“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,
“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?”
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
“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
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.”
“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
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.
