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 orc 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.
“One moment,” Kolton said. He knocked on the library door and entered. Geran and Hamil waited for a short time in the courtyard until the sergeant reappeared. “The harmach’ll see you now.”
“Thank you, Kolton,” Geran answered.
The stocky sergeant briefly inclined his head, which passed for a bow in Hulburg. “It’s good to see you home, sir.”
Drawing a deep breath, Geran let himself into the castle library. It was a small, cluttered space, really, but it did hold the largest collection of books for nearly fifty miles. It also served as the harmach’s study; when Geran thought of his uncle, he imagined him in that very room. He remembered the smell from his childhood, the musty odor of damp paper and the sharper scent of pipesmoke. He and Hamil passed through the small foyer and stepped into the study proper.
“Uncle Grigor?” he said.
“Well, this is an unexpected surprise.” Grigor Hulmaster sat behind a cluttered desk by a large window of leaded glass. He was a man of seventy-five years, tall and thin, stooped at the shoulder, with little hair remaining
