concern. The Verunas were nobles of Mulmaster, the powerful citystate across the Moonsea from Hulburg. Like several other important families of Mulmaster, their power was counted in the profitability of their trading ventures throughout the region. Setbacks Veruna experienced in Hulburg would reflect poorly on Darsi and damage her standing among her well-born but viciously competitive relations. It was time to remind her of the stakes of the game. “How much gold would pour into House Veruna’s coffers if your rivals were suddenly subjected to a ruinous tariff? Or if you were given the opportunity to buy out the leases on their logging and mineral rights? A great prize is worth a modest risk, my dear; fortune favors the bold. Should my ploy work, you will make House Veruna the most powerful merchant company in the Moonsea by the end of the year.”
“But first you must become harmach.” Darsi Veruna folded her hands in her lap and regarded him with her catlike eyes for a long time, weighing his chances. Sergen met her gaze without flinching. Finally she inclined her head subtly, acknowledging his point. Veruna was the strongest coster in Hulburg, but it was only one of many in Mulmaster. It might cost her a small fortune to put Sergen on the throne, but it would give her a tremendous advantage over her rivals if she succeeded. “Speaking of which… tell me about your cousin Geran.”
“A thickheaded fool who never had to work for anything in his life,” Sergen said. He had no use for any of the so-called “true” Hulmasters, even though he’d claimed the Hulmaster name from the time he’d been twelve. “Don’t worry about Geran. He left Hulburg ten years ago; he’ll soon enough be on his way.”
“Where has he been for all this time?” Darsi asked. “What’s he been doing?”
“Supposedly, soon after he left to see the world, he fell in with a band of adventurers who called themselves the Company of the Dragon Shield. He won himself a small fortune by plundering some dismal dungeon in the Vast.” Sergen swirled his wine in the goblet, stirring up the spices. He’d made inquiries over the last few years to find out more about where his so-called cousin had vanished to. “Seven years ago he bought an owner’s share in the Red Sail Coster of Tantras and enjoyed some small success as a merchant speculating in various cargoes on the Sea of Fallen Stars.”
“The Red Sails,” Darsi murmured. “Yes, I know them. Go on.”
“Geran’s father, Bernov Hulmaster, was killed in a skirmish about eight and a half years ago. Geran came home for the funeral but stayed only a few days before returning to Tantras. His mother retired to an Ilmateran convent near Thentia soon after that. Then Geran simply vanished for several years, leaving the Red Sail Coster in the hands of his partners. No one knew where he’d gone, but a year ago last Uktar he resurfaced in Tantras. I learned that he’d been in Myth Drannor, where he’d won the favor of the coronal. There were rumors that he was suddenly exiled. I heard stories of a feud with a rival, a duel fought for the favor of an elf princess, even whispers of some black curse hanging over him that forced the coronal to send him away.” Sergen smiled darkly. “I still don’t have the whole tale, but it seems clear that Geran left Myth Drannor under a cloud. You should have seen his face when I asked him about it.”
“My armsmen told me that he used magic when he confronted them in Erstenwold’s shop,” Darsi said, gazing thoughtfully down at her goblet. “They said he carried a blade of elven steel. And I’ve heard that he used the same sort of swordmagic against the Crimson Chains he and his little halfling friend cut apart in the Tailings. Is that something he learned in Myth Drannor?”
Sergen shrugged. “I suspect the reports are exaggerated, since I’ve never known him to demonstrate any such ability. I doubt that Geran would have the aptitude or discipline to learn magic, but I suppose he might have found an enchanted sword during his travels.”
“So what does his return signify for you?” Darsi asked.
“Most likely nothing. I expect that Geran will tire of Hulburg and go back to Tantras, Myth Drannor, or anywhere else but here soon enough. There is little to hold him here. He’ll be gone within a tenday.”
“Most likely,” Darsi agreed in a pleasant voice. “But what if he decides to stay? What happens if you find yourself sharing your family responsibilities with another capable Hulmaster who’s not a spellscarred bitch? Is there any chance that Grigor might decide that Geran would make a better regent for his grandson, Kirr, than you? Or, for that matter, a better harmach?” Her eyes glittered cruelly as she delivered the barb.
“Unthinkable!” Sergen snapped. “I’ve stayed in this miserable, sodden dungheap of a town for years, looking after all the business Grigor was too stupid or inattentive to look after for himself. Without me the family would be penniless and Hulburg would still be a wretched little backwater.”
“Geran is of the Hulmaster blood, and you are not.”
“You need not remind me.” Sergen paced away from the fire, glaring at the row of bright windows that faced out over the town. He’d come to Hulburg as a boy of twelve, when his father, Kamoth-a merchant and adventurer from Hillsfar-married the harmach’s widowed sister, Terena. The marriage had not gone well. Kamoth was caught plotting against the harmach and fled Hulburg to escape death or imprisonment. Sergen had been left among his stepfamily, an unwanted interloper in Griffonwatch. No one had ever accused him openly of disloyalty, but he’d heard the whispers and felt the suspicious stares throughout his adolescence. He’d resolved years ago to succeed where Kamoth had failed, but to do that he’d had to embrace the name of the family that had ruined his father. He was long since ready to shed those pretenses and take what was rightfully his.
“Would it be useful if Geran met with some misfortune?” Darsi asked.
Sergen shook his head. “Too obvious,” he said. “Everyone remembers all too well how Isolmar Hulmaster met his end, and now that Jarad Erstenwold has been removed… how would it look if someone else close to the harmach died under mysterious circumstances? Even if I had nothing to do with it, suspicion would naturally fall on my shoulders.”
Darsi rose from the couch and drifted over to where Sergen stood, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It may become unavoidable, if Geran continues to stumble into affairs that are none of his business.”
Sergen glanced over his shoulder at her. “Perhaps we should set a spy on him to watch his movements.”
“Hmmm, I believe I have just the spy.” Darsi slipped her hands around Sergen’s chest and pressed herself close behind him. “I will summon Umbryl and set her on your cousin’s trail. And, should Geran prove troublesome, he will never see her claws before she strikes.”
“Make certain that your pet knows that she is not to kill Geran unless you order her to,” Sergen answered. He turned to face Darsi and slid his hands around her waist. He leaned forward and nuzzled her neck, kissing the base of her throat. “Mmmm. Are you certain that you came here to talk about my cousin? Or did you have some other purpose in mind?”
Darsi let her hands slide inside his robes and caressed him. “I interrupted your bath. The least I can do is to help you finish it.”
SEVEN
13 Ches, the Year of the Ageless One
Since it was still early when Geran, Kara, and Hamil returned to Griffonwatch, they sent to the kitchens for a small sack of food to take with them. They returned the buggy to its house and the horse team to the livery, since no roads led up into the Highfells, and the few tracks that did wind up into the hills and moors were far too difficult for a wagon or carriage. Instead they chose horses from the Shieldsworn stables and saddled their mounts. Kara kept a horse of her own in Griffonwatch, a big roan mare named Dancer that she’d trained for years. Geran chose a strong bay gelding, and for Hamil they found a small, sure-footed mare. Halflings generally found ponies better suited to them than horses, but Hamil had spent enough time around the larger animals to handle them easily enough despite his small stature.
An hour before noon they set off again. This time, instead of turning at the Burned Bridge, they followed the Vale Road north from Hulburg, keeping on the right bank of the Winterspear. The river was shallow and swift, rushing over a stony bed in a broad, braided stream that narrowed quickly as they headed inland. Farms clustered close by the southern end of the valley amid stands of birch and ash, but as they continued northward the farms grew fewer and farther between.
About three miles from Griffonwatch, the road passed through an old ditch-and-berm of earth, now grassy and overgrown. “Lendon’s Dike,” Geran told Hamil. “My grandfather raised it more than fifty years ago, back when orc raids in the Winterspear Vale were common.” He pointed toward the far side of the vale. “Lake Hul lies under
