Hamil grimaced. “Murder, vengeance, tomb-robbing, and treachery are one thing, Geran, but I didn’t come to Hulburg for a war.”
“You don’t have to stay, Hamil,” Geran told him. “In all seriousness, someone ought to be looking after Red Sail business, and I might be stuck here for days whether you help or not. Maybe you should leave.”
“I’ll give it another day or two.” Hamil rose from his seat and set his napkin on the table. “I’ll be back tomorrow to look in on you again. I don’t entirely trust these council thugs, even if they’re in the middle of your family’s castle. There are ten of them now, just to keep watch on you, Geran.”
Geran saw his friend out-not very hard to do, given the size of the room-and returned to the bookshelf, looking for something new. Late in the evening, a knock at his door interrupted him. Keys turned in the lock, and the Council Watch soldiers admitted Sergen. The lord stepped in with a look of distaste on his face, frowning as he took in the bed, the books, and the desk. “Well, it seems that there’s some justice in this world after all,” he said. “A cell is a cell, regardless of its comforts. You’ve finally found your proper station in life, Geran, and I’m here to ensure that you remain in it for the rest of your days.”
“There’s much to recommend the room, if you like it, Sergen,” Geran said. He rose to face his stepcousin, clenching his fists beneath the shackles. He could loop the chain around Sergen’s neck and strangle him easily enough… but the council soldiers standing behind their master would likely interfere. There was no point in allowing Sergen’s barbs to anger him. “You can’t paint the truth for long, Sergen,” he answered. “It has a way of showing through the lies you slather over it. I’ll go through the trial your dear Darsi Veruna is demanding for me, her mercenaries will be shown to be liars, and I’ll be freed soon enough.”
Sergen smirked. “Spare me your sanctimonious metaphors, Geran. Of course the charges against you have no merit. But still, here you sit incarcerated in this small room until you can defend yourself against them. And who knows how long it might take before the eyewitnesses you referred to can be spared from the vital duty of defending Hulburg from the orcs? Why, it might be days.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Indeed you will.” Sergen spied the remains of Geran’s dinner and smiled sourly. “I suppose that your friends here in Griffonwatch are looking after you. I must see what I can do about that.” He picked up the jug of wine and an unused goblet from the table and poured himself some. He swirled the wine once, inhaled its aroma, and took a taste. “A Sembian, if I’m not mistaken. Yes, I must protest this lavish treatment you’re receiving. How can there be justice in Hulburg if a Hulmaster charged with murder lives like a king, while a common man languishes in a dank dungeon? It’s unseemly, Geran.”
Sergen set down the goblet, and something under his collar caught Geran’s eye-an old amulet of copper, green with verdigris. Its top was shaped like a crowned skull, with two small emeralds for its eyes. It struck him as unusual because Sergen was otherwise attired in resplendent fashion, with an elegant silver-trimmed black tabard cut with violet pleats, high suede boots, and his great gold pendant. I’ve seen a medallion like that recently, Geran realized. But where and when?
Geran frowned and thought for a moment, and it came to him: It was the amulet that Aesperus gave to Urdinger in payment for the Infiernadex. He hadn’t gotten a very good look at it that night. The lich had been standing ten yards away, and the lighting had been poor-torchlight at best. But the size and shape were right, and even with the mage shackles clasped around his wrists he could sense the dark whisper of magic in the old copper. What did the King in Copper say when he gave the thing to Urdinger?
Sergen noticed Geran’s sudden distraction and glanced down. “What are you looking at?” he demanded.
“The distance to your heart,” Geran answered, thinking quickly. “I was wondering whether I should draw your blade and stab you now or wait until after my acquittal to finally rid House Hulmaster of your particular stench.”
“Brave words from a man with his hands in shackles.” Sergen snorted in amusement and lowered his voice. “Do not trouble yourself too much with plans for your acquittal, Geran. You’re exactly where I want you to be, and here you will stay. Good-bye, my dear cousin. Forgive me if I say that I shall not miss you much.”
“You and I have business to settle when I’m freed.” Geran glowered fiercely at his stepcousin, concealing his relief at deflecting Sergen’s attention. Sergen doesn’t know that I saw Aesperus give the amulet to Urdinger, he realized. But why does he have it?
“I see no point in continuing this conversation.” Sergen bowed mockingly and withdrew. “See to it that he has no more visitors,” he told the council guards. “Requests for a visit with the prisoner must be submitted in writing to the Merchant Council. Do you understand?”
“Aye, Lord Sergen,” the men outside replied. They shut the door behind Sergen and turned the key in the lock with an ugly and final sound.
Geran growled in frustration and kicked at the wall. He remembered what Aesperus had told Urdinger, all right. The lich had said that whoever wore the amulet could call on his minions. If Sergen was wearing the amulet, then he must have been planning on using its powers. The question was, for what purpose?” To slay someone, of course,” Geran muttered to himself. Better yet, it would be a murder that could not be laid at Sergen’s feet. Everyone would believe that the King in Copper had sent his specters for reasons of his own, not suspecting that Aesperus was simply fulfilling a bargain he’d made with House Veruna. “And who would Sergen want dead?”
Obviously, Geran himself was likely high on the list. But somehow the swordmage doubted that Sergen would invoke Aesperus’s minions for that. Sergen had already neutralized him with his exaggerated charges. Could he be planning to destroy a rival merchant company? Possibly, but Geran couldn’t see why Sergen would want to. They all supported him through the Merchant Council. That left the nascent Moonshields… or the harmach. That must be it, Geran thought bleakly. If the harmach and House Hulmaster were destroyed by some outside force, then Sergen would appear blameless. He could succeed where his father had failed and make himself the lord of Hulburg. As long as all the other Hulmasters died, no one would stand between Sergen and the harmach’s seat.
“Not even Sergen could be that ruthless,” Geran murmured. But he didn’t believe it. The more he thought on it, the clearer it became. With the orc horde threatening Hulburg, the castle defenses were stripped to a minimum. Kara was away from Griffonwatch, so Sergen would need some way to deal with his stepsister. But all the other Hulmasters were conveniently gathered in one place-including Geran. And Sergen had been the author of the compromise that transferred him to Griffonwatch, hadn’t he?
He needed to warn someone. But Sergen had just given orders that no one was to see him, and it might take hours or days before Hamil or Kolton or someone else managed to force the Council Watch to permit a visit. Geran stared at the cell holding him then at the shackles around his wrists.
Somehow, he had to escape.
TWENTY-THREE
10 Tarsakh, the Year of the Ageless One
Hours of anxious pacing and a furious examination of every furnishing in his cell did not provide Geran with any obvious way to slip free of the mage shackles. He considered feigning sickness or injury to bring one or two of his jailors into the cell but dismissed the idea quickly. He couldn’t imagine that anyone ever really fell for that ruse, and even if they did, there were simply too many men outside. He might be able to overcome one or two guards with surprise and a cudgel made from the leg of a table, but what then? And the Shieldsworn garrisoning the castle would be duty bound to try to stop him, as well. Some of them-Kolton, for example-might turn a blind eye to any escape attempt or even aid his efforts, but others would try to discharge their duty no matter what they thought of their orders. For that matter, there might be a few among the Shieldsworn who would act against Geran for less worthy reasons. Jarad Erstenwold had chosen to keep his mission in the Highfells secret from his own soldiers; that suggested to Geran that Jarad might’ve suspected that at least a few of his men might be in the pay of the Merchant Council or one of the foreign companies.
He studied his window for a time and tested its bars. Given a month he might be able to wear away the mortar and brick anchoring the bars in place and widen the window enough to wriggle through-but that would leave him clinging to a sheer cliff face, and he doubted that he had a month.
No, what I need to do is to get word to Hamil that I must be freed, Geran decided. Or at least get word to Hamil to warn the harmach of my suspicions. He can handle things from there.
