the wisdom of her years well. She had a kindly, gentle manner, but there was unmistakable firmness in her voice. Much of Kara’s stubbornness came from her mother. “Since the secret of your journey’s out, what news of Hulburg?”
“Things are much as they’ve been. Marstel is still holding court in Griffonwatch, I’m sorry to say, and his Council Guard holds the town in force.” He moved around the table to kiss his Aunt Terena on her cheek, set a hand on Kara’s shoulder, and then sat at the next place down. The kitchen servers quickly set a plate of roasted chicken and a goblet of warm mulled wine in front of him before retreating from the room again. Between mouthfuls of chicken, he recounted a carefully edited version of his journey to Hulburg and travels around the countryside, leaving out most of the names. Since his treacherous cousin Sergen’s passing, there were no more Hulmasters he didn’t trust, but the children were young and might say something where they shouldn’t. If word got back to Rhovann that he’d been helped by the Sokols or had spoken with Mirya or the Tresterfins or any other old loyalists, lives might be in danger. But he made sure to exaggerate every conceivable hardship and moment of peril he faced for the sake of Natali and Kirr, so that the whole drab and wearying tenday became a hair-raising dance with death in the retelling.
By the time he’d finished, the eyes of both young Hulmasters were wide with astonishment. Erna frowned sternly at Geran, well aware that the truth had been stretched more than once. “They’ll be up half the night with that tale in their heads,” she said. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Geran!”
“Every word of it true,” he answered. “Besides, Hamil isn’t here to spin them their bedtime story. I did what I could in his place.” Hamil Alderheart, Geran’s old adventuring companion, was greatly beloved by the young Hulmasters. He’d sailed back to Tantras a month before to see to the business of the Red Sail Coster, his trading company.
“Every word true, indeed,” Erna muttered. “Come, Natali, Kirr. It’s to your lessons and then bed for the both of you, and I’ll not hear a word of protest about it!” She gathered her children and shooed them out of the room. Terena excused herself and followed to give Erna a hand with the young Hulmasters, leaving just Kara and Harmach Grigor with Geran.
Kara looked at Geran, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m accounted one of the best trackers in the Moonsea North, and I have to say, I’ve never met any frost giant robbers or pixie bandits haunting the roads between here and Hulburg.” Laughter danced in her brilliant blue eyes, touched years before by the azure fire of the Spellplague. “Natali saw through every word of that, you know.”
“I know it,” answered Geran. “I simply didn’t want to say too much about my true business in Hulburg. Careless words may prove dangerous.”
They fell silent for a time, listening to the receding sounds of the children retreating to their rooms. Harmach Grigor smiled sadly, and then returned his attention to his nephew and niece. “Speaking of dangerous, you were rash to return to Hulburg, Geran,” he said. “We have other sources of information. It’s not worth your life.”
Geran shook his head. “I disagree. There’s a difference between reading about what’s happening in the town and seeing it with your own eyes. Besides, to have any hope of organizing resistance to Marstel’s rule, we must have the trust and respect of old Hulburg. We will be asking people to run deadly risks on our behalf. They need to see that we haven’t abandoned them.”
“Geran is right, Uncle,” Kara said firmly. “Even the most loyal hearts will lose hope if they come to believe we don’t intend to return.” With the brilliant azure of her eyes and her well-known spellscar, she could not disguise herself as easily as Geran. He knew it was hard for her to leave the dangerous spying to him, but as risky as it was for him to venture into Hulburg now, it would have been twice as risky for her. She looked over to Geran and asked, “So how do matters stand in Hulburg now?”
“It’s hard on the folk who supported us,” he admitted. “Marstel-well, Rhovann I suppose, I can’t imagine this was Marstel’s scheme-is taxing the old landowners and shopkeepers into penury. Then he’s awarding their confiscated property to the outlander gangs to buy their support. Yarthin, Errolsk, Baudemar, they’re all out of business.”
“And the Cinderfists are staying bought?”
Geran nodded. “For now. Their priest Valdarsel now sits on the Harmach’s Council as the so-called high prelate of Hulburg. Things might be different in a few months when Marstel’s tax collectors run out of folk to rob and have no more gold or land to give to the Cinderfists, but that day isn’t here yet.”
“Who did you see?” Grigor asked.
“Mirya, of course. After her, Sarth, Burkel Tresterfin, Theron Nimstar, the Ostings, a couple of others. Nimessa Sokol likely knows I slipped into Hulburg in a Sokol caravan, but I didn’t speak with her or any of her folk.”
“How many of the Spearmeet are ready to fight for our cause?” asked Kara.
“If Tresterfin, Nimstar, and the Ostings are right, a couple of companies still. I’d guess ten score, altogether. More would join once the fighting began in earnest, I think. Few are willing to be the first to rise in opposition, but once some do, more would follow.”
“No,” said Harmach Grigor. “Not yet. Encouraging our loyalists would only bring down reprisals that we cannot shield our people against. If we cannot protect them, then we must make sure that they don’t suffer on our behalf.”
“Every day we wait, our loyalists grow weaker, and Rhovann adds to his own strength,” Kara replied. “Wait too long, and we’ll miss our chance altogether.”
“I understand that, Kara. But this is not yet the time. Better to do nothing at all and let Marstel have his way with the town for now than to cause our folk any more suffering.” Grigor pushed himself upright with a grunt and motioned to the door. “It’s getting late. I believe I’ll retire for the evening.”
Geran frowned, unwilling to let the matter rest. Despite the hard day’s travel in the cold weather, he was not yet ready for bed. Still, he was certainly in need of a change of clothing, and a warm bath wouldn’t be amiss. The three Hulmasters said their good nights to each other, and parted ways-Kara to make her rounds of the manor and its grounds, seeing to the Shieldsworn guards, and Geran and Grigor to the wing of the manor where their rooms were. They climbed the stairs to the second floor, Grigor moving slowly and carefully as Geran tried to hover nearby as unobtrusively as possible.
At the top of the stairs Grigor paused to catch his breath. “The winters are growing harder every year,” he said, leaning heavily on his cane. “The cold never leaves me, it seems. Ah, well, that’s the price of seeing so many of them. It’s good to have you back safe and sound, Geran. We worry about you when you’re away.”
“I try to be careful.” Geran hesitated, weighing the question of whether to push again on the issue of more direct action against Marstel. He decided to try one more time. “About Marstel … I believe there’s more we can do than you might think, Uncle. In a tenday Kara and I could muster a hundred riders to harry Marstel’s frontier posts and borders. It might not be much, but it would show friends and foes alike that we’re not beaten yet. Even just a show of resistance might be enough-”
“Not yet!” the harmach said sharply. He fixed his pale, watery eyes on the younger Hulmaster. “I have spoken on this matter, Geran. There is no point in spilling more blood if we don’t yet have the strength to win.”
Geran fell silent, meeting his uncle’s gaze for a long moment before he reluctantly nodded. “I hear you, Uncle. There’s to be no fighting for now.”
“Good,” Grigor said. He smiled again, and turned toward his chambers. “Good night, Geran. We’ll speak again tomorrow.”
“Good night, Uncle Grigor,” Geran replied. He watched his uncle limp away on his cane, then headed for his own rooms.
TWO
Geran was sound asleep when the assassins came. Only the fact that he’d carelessly left his boots lying on the floor near the foot of his bed saved his life.
A soft stumble in the dark roused him from a dreamless slumber; he awoke just as iron-hard talons were reaching for his throat. Flailing wildly, he caught his attacker’s arms in his hands. He felt rough, scaly skin that was
