Richard Baker
Corsair
PROLOGUE
The shrill ring of steel on steel woke Geran Hulmaster in the dark hour before dawn. He rolled up onto one elbow in his bed, listening with his brow creased in the darkness of his room. He could hear cries of alarm spreading through the castle of Griffonwatch, his family’s ancestral home. For a long moment he wondered if he were caught in one of those strange dreams that came with a delusion of wakefulness. Then the shouts and the commotion started again, and Geran came fully awake.
He threw off his covers and jumped out of bed; the flagstones of the floor were cold under his bare feet. Fighting in Griffonwatch? he wondered. He’d lived in the castle of the Hulmasters all his seventeen years, and never had the castle come under any kind of attack. Oh, there were the occasional barracks-room brawls down in the Shieldsworn quarters, but that was down in the castle’s lower bailey, where the soldiers and the servants had their lodgings. And he doubted that the fighting he heard was any kind of drunken brawl. It sounded serious and deadly.
He tucked his nightshirt into the thin breeches he usually wore to sleep and stepped into the boots standing by the foot of the bed. He was a tall, sparely built young man, with arms and legs that seemed a little too long for him and a wild mop of thick black hair that fell across his keen gray eyes. Stamping his feet to the floor to seat his boots, he stumbled over to his sword belt and buckled it around his narrow waist. Geran had been training at arms since his twelfth birthday, and his hands already had the hard-earned calluses of an accomplished swordsman. Whatever commotion was loose in Griffonwatch, it would find him ready for a fight.
Geran gave his boots one more stamp then hurried to his chamber door and threw it open. The hallway outside was empty, but he could hear the sounds of fighting echoing from the lower parts of the castle. “Who attacks us?” he muttered to himself. Orcs or goblins from Thar? Brigands from the Highfells? How could they have gotten all the way into the castle? And why would they attack the harmach’s soldiers in their own fortress? He’d never heard of orc raiders or human bandits trying anything like that before.
Since the Hulmaster family quarters seemed quiet for the moment, Geran headed down the stairs leading to the tower’s lower room. There he found his cousin Kara, who stood by the door leading out to the upper court. The door was ajar, and she peered out cautiously with her eerie, spellscarred eyes glowing faintly blue in the dim light, a short sword bared in her hand. She was a year younger than Geran, but she could use her blade almost as well as he could use the the sword at his hip. Like him, she wore her nightclothes, but she’d belted her gown tight around her waist so that it wouldn’t hinder her. She spared him a quick look then returned to watching the courtyard.
“What’s going on?” Geran asked in a low whisper.
“I don’t know, but I heard fighting,” she answered. “What should we do?”
He frowned and peered out into the courtyard as well. A cold, steady rain pelted down in the night, and he shivered in his thin nightshirt. The Shieldsworn guards who normally stood watch by the Hulmaster quarters weren’t at their posts. All of the sudden, he found himself unwilling to answer Kara’s question; his curiosity was rapidly giving way to dread. Something was terribly out of place in the house of the Hulmasters this night. Geran thought he knew what it was to be in a fight. After all, he’d held his own in a skirmish or two up in the Highfells, riding against orcs and other such savages alongside the Shieldsworn. But it was a different matter to wake up to a battle in his own home wondering which of the soldiers or servants he knew were already lying dead in the halls.
Several armored figures emerged from the doors leading down from the courtyard to the great hall. Geran tensed, dropping his hand to his sword hilt, but Kara shook her head. She could see as well as a cat in darkness-a gift of her spellscar. “It’s your da,” she said.
Bernov Hulmaster strode across the courtyard with several Shieldsworn at his back. Geran and Kara stepped back from the door as he and his guards entered. Geran’s father was only an inch taller than Geran, but he was a thick-bodied bear of a man with a stout beard of gray-streaked brown; Geran got his black hair and his lean build from his mother’s side of the family. Bernov wore his battle armor and a heavy cape against the weather, and he filled the doorway with his broad shoulders and pauldrons. His face was set in a grim scowl.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Bernov said. “Are you two all right?”
“Yes, Da,” Geran answered. “We’re fine. But we heard fighting.”
“I know.” Bernov glanced around the family’s hall, as if he expected enemies to burst out of the shadows at any moment. “I want you and Kara to stay here. Bar the door when I leave, and admit no one to the Hulmaster quarters except the harmach or myself. And no one’s to leave, either. Keep your mother, your aunt, and Sergen here until I tell you it’s safe. Do you understand me?”
Geran did not understand at all, but he managed a weak nod. “What’s happening? Are we under attack?”
Bernov’s scowl deepened again. “It’s your uncle Kamoth. He tried to murder the harmach and seize Griffonwatch. The harmach survived, but the castle is still in doubt. I fear some of the Shieldsworn are his, so you’re not to trust anyone.”
Kamoth tried to kill the harmach? Geran stared at his father. Kamoth Kastelmar was husband to Geran’s aunt, Terena, Bernov’s sister. Their older brother, Grigor, was harmach of Hulburg, lord over the town and the surrounding lands. Geran knew that his father didn’t think much of Kamoth and hadn’t ever really trusted the man, but he couldn’t believe that Kamoth was capable of the sort of treachery that was apparently afoot. He
“There must be some mistake,” Geran said.
“There’s no mistake. Kamoth and his men killed the guards by Grigor’s door, but another Shieldsworn happened by and caught them at it. They killed her too, but not before her shouts raised the alarm.” Bernov reached out to set a hand on Geran’s shoulder, and his expression softened. “I know you think highly of Kamoth, Geran. But he’s turned against us, and he means to kill every last Hulmaster and take Hulburg for his own. He’s an enemy now.”
Another sharp exchange of swordplay came from lower in the castle, and Bernov glanced over his shoulder. “I have to go. Stay here, and keep the door barred.”
“Wait! I’ll come with you,” Geran said. “I can help.” He wasn’t a match for his father yet, or Kamoth either, but he could best many of the Shieldsworn in the practice yard.
Bernov smiled and squeezed Geran’s shoulder with rough affection. “I know it, Son. But I’m worried for your mother and the rest of the family, and I’d feel a lot better if I knew that you and Kara were here to keep this door closed and make sure they all stay safe.”
Geran knew his father was simply putting a good face on ordering him to stay out of the fighting, but he acquiesced anyway. “I understand,” he replied. Bernov nodded and strode back out into the rainy courtyard. Kara shot the heavy iron bolt into place.
They waited in silence for a quarter-hour or more, straining their ears for a clue as to what was taking place in the castle outside the Harmach’s Tower. From time to time new shouts echoed through the halls below, punctuated by sharp cries or the clatter of steel against steel. But the sounds of fighting steadily diminished; Geran thought that one side or the other must be getting the upper hand. He wished that he hadn’t agreed to remain in the tower. If he’d gone with his father, he might have been able to tip the scales in some close skirmish. He was old enough and skilled enough to fight for the harmach.
The door to the tower rattled against its bolt. Geran and Kara both jumped at the sound and turned to look. The door-a sturdy construction of thick oak planks riveted together with bands of iron-shook again in its frame. “In the tower, there! Open up!” a man called from outside.
