enforce low justice in the city proper, so that we Shieldsworn don’t have to trouble ourselves with such business. Or so I’m told.”

If they let the Crimson Chains walk the streets in the open, they can’t be very good at their jobs, Hamil remarked to Geran. Either they’re hopelessly incompetent or they’re paid not to notice such things. I know which side of that bet I’d cover.

“Who do I talk to in order to set the watch on the Chainsmen?” Geran asked.

Kolton snorted. “Captain Zara, down at Council Hall. But you shouldn’t expect much, m’lord. It seems to take a long time for Zara to be certain enough o’ the facts to bring charges against someone, especially if that someone happens to be on a guild or House payroll. Maybe it would be different if you said something—you’re kin to the harmach, after all.”

“I’ll bring it up with my uncle.” Ten days of hard travel were catching up with him, and the whole sorry mess just left Geran tired, with the beginnings of a headache. He glanced up at the banners flying above the gatehouse. The highest was a blue

banner with a white seven-pointed star; by the traditions of Griffonwatch, it flew only when the lord of Hulburg was actually present. “Is there any reason I can’t see him now?”

“None at all,” Kolton answered. He looked over to his companion. “Orndal, you’ve got the gate watch. Call Sarise from the guardroom to take my place, and send word to the chamberlain that Lord Geran’s returned with a guest. Lord Geran, I’ll show you to the harmach.”

Geran nodded, and the Shieldsworn sergeant led him and Hamil across the courtyard to a wide set of stone steps climbing up between barracks, stables, armories, and storehouses of the Shieldsworn. In Geran’s experience a third or more of the soldiers were posted in various watchtowers and patrols along Hulburg’s northern marches at any given time, keeping watch for ore raids and spellwarped monsters out of the far north. Others would be on leave, staying with families down in the town or carousing in the taverns and alehouses. Either way, most of the barracks rooms were dark and empty.

Hamil studied it all with interest as they followed the guardsman. “I know that the harmach, Grigor, is your uncle,” he said to Geran. “Who else lives here?”

“Grigor’s daughter-in-law, Erna, and her children. Erna is the widow of my cousin Isolmar, Grigor’s son. He was killed in a duel about four years ago. I suppose Natali and Kirr are the harmach’s heirs now, but they’re still quite young.” They came to a second courtyard above the barracks and storehouses, where a large hall stood. Kolton trotted up the steps and opened the heavy wooden doors for them. The room beyond was a banquet hall and what served as the harmach’s audience chamber. It was rather plain by the standards of the southern cities, and wind whistled through some unseen draft high up near the rafters. “My Aunt Terena lives here too,” Geran continued. “She is Grigor’s sister.”

“And your father was Grigor’s brother?”

“Yes. Terena has two children: my cousin Kara and Sergen, who is her stepson by her second marriage.”

Hamil nodded. His people were very particular about relations. He sorted out family trees and remembered them with an uncanny ease—a useful advantage in the complicated dealings and rivalries of mercantile Tantras. Geran, on the other hand, had long since learned that he could never keep straight who was related to whom. He had to rely on notes in a journal. It was one more reason he appreciated Hamil as a business partner.

“Lady Kara rode out to the Raven Hill watchtower earlier today,” Sergeant Kolton said. “She may not be back tonight. Sergen spends most of his time at his villa out on Easthead, but he’s here now. This way, gentlemen.”

They climbed a staircase at the end of the hall, where two more Shieldsworn waited. Kolton spoke briefly with them— Geran did not know either man well, but they recognized him and welcomed him home—and then the sergeant led them up another flight of stairs into the third portion of the castle. This was not a true bailey, but simply a small courtyard crowning the hill. The buildings here comprised the Hulmaster residence, and so visitors were not normally permitted to pass beyond the large hall and kitchens below without an invitation or escort. The courtyard was circled by a roofed gallery linking several small buildings—a chapel, a library, a small kitchen, and the Harmach’s Tower itself, which was a good-sized stone keep sited on the highest point of the hilltop.