him.”
“That’s a damned lie,” Geran growled. “Does anyone believe them?”
Kara lowered her voice again. “I doubt it, Geran, but the Merchant Council refuses to surrender you. They claim it’s a charge of murder and that they’re entitled to try you under Mulmaster’s laws.”
Geran was speechless for a moment. “You mean to say that the council has decided to set aside the harmach’s law and use their own instead?”
His cousin simply met his eyes. “As I said, we dispute that.”
“Who rules in Hulburg, Kara? The harmach or the Merchant Council? It can’t be both.”
“I know it, Geran. For what it’s worth, the council doesn’t seem ready to proceed with their trial yet. Perhaps Sergen realizes that he’d give the harmach no choice if he keeps on his course. We’re doing what we can.” Kara sighed. “I’m afraid I must go. I haven’t heard from several of my scouts in Thar yet, and I fear that the Bloody Skulls have something to do with it.”
Geran took a deep breath and shifted in his chains. The idea of arranging his own freedom was growing in its appeal; he didn’t know much about Mulmaster’s laws, but he doubted they would favor his account of events. “I’m sorry, Kara. I shouldn’t have spoken in anger.”
Kara gave him a small smile. “I understand, Geran.” Then she left, her mail coat jingling with her steps.
Mirya lingered a moment longer.
“It’s on my account that you’re in that cage, Geran, and that’s wrong,” she said. “If I’d found some other way to deal with the Verunas-”
“It might not have mattered, Mirya, because I likely would’ve killed Urdinger on Jarad’s account instead.” He looked down at his chains and bared his teeth in a grim smile. “I know it won’t bring back your brother, but I can’t say that I’m sorry that Anfel Urdinger’s dead.”
She looked away from him, and her shoulders fell a little. “Justice for Jarad wouldn’t be worth your life. If it turns out that you’ve come back to Hulburg after all these years only to-well, I couldn’t live with myself. Not after what I did to you.” Her face softened for a moment, and Geran glimpsed the girl he’d known more than ten years ago-shy, tender, and kind, haunted by a strange and distant sadness he’d never quite understood.
“Mirya, I don’t know what you think you did to me,” he finally said. He never would have guessed that she’d have the strength to keep Erstenwold’s in business, to hold her own against competitors like House Veruna, and to raise her daughter at the same time. Her life hadn’t been easy in the years that he’d been away, and she’d found true iron in herself to meet its challenges. “I’m the one who left. It was my decision. I never meant to hurt you.”
“It’s not what you think,” she said. She stepped closer and set her hand on the bars of the cell. “I-”
“Mistress Erstenwold, step away from the cell,” the council armsman said sharply. The man hurried forward with a frown. “And you need to be leaving, anyway. I’ve given you a good long time to talk, and the last thing I need’s trouble for it.”
Geran looked through the bars at Mirya. “Don’t worry about me,” he told her. “Watch out for yourself, Mirya. Keep Selsha safe, and stay close to home. I’ve got a feeling that Kara might be right about the troubles heading our way.”
She held up her hand in parting and hurried away. The Watch guards saw her out, and the heavy iron door leading to the dungeon clanged shut behind them. Geran let out a deep breath and sank to the floor amid his chains.
TWENTY-ONE
7 Tarsakh, the Year of the Ageless One
The mood of Hulburg was growing ugly, Sergen decided. As his coach rolled and bounced through the streets, he passed by corners and through squares where small knots of disheveled peasants and laborers stood around in their blue hoods, shivering in the cold early-spring mists and rains that had settled over the town. Angry glares followed his coach, and sometimes a fist was shaken in his direction. Of course most of the rabble had no idea who was in the fine carriage, since his driver and footmen wore no House colors other than that of the Council Watch, and he kept his curtain drawn. But the mere fact that he was riding in a fine coach marked him as a man of wealth and power, and in Hulburg that signaled an affiliation with foreign merchants. That was sufficient to draw the ire and resentment of Hulburg’s commoners these days.
His driver flicked the reins, and the coach jerked ahead as the team picked up its pace to climb the causeway leading up to Griffonwatch. Several other coaches and carriages crowded the lower courtyard of the castle; the harmach still had power enough to command immediate attendance when he called his council to attend him. Sergen scowled in annoyance. This summons had come only an hour after sunrise, such as it was on this gloomy day, and he had still been in his bed. “A few more days, and I’ll see to all such annoyances,” he told himself. The carriage came to a stop, and he rose and let himself out even before his footman could open the door for him. An appearance of haste and concern would be seemly this morning.
“Good morning, Lord Sergen.” One of the castle valets hurried down the steps to take Sergen’s fine fur cape and matching cap. “The Harmach’s Council is assembling now. They are waiting for you.”
“Very well,” Sergen answered.
He swept through the doors of the great hall, ignoring the Shieldsworn there while his own armsmen hurried to catch up with him. The dusty old barn of a banquet hall was about as full as the last time he’d been summoned to a council by his uncle-perhaps thirty or so guards, attendants, and advisors hovered around the eight members of the harmach’s circle. Sergen noted that his stepuncle was already seated on his high seat. He quickened his step to reinforce the impression of haste, and set his face in a tight frown of determination and concern. “Forgive my tardiness,” he said as he took his seat. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for long.”
“Not at all, Sergen,” the harmach said. “You arrived on the heels of Lord Marstel and Master Goldhead. But now that we’re all here, we should begin immediately. Kara, the floor is yours.”
Kara stood up from her seat at the foot of the table and moved around to stand in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped space. She was fully armored, wearing her long mail coat with greaves and vambraces that were adorned with golden griffons. Her spellscar was hidden under all that metal, of course, but the eerie azure of her eyes gave away her deformity. A shame, Sergen mused… she was otherwise a very handsome woman with a fine figure, and as she was not related to him by blood, she might have made an advantageous match for him to secure his claim. On the other hand, Kara fancied herself a warrior and a captain, and it might have been difficult or impossible to break her to his will. Of course, he wouldn’t have needed to remain married to her for long to establish the facade of legitimacy, and that was all that was required.
“My friends,” Kara said gravely, “war is upon us. My scouts have discovered the Bloody Skull horde. They’re marching southward even as we speak. As of last night they were less than twenty miles from the northernmost of our watchtowers, which places them about thirty miles from Griffonwatch. The Bloody Skulls will reach our outposts tomorrow evening, descend into the northern end of Winterspear Vale, and arrive here near sunrise of the day following. We may see bands of marauders and pillagers in the Winterspear as early as tonight.
“We’re not certain of the Bloody Skulls’ numbers, but we’ve seen at least two more tribes marching with them-the Red Claw goblins and the Skullsmasher ogres. There may be more we haven’t encountered yet. My scouts believe the horde numbers at least two thousand warriors, and it may be twice that.”
“How could so many orcs approach so closely without being seen?” Master Assayer Goldhead demanded.
“The weather’s favored the Bloody Skulls for several days, Master Goldhead. The rain has hidden them well. And I fear that several Shieldsworn scouts likely found the Bloody Skulls but were caught before they could return and report. At least four are missing.”
“Can you stop them, Lady Kara?” the wizard Ebain Ravenscar asked.
“No, my lord,” Kara said. “Not without help. The Shieldsworn number two hundred. We can harry their advance with cavalry, but if we try to hold in the face of that horde, we’ll be swept away.” She looked at Sergen and then around the other faces at the table. “However, the mercantile concessions hold hundreds more trained and well-armed mercenaries. With their aid I think I might be able to prevent the Bloody Skulls from entering the
