but he’d fought as a captain leading a company of the Coronal’s Guard in Myth Drannor, and he wasn’t afraid to cross blades with any orc. If Kolton was right, then Hulburg faced the most immediate peril it had seen during his entire life, and he’d watch it pass by through the bars of a cell. “Tell the harmach that I can help,” he said to Kolton. “If he paroles me to fight, I’ll gladly go back to my cell for as long as I have to once the danger’s passed.”
“The prisoner won’t be set free without the express order of the council,” one of the Watch soldiers said firmly. “The harmach’s got to take it up with Lord Sergen.”
“I know it,” Kolton snapped. He looked back to Geran and motioned toward the doorway leading into the castle. “Well, I suppose I’d better show you to your accommodations, Lord Geran.”
“They’ve given you the best cell in the castle-for what it’s worth,” added Hamil.
The Shieldsworn sergeant led Geran and his Council Watch jailors through the barracks building and into a passageway cut through the rock of the castle’s hilltop. They climbed up a flight of stairs and passed by several storerooms and connecting passageways that led to the castle’s deep cisterns then climbed a few more steps to a row of iron-bound doors of thick wood. Kolton opened the nearest with a set of heavy keys. It was not a very big room, but it had a small square window that looked out over the city to the distant gray line of the Moonsea, a bed, a table and two chairs, a small carpet laid out on the flagstone floor, and even a shelf lined with a dozen books. “We took the liberty o’ furnishing your cell a little more comfortably than we normally would,” Kolton said. “But I’m afraid it’s still a cell. I’ll send a healer to look after your injuries as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Kolton,” Geran said quietly.
“Lord Sergen won’t like this,” the council sergeant said. “He said nothing about providing the prisoner with such comforts.”
“In that case, he didn’t say we couldn’t,” Hamil pointed out. “I heard about that fine room you gave him underneath your Council Hall. Maybe the Shieldsworn should give you beds just as comfortable as the one you gave Geran. After all, nothing requires the harmach to give your men any particular comforts, either.”
The council sergeant chose not to argue the point any further-a wise decision, in Geran’s view. Kolton suppressed a smile and motioned to his council counterpart. “Post a couple o’ men by the door if you like, and I’ll show the rest o’ you to your guardroom and quarters.”
“Very well,” the sergeant said. He detailed off two of his men, who took up positions on each side of Geran’s doorway.
Kolton looked back to Geran and said, “I’m sorry, Lord Geran, but I’ll have to leave the mage shackles on you.”
The swordmage grimaced. His wrists were more than a little sore and bruised, and he wanted the damned manacles off his hands. As long as Harmach Grigor had given his word that he’d make no attempt to escape, Geran wouldn’t use his magic. But at least the cell looked like a substantial improvement on the old one. “It’s not your fault, Kolton,” he said.
“These fellows’ll be standing watch, but there will always be a couple o’ Shieldsworn within earshot. Just shout if you need anything.” Kolton touched his hand to his brow in salute and backed out of the cell with the Council Watch leader following him.
“As much as I’d like to stay here and entertain you, I’m afraid I have some things to look after in town,” Hamil said.
“Things to look after?”
“I’ve taken it upon myself to prepare your defense, so I’ve been talking to every witness to your duel that I can find.” Hamil pointed an accusing finger at Geran. “The next time you find yourself embroiled in a fight like the one that preceded your duel, I advise you to kill your enemies rather than wound and cripple them. You left House Veruna with four more witnesses than you needed to, and they naturally have agreed upon a version of events that depicts you in a very poor light. Though I suspect the one with the badly broken jaw and no teeth remaining doesn’t really remember anything that’s happened since last month and is making up his story outright.”
“Then go to it, Hamil. I’ve got every confidence in you.” Geran took his hand, and then Hamil nodded and followed the guards out. The council soldiers swung the door shut and locked it with a heavy iron clanking. Geran looked at the door for a long moment; he’d been in one cell or another for days now, and he was well and truly looking forward to his liberty. But it sounded as if it might be a few more days. He shuffled over to look out the small window-it was not much more than a foot square-and to watch the town slowly wake up to another dreary spring morning.
An hour later he discovered that his comforts were not limited to simple furnishings; the castle kitchens provided him with a hearty breakfast of eggs, ham, cheese, and bread with good apple cider to wash it down, which he was able to eat while seated at his table. After days of sitting on the floor of the council’s cell eating bland porridge, it was a significant improvement. “The only thing I lack is my freedom,” he observed when the servants and guards withdrew.
He selected a book at random from the shelf and passed much of the day with a long lay written three centuries before about the fall of Ascalhorn and the escape of one of its lords and his family. He spent an hour pacing and exercising as best he could in the small space allotted to him and even tried to practice his forms by imagining the weight of a sword in his hand and ignoring the shackles on his wrists. Eventually he grew tired and stretched himself out on top of the bed to sleep for a time. Long, cold nights on the stone floor of the council dungeon had not given him much opportunity to sleep well at night. He arranged his irons as best as he could and drifted off while lying on his back with his hands at his waist and the chain over his belt.
He found himself caught between a dream and a memory, something perhaps a little like the Reverie of elvenkind. He stood in the thin frost of a forest clearing in Myth Drannor, watching as Alliere turned her back on him and fled into the shadows under the dying leaves. She wore a dress of rich blue with delicate silver embroidery and a light hood of pearl-gray over her shoulders; she held her skirts as she darted away, her long dark hair streaming behind her. “Alliere, come back!” he called. “I love you!” She paused once, a single glance over her shoulder. But when her eyes met his, she turned away. He took a step after her, and-
The dream ended then, as it always did. Geran came to wakefulness and found himself staring up at the ceiling of his small cell. The light from the window had changed; it was the middle of the afternoon. He’d been asleep for a couple of hours. He started to sit up, found that his shackles hampered him still, and carefully gathered them up so that he could put one hand to the side of the bed and push himself upright. A year and a half now, and still that memory torments me, he reflected. He deserved worse. All of his life he’d wandered with his eye on the road ahead, never content to be where he was, seeking something that seemed to retreat away from him every time he drew near to it. In Myth Drannor he’d found what he was longing for, at least for a short time. And yet he’d managed to ruin it so completely with one self-destructive act he still couldn’t explain to himself. It was as if some hidden part of him recognized that he’d found contentment and deliberately sought a way to restore his wayward heart to its true nature. All of his life, his passion, his heart had been waiting for a love such as the one he’d found in Alliere, but he’d driven her away, and he still didn’t know why.
He sighed and looked at the small cell. “Maybe I belong in here after all,” he murmured. To keep his mind from memories of Myth Drannor and Alliere, he chose another book and tried to read some more. Eventually the afternoon passed, and he found that the shades of the past didn’t trouble him so much.
At sunset Hamil came down and joined him for supper, which cheered him. His friend had little news to report other than the growing anxiety in town about the Bloody Skulls.
“Where are they now?” Geran asked him.
“Raiding parties have ventured into the Vale at several points, but they haven’t done much damage yet,” Hamil said. “Kara got her soldiers up to the post-towers at the north end of the Vale, or so I’m told. What are they, anyway?”
“Watchtowers, really. Each has a small barracks that can accommodate about ten soldiers, and a small stone tower. There are about half a dozen scattered around the borders of Hulburg’s lands.”
“That doesn’t seem a very useful fortification.”
“They aren’t. I expect that Kara’s simply mustering her forces near one of the watchposts that overlooks the head of the Winterspear Vale. There aren’t many trails a large army can use to descend into the Vale safely, so I’d guess she’s trying to defend the most likely routes. If the Bloody Skull horde is as large as it’s been reported to be, then she’s got a chance to bottle them up on a narrow track and take away their advantage in numbers. On the other hand, if she lets them get into the Vale, they’ll be able to spread out again, and there really isn’t anything to stop them before they reach the city.”
