months ago the harmach and the Spearmeet defeated the Bloody Skull orcs not five miles from where we stand, saving your precious property-and your own worthless hide-in the process!”
“But is it not true that it was Hulburg’s appearance of weakness that invited the Bloody Skulls to attack in the first place? And the Black Moon as well?” Rhovann answered for Marstel. The mage had no idea if that was substantially true or not in the case of the orc tribe, but it was important to stake out the claim. “The Bloody Skull attack should have been sufficient warning that we can no longer afford the luxury of inaction and indecisiveness.”
More people started to speak, but Nimessa Sokol was first. “Master Ilkur, a moment ago you remarked that you did not see the relevance of the Merchant Council’s demands,” she said. “The relevance is this: If the harmach cannot restore order, the Merchant Council must. I have not been in Hulburg for very long, but my family has a substantial stake in the good governance of this realm. I wish to hear Harmach Grigor’s answer to the requirements laid before him.”
Anger flashed in the harmach’s eyes, but he kept his voice level and calm. “I will not ask the Spearmeet to disband or disarm,” he said. “Lord Marstel insists that the companies of the Merchant Council have a right to protect their lives and property. Well, so do the common citizens of Hulburg. And we saw five months ago, and again only a few nights past, the value of a large and well-armed militia.” He looked at Marstel and the merchant leaders behind him sternly. “Some allowances may be possible to meet your other concerns. But I will not give the Merchant Council the ability to enforce their own laws again. We have learned that there must be only one law in Hulburg.”
“In other words, your answer is no,” Marstel said. “We are done here, then.” The old lord hesitated, perhaps uncertain of what to do next, but Rhovann bent his will upon him again. Recovering, Marstel nodded sharply to the other merchant leaders behind him. They all stood-Nimessa Sokol with a taut frown of concern on her face-and filed out of the hall.
Rhovann waited a moment to reassure himself that the harmach’s soldiers would not attempt to detain Marstel or the others. He didn’t think it was very likely. A stronger lord, or one less concerned with the good opinion of those he governed, would not have permitted an avowed challenger to depart in peace, but Grigor Hulmaster seemed determined to avoid coercion.
After a moment, Rhovann stood as well and inclined his head to the harmach. “Forgive me, but I must go as well,” he said. “I may be Master Mage, but I am also sworn to the service of House Marstel.”
“Lastannor, you must reason with Marstel,” Harmach Grigor said. “If he flouts Hulburg’s laws, the Tower will have no choice but to enforce them. He is forcing my hand.”
“I will do what I can,” Rhovann answered. He decided that one more bit of misdirection couldn’t hurt, and added, “He is given to bold words and grand gestures, as I am sure you know. By tomorrow he may be of a different mind on the question.” He bowed again and withdrew.
On the steps outside the door, he found Nimessa Sokol attempting to confront Maroth Marstel. The young woman had her hands folded in front of her waist and spoke calmly, but her eyes blazed as she stood in front of Marstel, barring him from climbing into his coach. “You said nothing about disarming the Spearmeet before,” she said in a low voice. “I wouldn’t have agreed to support you if you’d added that to our list! The harmach can never agree to that, and you know it. Now he’ll reject our position out of hand!”
“It is a difficult time,” Marstel said in reply. “You are quite young and simply lack experience in how matters such as this are decided. Few women have much of a head for this sort of thing, you know.”
Nimessa paled in anger. Rhovann raised an eyebrow. It seemed that Marstel’s native boorishness had resurfaced at exactly the right moment to deflect the young consul of the House Sokol concession from the fact that the demands were never meant to be met by the harmach. He stepped in to mollify her before Marstel said something to anger her even more. “What Lord Marstel means is that we now have a demand we can graciously withdraw when true negotiations begin,” he said smoothly. “But that would have no value if the harmach didn’t believe that it was serious.”
The half-elf studied him for a moment. “Of course that is what Lord Marstel meant,” she said, even though her narrowed eyes and sharp tone indicated the opposite. “However, next time House Sokol must insist on being privy to any such strategy before allowing the High Master of the Merchant Council to speak for us. Your ploy may backfire on us all, with disastrous consequences.”
Rhovann forced Marstel to remain silent and bowed to the young woman. She eyed the two of them then nodded back to him and went her way. Rhovann ushered Marstel into the coach and signaled for the driver to go. They rolled out of Griffonwatch’s courtyard and descended the stone causeway winding around to the foot of the castle’s hill.
“It’ll be dark soon,” Marstel said, looking out the window. The elf mage ignored him. The old lord was quickly becoming useless, but it would be highly useful to keep a firm hand at the helm of the Merchant Council-or even in the harmach’s throne, if it came to it. With constant attention and oft-repeated spells, Rhovann could use Marstel more or less as he liked, but the elf mage hardly wanted to pass the next few months or years playing puppeteer to an old man whose mind was beginning to slip. Sooner or later it would become obvious that Marstel was no longer suited to leadership (not that he’d ever been suited, really), and all of Rhovann’s work would be for naught. No, what he needed was a sturdier, sounder, more loyal Marstel, one who could be counted on to manage affairs to Rhovann’s satisfaction without constant supervision. Unfortunately, he knew no spells that could change the sodden old boor in front of him into the man he needed.
But he did know spells that could
“A simulacrum … that might do,” he mused aloud. It would be several tendays of work, but when it was done, he’d no longer need to play nursemaid to the detestable old lordling in front of him.
“Eh? What’s that you said, Lastannor?” Marstel asked.
“Nothing important.” Rhovann glanced out the window; they had arrived at the Marstel tradeyard in the heart of the harbor district. He looked back to Marstel and fixed his eyes on the old man’s. “You will return to your home, eat a modest supper, and retire for the evening. I will see to it that you are not disturbed. Sleep well.”
Marstel nodded and yawned. His chin drooped toward his chest. When the carriage stopped, Rhovann climbed out and closed the door behind him. “Take Lord Marstel home and put him to bed,” he told the footman. The fellow nodded. All of Marstel’s personal servants and guards answered to the mage they knew as Lastannor, and did more or less as he told them to, regardless of their lord’s objections. “Let no one disturb him for any reason. I will return by morning.”
“Yes, Master Lastannor,” the footman replied. He climbed back up to the carriage’s running board, and the coach trundled off into the evening drizzle.
The guards at the compound gates bowed to Rhovann as he passed between them. He ignored them, rehearsing in his mind one last time the sequence of events he’d designed for the evening. The rain continued to fall; large puddles covered the cobblestones, and a small stream had formed in the center of the Marstel compound. The elf mage ignored the steady rain and headed for the building housing the company headquarters. The day’s routine business was long over, and the place seemed deserted except for more of the Marstel armsmen. One opened the door for Rhovann and stood aside as the mage ducked through the door to get out of the damp. He made his way to Maroth Marstel’s office, which he’d appropriated for his own use.
Inside, Valdarsel was waiting for him. The Cyricist wore a plain brown hood and looked for all the world like one more driver or stoker looking for a chance to earn a living in Hulburg. “Well?” he asked. “How did it go?”
“As I expected,” Rhovann answered. “The harmach refused to accept the council’s terms. Although he indicated that he’d be willing to negotiate on some of the points, which surprises me.”
“So the Cinderfists are needed tonight?”
“They are. It shall be as we planned. Take to the streets an hour before midnight and draw out the Shieldsworn and any Spearmeet companies you can. We will take care of the rest.”
Valdarsel nodded. “So be it, then. But it would’ve been better to strike without warning. The charade of presenting the harmach with demands may only set Lord Hulmaster on his guard.”
“Whether he is on his guard or not will not matter. But it might be very important later on for the Merchant Council to be able to claim that Grigor’s intractability forced tonight’s moves. A fig leaf of legitimacy may go a long way toward convincing the townsfolk to go along with the council’s rule.” Rhovann smiled. “Well, that and immediate evidence that the council has the town’s disorder in hand.”
“Don’t worry, Lastannor. I’ll allow you to quell the mob soon enough.” Valdarsel stood up and raised his hood
