Swordmage (18 page)

After stabling their animals, Geran and Hamil followed Erron to the abbey’s refectory. A handful of other monks waited there, and they provided the two comrades with a plain dinner of cured ham, boiled potatoes, black bread, and sharp white cheese, washed down with a tankard of hot cider.

“All right, Geran,” Hamil admitted. “This is better than huddling in some barrow out in those dreary hills, waiting for ghosts to come for us. But we were lucky to find the abbey when we did. There was a whole company of ghosts following us for that last mile.”

“You didn’t say anything about that,” Geran said.

The halfling shrugged. “I wanted you to keep your eyes on what was ahead of us. I was keeping watch behind.”

When they’d finished with their supper, Brother Erron appeared by the table and bowed. “Gentlemen, if you please, the Initiate Mother would like a word with you. Will you follow me?”

The two companions pushed themselves away from the table, rose, and followed the aged monk. He led them through a maze of passageways that took them through the main chapel—a tall room whose eastern wall was graced with

a great window of stained glass depicting a glorious sunrise in panels of red, rose, and gold—and then a dark scriptorium filled with wooden writing desks and scroll racks. For all of the abbey’s weathering and the poor condition of its outer walls and towers, the interior seemed to be in good shape. On the far side of the scriptorium, Erron led them to a sturdy - wooden door in a deep stone arch and knocked twice.

“Initiate Mother?” he called. “I have brought Geran and his companion.”

“Enter,” a muffled voice called.

Erron opened the door and led them into a small study or office, sparsely furnished. A stocky woman in yellow robes with iron-gray hair and a nut-brown complexion waited for them by the fire. She had a stern, lined face that would have been quite severe if not for her warm brown eyes, well creased by crow’s feet.

“Ah, Geran Hulmaster,” she said in a rich, melodious voice. “I have not laid eyes on you in ten years or more. And this must be Master Alderheart. I confess I am more than a little surprised to find you on my doorstep on such a bitter evening.”

“Mother Mara,” Geran said with a smile. He’d always liked her. From time to time he and Jarad had passed by the abbey in their youthful ramblings, and the monks of Amaunator had always been happy to set places at their table for two -hungry young hunters. He crossed the room to bow and take her offered hand, raising it to his lips. “I’m glad that Brother Erron let us in. It would’ve been a long, cold night otherwise.”

“We are honored to be of service,” she replied. “Please, sit. I’ve heard that you were back in Hulburg, but I would love to know what business brought you out on the Highfells this ; evening.”

Geran looked around and found a plain wooden chair. He seated himself, while Hamil scrambled up into a matching tone nearby, and the Initiate Mother took a seat across from jsthem. “We’re looking for tomb robbers,” he answered.

“My uncle told me that Jarad Erstenwold was found near a broken barrow, and that he’d been chasing after some gang of robbers who were opening burial mounds when he was killed. I decided to look into it for myself, and Hamil here offered to help me. We spent the day visiting tombs that had been broken into recently, but I suppose we stayed out later than we should have.”

The abbess nodded. “Yes, I know about the tomb-breakings, but I hadn’t heard that they were connected with Jarad’s murder. Have you learned anything new?”

“Maybe,” Geran said. “We’ve got reason to believe that one of the merchant houses in Hulburg is involved. And we might have learned something important this evening: All of the barrows that were broken into were burial mounds of priests of Lathander.”

The abbess sat up straighter and locked her eyes on Geran’s. “That I did not know. Go on.”

“The tombs we’ve seen look to be about the same age. Going by the inscriptions we can make out, I’d guess they date back about four or five centuries to the time of Thentur,” Geran continued. “Do you have any idea why the tomb-breakers would choose those barrows and ignore any others? What could they be looking for?”

The priestess frowned and looked down at her hands, thinking for a long time. Finally she shook her head. “I can’t imagine what they expect to find, Geran,” she said. “As you know, Amaunator was called Lathander in those days, so these are the tombs of the fathers of our faith you are speaking of. But to the best of my knowledge none of my antecedents were buried with any great treasure. I expect that the barrows of old Tesharan chieftains or ogre kings would be much more attractive to those who seek to plunder the wealth of the dead.”

Geran scowled and sat back. If Mara didn’t know why those tombs might be important, he didn’t know who would. Maybe he could find something in the harmach’s library that could shed some light on the mystery… .

“Initiate Mother,” Hamil said slowly, “do you think they might be looking for a book?” He glanced over to Geran and shrugged. “The sorcerer was looking for one, after all. Maybe they’re after the same thing.”

“A book?” The priestess’s brow furrowed in concentration, and then surprise flickered across her face. “A book! Yes, it is indeed possible, Master Hamil. They might be looking for the Infiernadex of Aesperus.”

Hamil glanced at Geran and back to Mara. “The what of what?” he asked.

“The Infiernadex. A book of spells or rites that once belonged to Aesperus. By all accounts it was filled with dire and dangerous invocations. It lies in the tomb of a priest of Lathander.”

The halfling grimaced. “Geran, Aesperus is the lich you and Kara were talking about a few days ago, right?”

Geran nodded. “He’s called the King in Copper—why, I couldn’t tell you. He came to power in the city of Thentia several centuries ago and brought much of the Moonsea North under his dominion, including Hulburg. His realm was known as Thentur, and the old stories say that he used necromancy to cling to power for many years. Eventually the people rose up against his tyranny and overthrew him. Hulburg and the other towns and cities under Thentur’s dominion became free, and Aesperus fled. Many years later he turned up again as a powerful lich, haunting some place under the Highfells known as the Vault of the Dead. It’s said that he’s the master of all the undead of Thar.” He looked back to the Initiate Mother. “But I’ve never heard any story about a book of his that might’ve ended up in a Lathanderian tomb.”

“You know only part of the story, Geran,” Mara answered. “Few remember it now, but the chief agents of Aesperus’s defeat in Thentur were the priests of Lathander, led by the High Morninglady Terlannis. She and her priests rallied the people of Thentia and Hulburg against the tyrant. The war to defeat Aesperus took years, but Terlannis and her forces slowly

pushed the king and his loyalists to the eastern frontiers of the realm, where Aesperus held out in a strong fortress called the Wailing Tower. After a long siege, the Lathanderians successfully stormed the Wailing Tower, broke Aesperus’s army, and razed their stronghold. They found no sign of the king, but they seized many of his weapons and treasures—including the Infiernadex. Aesperus eluded Terlannis, but he escaped with little more than the robes on his back.”

“How do you know all this?” Geran asked.

“I have read the accounts of the rebellion Terlannis herself set down after her victory. She was quite thorough in describing the wizard-king’s treasures and the dispositions she made with them. Some things she destroyed, some she felt safe in giving away, and other things she thought best to conceal and protect.” Mara folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze calmly. “The Infiernadex is the only book mentioned by name in her accounts. She feared that the book might survive any attempt to destroy it and perhaps reassemble itself in some distant land, so she directed it to be safely interred for all time, guarded by powerful wards.

“In fact, when her death approached, Terlannis instructed her followers to entomb the book with her, so that Lathander’s blessings would keep the Infiernadex hidden from evil hands forever. The book lies in her crypt.”

“So, if the tomb-breakers are indeed looking for this magical tome, then they’re not simply looking for Lathanderian tombs,” Hamil said. “They’re looking for the tomb of Terlannis.” The halfling scratched at his chin, collecting his thoughts for a moment before looking back up to Getan. “How many Lathanderians are buried on the Highfells? Do we have any idea how many burial mounds the Verunas have to search?”

Geran started to shrug helplessly, but the Initiate Mother answered for him. “Somewhere around eighty-five or so, Master Hamil.”

Hamil winced. “So many?”

“Some are priests, and others are laymen who gave

noteworthy service to Lathander during their lives. We have good records of which mounds are sacred to Amaunator, since we naturally honor those who followed the Sun Lord in his earlier incarnation as the Dawn Lord.”

“Well, it’s a start at least,” Geran pointed out to Hamil. “We think we know who’s opening barrows, and we think we know what they’re looking for. The vast majority of the burial mounds around Hulburg are no longer of interest to us. We can concentrate on the Lathanderian mounds, and maybe we can determine which are likely to be visited next.” He returned his attention to the abbess. “Do your records mention any distinguishing features of Terlannis’s tomb? Markers, inscriptions … anything?”

“They do not, but I doubt that you will need them,” the Initiate Mother said. “You see, I know where High Morninglady Terlannis is buried.”

TVfxve

The Harmach’s Hall seemed draftier and more drab than Kara Hulmaster remembered it. The rare occasions when the harmach took his seat in the high, open-raftered hall were most often feasts or banquets, held after sundown when the great chandeliers blazed with the warm light of hundreds of candles and the floor was crowded with merry, well-dressed people. In the gray light of a dull, overcast day, it simply struck her as dusty and unused, like an old barn left to fall down in a forgotten field. By the dreary daylight the old banners hanging from the rafters looked threadbare and worn, and the thirty or so people in the great room seemed out of place.

“Is the harmach coming?” Kara asked Sergeant Kolton, who stood beside her on the small mezzanine above the banquet hall and below the doors leading to the upper bailey. Six Shieldsworn guarded the upper doors of the chamber, commanding a good view of the spacious chamber below. Another half dozen of the harmach’s guards stood watch by the great doors leading to the lower bailey. All the Shieldsworn were armed and armored for a fight; they wore long coats of mail and carried crossbows or halberds and long swords. They weren’t the only soldiers in the room. More armsmen in the colors of various merchant costers or guilds stood watch by their council members assembling around the table in the center of the hall.

“I think he’ll be here momentarily, Lady Kara,” the round-faced soldier said. He glanced to the gilded doors—now old and peeling—that led from the banquet hall to the interior courts and passageways of the castle. Then he looked back down at the hall below and shook his head. “Doesn’t seem proper to me, though. He shouldn’t be at anyone’s beck and call.”

“It would be worse if he didn’t greet his guests,” Kara said. She sighed and descended the stairs that led down to the hall’s floor. In the middle of the room, immediately before the harmach’s carved wooden throne on its old dais, Griffonwatch’s servants had set up a horseshoe-shaped table facing toward the hall’s doors. Nine chairs were spaced around the table for the Harmach’s Council, and behind the council’s table, the castle staff had arranged plain wooden benches for the councilors’ retinues, such as they were. She took her seat at the foot of the right-hand arm of the horseshoe, automatically arranging the skirts of her own mail over the chair and turning her sword parallel to the ground so the hilt wouldn’t poke her under her ribs. She made sure to sit a good two feet back from the edge of the table. If she needed to get to her feet and draw her blade fast, she didn’t want the council table in her way.

“Ah, Lady Kara. Perhaps you can tell us what this is all about?” Kara glanced to her left, where Lord Maroth Marstel had his seat at the table. The Matstels were descended from a high-placed captain of the old Red Plumes of Hillsfar, a lord who had taken up residence in Hulburg after the Red Plumes had been driven out of their city, and he’d established a wealthy estate with the plundered loot and sworn armsmen he’d taken with him. Maroth Marstel was a tall, red-faced man of middle years who affected a much higher station than his family’s checkered past likely warranted. “This is most irregular. Our bylaws insist on three days’ notice of a meeting of the council.”

“That’s a custom, not a law,” Kara replied. She had always found Marstel a leering boor, but as a Hulmaster and advisor

to the harmach she was expected to sit at the table alongside buffoons such as the head of House Marstel, whether she wanted to or not. She set aside her irritation at his insipid manner and said, “It’s not for me to say why you have been summoned, Lord Maroth, but you’ll see soon enough.”

She took her eyes from his and glanced at the other members of the Harmach’s Council. They did not meet often; most attended to their own particular duties in administering the small realm of Hulburg and rarely needed to confer with the others. Directly across from her was Wulreth Keltor, the Keeper of Keys—a careworn, petulant old man who administered the sorely depleted treasury and the public works of the city. Beside him sat the wizard Ebain Ravenscar, the town’s Master Mage. He was a young, dark-bearded Mulmasterite who was in theory the most competent wizard residing in Hulburg. The Master Mage was supposed to be tesponsible for ensuring that practitioners of magic observed some basic precautions while within the city, and he was entitled to the ear of the harmach. In practice Ravenscar gave his official duties little attention, and Kara strongly suspected that the wizard was well paid to be so inattentive.