Rhovann to keep him in power, but they’d have to spend, and spend dearly, to support his overthrow.
“It might be that we could exercise our influence with the clergy of Cyric and see to it that your request is met,” he finally said.
“Good. And we would also need some guarantee that you are not supporting the Hulmasters in any way.”
The Warlock Knight snorted in amusement. “Having gone to some trouble to allow our sympathizers in Hulburg to help Lord Marstel in his coup, it would seem counterproductive to then begin dealing with the Hulmasters now.” Unless the Hulmasters came to Vaasa in a position of extreme need, in which case Terov might indeed have considered reversing course. Of course, Rhovann did not need to know that.
“I take that to mean that you do not object to giving me some guarantee on that score,” Rhovann replied. “Very well: if you withdraw your support for the Cinderfists and remain disengaged from the Hulmasters, I will allow a Vaasan concession, subject to our normal laws of concession-which limit the size of your garrison, I should note. Is that agreeable to you?”
“It is,” Terov said. A mercantile concession was only a small part of what he wished from Hulburg, but it was a useful first step. In time, that narrow opening might be widened. He held up his fist; the iron ring all Warlock Knights wore gleamed on his right ring finger. “Swear to it on my iron ring, and I will swear too.”
Rhovann shook his head. “I will not place myself under your geas, no matter how specific or limited. You will simply have to trust me, and I in turn will trust you. We both stand to gain from our bargain; most people in the world make do with that.”
Terov studied Rhovann’s face for a long moment. It seemed that the master mage of Hulburg would not be so easily ensnared. “So be it. As a gesture of goodwill, allow me to add this word of warning: you can expect the Hulmasters to march in the second tenday of Ches. Kara Hulmaster hasn’t been as careful in her hiring of sellswords as she should be. A few of her armsmen are sworn”-he held up his ring again-“to our service, and have provided agents of ours in Thentia with some insight into the Hulmaster plans.”
“That agrees with what I have observed with my own spies, although I hadn’t expected them to march quite that early,” Rhovann said. “My thanks, Lord Terov. I look forward to our next meeting. Now, when would you like to be introduced to Harmach Maroth? I think you’ll find him quite reasonable.”
SIXTEEN
The night in Myth Drannor was cold and fogbound. The silver lanterns that served as the city’s streetlamps were few and far between in the chill mists; weak halos of light surrounded each, quickly giving way to the heavy murk. Geran regarded the weather as a great stroke of luck; not even elves cared to linger out in the streets, and the mists would make it much harder for any patrolling guards to notice him and his friends while they were in places they weren’t supposed to be. As midnight approached, the streets fell still.
A half hour before their appointed meeting, Geran and his comrades slipped out of the Swan House into the fog. Hamil glanced up and down the deserted street, and shivered in his cloak. “I thought the nights were always starry and clear in Myth Drannor,” he muttered. “This is no different from a sea fog in Tantras. Where are the faerie lamps and the dancing nymphs?”
“Some of the many stories about the city have grown in the telling in other lands,” Geran replied. “Myth Drannor isn’t impervious to foul weather and ill chance, which is something we should remember tonight. Besides, in Tantras the fog would reek of the harbor flats and smoke. Come on, let’s be on our way.”
He led Sarth and Hamil on a circuitous route that kept them in the city’s public districts, approaching the old Irithlium carefully-the Celestrian stood in a quarter of the city where visitors weren’t normally welcome without an escort. A few of Myth Drannor’s winerooms and taverns remained open, but most folk had retired to their homes early. It might have been better to wait for the small hours, but Geran decided that Daried had chosen the hour so that he and his companions could pretend to be making their way home from enjoying the city’s entertainments instead of skulking about on the streets when no honest person would fare abroad.
They came up on the wide wooded area where Daried was supposed to be waiting from its far side. He spied a path leading into the shadows, and took a careful look around. No one was in sight, although a faint lilting song spilled from a wineroom’s door a good half block away. “This way,” Geran said to his friends, and they followed him away from the deserted avenue and into the dark woods.
Myth Drannor was checkered with large copses and groves of living trees; there was nearly as much wild forest within the city’s ring of lakes as there were streets and buildings. Many of the areas that had been reduced to rubble in the city’s destruction long before had not been rebuilt when the elves reclaimed the city in Seiveril’s Crusade, and the large area of ruins near the Irithlium’s old location was an excellent example. Within the shadows of the trees, moss-covered stones of old walls and fallen buildings gleamed in the faint light. Geran felt his way forward, hardly able to see anything in the darkness.
“Ah, there you are.” Daried Selsherryn materialized out of the shadows, holding a silver lantern dimmed to only a sliver of light. “A good night for scofflaws; few folk will be abroad in the fog. Come, the door you seek is this way.”
Geran and his friends followed the sun elf into the shell of an old building, its foundations bare to the sky. Daried led them down a steep stone stair to what would have been the floor of its cellar; a dark archway loomed before them. “We are in the foundations of the Tower of Nythlum,” Daried said softly. “There is no direct access from the Celestrian to the passages that were under the Irithlium, since the upper portions were largely filled in when the building was rebuilt. This tower belonged to a wizard who left it to the college on his death, and the foundations were joined by a new passage-this one before us. It leads to the passages that were covered up when the Irithlium was rebuilt.”
Geran nodded to his old mentor. “I’m in your debt, Daried.”
The sun elf shook his head. “Nonsense, since I was never here,” he said. “Good luck, and if I do not see you again before you set out, sweet water and light laughter until we meet again.” He dimmed his lantern and retreated, leaving Geran and his companions alone in the old foundation.
Hamil looked dubiously at the doorway. “Do you have any idea what might be sealed in this vault other than the harmless old manuscript we’re looking for?”
Geran shook his head. “I couldn’t begin to guess.” He drew his sword and ventured into the dark doorway.
Sarth and Hamil joined him; carefully he picked his way down broken steps to a large chamber below the tower foundations, murmuring the words of a light spell to give him something to see by. The passageway continued to the north, back in the direction of the old Irithlium if Geran’s bearings were correct, dropping a few steps as it went. After fifty paces or so, another archway loomed ahead, with a large door of stone filling the passageway.
Sarth set a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “There is an old warding here,” the sorcerer said. “I will see if I can craft a brief opening so that we may pass through without destroying it.” The sorcerer murmured a spell that Geran did not recognize, gesturing carefully with his hand. Geran was conscious of a subtle change in the cold air of the ancient halls, as subtle threads of magic drew taut and quivered under Sarth’s careful weaving. A brooding menace seemed to gather form beyond the door; Sarth shot Geran a look of warning and continued with his spell.
Geran summoned a spell of his own.
What could endure a century in this vault? Geran thought. Some sort of undead? Or perhaps a demon or devil? That was unfortunately quite possible; in the days before the crusade had reclaimed Myth Drannor, the ruined city was full of such things. “Be ready,” he whispered to Hamil. “I think there’s a powerful fiend in here.”
