EPILOGUE
Snow dusted the Galenas’ foothills, a dozen miles northeast of Hulburg. In the lowlands sodden stands of alder and maple still wore their fall coats of yellow and orange, but the forest-covered hills and steep-sided vales were a couple of thousand feet higher than the Winterspear valley, and their rocky crowns had been streaked with white for tendays now. Kardhel Terov, Warlock Knight of Vaasa, stood by one of the windows of his iron tower and studied the snows of the slopes above him with a dour frown. He was a stern man of fifty years, with close-cropped hair of iron gray and a strong, clean-shaven jaw. His eyes were a startling crimson hue, the mark of a pact for power he’d made long ago. Here, in the sanctuary of his iron tower, he did not bother with his great armor of black plate; it rested on a stand against the opposite wall. Instead he wore long robes of scarlet and black, embroidered with draconic designs.
He glanced up at the leaden sky, and his frown deepened. He needed no magic to see that more snow was coming soon. There were no true passes between Vaasa on the east side of the Galena Mountains and Thar and the inhabited lands of the Moonsea North on the west side. The lowest saddles between the Galenas’ mighty peaks remained choked with ice and snow year-round. But travelers of unusual determination could manage the journey in the summer and the early months of fall. Unfortunately, the weather seemed to suggest that unless Terov returned to Vaasa soon, he would be forced to go home by another path-either the long and tedious voyage down to the Sea of Fallen Stars and back again through the realm of Impiltur, or the dark and dangerous route under the mountains, through the mines of forgotten dwarven strongholds and the warrens of fierce orc tribes. Not even a Warlock Knight and his entourage were guaranteed a safe passage by that road. No, it would be much more convenient to conclude his business in these lands and depart soon.
A soft knock at his chamber door interrupted his brooding. Terov turned his head. “Enter,” he said.
Behind him, a pale, red-haired woman in a plain gray cassock and mantle of darker gray let herself into the room. She wore a thin black veil across her eyes. “Lord Terov, the priest from Hulburg has arrived.”
“About time,” the Vaasan lord muttered. “Very well. Show him to the great room. I will be down directly.”
The veiled woman nodded and withdrew. Terov allowed himself one more look from the window-the snow on the mountains was strikingly pretty, even if it portended no small amount of inconvenience for him-waited a short time to show his guest that he was not in fact waiting on his arrival, and then left his chamber. A single, curving stairway of riveted iron led down to the tower’s lower floors. The tower itself seemed not much larger than a farmer’s grain silo from the outside, but its interior was much more spacious, and Terov kept it well appointed with comfortable furnishings and a small staff of guards and servants. It was his most prized possession, a small magical fortress that he could summon into existence wherever he traveled. The iron tower could easily accommodate half a dozen guests in great comfort, as well as twenty or more guards and servants in plainer lodgings, and it was virtually impervious to attack.
A large fireplace and a row of narrow, arched windows guarded by iron shutters dominated the tower’s great room. It served as Terov’s sitting room and dining room, and from time to time as his audience hall. Inside, the Warlock Knight found his guest waiting for him. “Welcome, Valdarsel,” he said. “I trust your journey was not difficult?”
The priest of Cyric shook his head. “No, my lord. Not at all. The ride was only three hours or so.”
“Good. I know I summoned you here on short notice, but I felt that it would be useful to speak face to face.” For months now, Terov had relied on the occasional sending spell or carefully guarded letter to keep in touch with his servant in Hulburg. He trusted Valdarsel’s ambition and competence, and he was so far highly pleased with the results of the Cyricist’s assignment to organize a faction in Hulburg that could unwittingly serve Vaasa’s purposes. Still, it was useful from time to time to make sure that Valdarsel remembered whom he worked for-hence Terov’s visit to the borders of the harmach’s domain. “So tell me, Valdarsel: how do matters go in Hulburg?”
“Well enough, my lord. As you instructed, I have secured a seat on the Harmach’s Council. The gangs I control are restive, but so far I have held them in check with promises of property taken from native Hulburgans. Harmach Marstel cannot so much as scratch his nose unless the wizard Rhovann remembers to instruct him to do so. There may be some trouble on that front soon enough; despite his patents of nobility and Rhovann’s guidance, Maroth Marstel is not much of a harmach, and I imagine that it will be hard to keep that fact hidden for much longer.”
Terov shook his head. “The only opinions that matter are those of the merchant costers, and if Marstel continues to restore the leases and royalties they formerly enjoyed under Sergen Hulmaster, they won’t trouble themselves with what sort of ruler he is. Continue.”
“The Hulmasters have taken refuge in a modest estate-an old family holding from the time of Grigor’s grandfather, it seems-in Thentia’s lands. A small number of guards and servants accompanied them into exile. They aren’t penniless, my lord, but I doubt that they’ll have the means to mount a challenge to Marstel’s rule any time soon.”
Terov looked sharply at Valdarsel. “I fail to see why they are permitted to live at all.”
“I am puzzled too. Certainly it would be wiser to eliminate any possibility that a deposed dynasty might someday reassert its claim. But the mage Rhovann has taken no steps to tidy up that little detail, at least no step that I’ve seen.” Valdarsel shrugged. “In all honesty, my lord, I believe that Rhovann
“Hmmm.” The Vaasan lord considered the priest’s words for a long moment. “If Rhovann is not inclined to act, then you must, Valdarsel. I require the Hulmasters to be eliminated-all of them. And if you can arrange to implicate Maroth Marstel, so much for the better.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult, my lord.” Valdarsel smiled coldly. “If anything unfortunate befalls the harmach in exile, suspicion will naturally fall on the man who seized his throne. But I will ensure that strong evidence of his involvement surfaces to confirm what everyone will suspect anyway.”
“Good. With a little work, I imagine we might bring down Marstel and his Merchant Council as well-which will of course leave Hulburg with a crisis of leadership, to say the least. You should be well placed to exploit that. I mean for Hulburg to be under Vaasa’s control by spring.” Terov gave his guest a predatory smile. “You will be richly rewarded on that day, Valdarsel. I promise you that on my ring of iron.”
The Cyricist inclined his head. “My lord honors me with his confidence.”
“You have done well so far. Finish the Hulmasters, and the rest should fall into place.” Terov reached out to set a hand on Valdarsel’s shoulder. “Now, I am afraid I must turn you out into the weather again. I start back for Vaasa today, and I cannot delay any longer or leave the tower here.”
Valdarsel bowed again. “Occasional discomfort is good for the character, my lord. Besides, you have the more difficult journey. May the Black Sun guard your steps as you make your way home.”
“And you, my friend,” Terov answered. He walked Valdarsel from the great room down to the foyer by the tower’s door and waited as a servant gave Valdarsel a dry cloak to replace the sodden one he’d worn on his ride from Hulburg. Another servant waited in the drizzle outside, holding the reins of the priest’s horse. Valdarsel mounted, touched his brow and bowed to Terov, and then rode off down the lonely trail leading back toward Hulburg.
Terov didn’t waste time watching his underling ride off. He looked at the servants in the foyer and said, “Inform the staff and the guards to make ready for the march. We are returning to Vaasa, and I wish to depart within the hour.”
The warlock lord spared one more glance for the leaden sky and the towering white peaks looming ahead, and then he went to prepare for his journey home. He’d tried once before to panic Hulburg into his arms with the threat of the Blood Skull orcs. Where violence and fear had failed to accomplish his aims, ambition and deceit were poised to succeed.
