Swordmage (36 page)

magic in the old copper. What did the King in Copper say when he gave the thing to Urdinger?

Sergen noticed Geran’s sudden distraction and glanced down. “What are you looking at?” he demanded.

“The distance to your heart,” Geran answered, thinking quickly. “I was wondering whether I should draw your blade and stab you now or wait until after my acquittal to finally rid House Hulmaster of your particular stench.”

“Brave words from a man with his hands in shackles.” Sergen snorted in amusement and lowered his voice. “Do not trouble yourself too much with plans for your acquittal, Geran. You’re exactly where I want you to be, and here you will stay. Goodbye, my dear cousin. Forgive me if I say that I shall not miss you much.”

“You and I have business to settle when I’m freed.” Geran glowered fiercely at his stepcousin, concealing his relief at deflecting Sergen’s attention. Sergen doesn’t know that I saw Aesperus give the amulet to Urdinger, he realized. But why does he have it?

“I see no point in continuing this conversation.” Sergen bowed mockingly and withdrew. “See to it that he has no more visitors,” he told the council guards. “Requests for a visit with the prisoner must be submitted in writing to the Merchant Council. Do you understand?”

“Aye, Lord Sergen,” the men outside replied. They shut the door behind Sergen and turned the key in the lock with an ugly and final sound.

Geran growled in frustration and kicked at the wall. He remembered what Aesperus had told Urdinger, all right. The lich had said that whoever wore the amulet could call on his minions. If Sergen was wearing the amulet, then he must have been planning on using its powers. The question was, for what purpose? “To slay someone, of course,” Geran muttered to himself. Better yet, it would be a murder that could not be laid at Sergen’s feet. Everyone would believe that the King in Copper had sent his specters for reasons of his own, not suspecting that Aesperus was simply fulfilling

a bargain he’d made with House Veruna. “And who would Sergen want dead?”

Obviously, Geran himself was likely high on the list. But somehow the swordmage doubted that Sergen would invoke Aesperus’s minions for that. Sergen had already neutralized him with his exaggerated charges. Could he be planning to destroy a rival merchant company? Possibly, but Geran couldn’t see why Sergen would want to. They all supported him through the Merchant Council. That left the nascent Moonshields … or the harmach. That must be it, Geran thought bleakly. If the harmach and House Hulmaster were destroyed by some outside force, then Sergen would appear blameless. He could succeed where his father had failed and make himself the lord of Hulburg. As long as all the other Hulmasters died, no one would stand between Sergen and the harmach’s seat.

“Not even Sergen could be that ruthless,” Geran murmured. But he didn’t believe it. The more he thought on it, the clearer it became. With the ore horde threatening Hulburg, the castle defenses were stripped to a minimum. Kara was away from Griffonwatch, so Sergen would need some way to deal with his stepsister. But all the other Hulmasters were conveniently gathered in one place—including Geran. And Sergen had been the author of the compromise that transferred him to Griffonwatch, hadn’t he?

He needed to warn someone. But Sergen had just given orders that no one was to see him, and it might take hours or days before Hamil or Kolton or someone else managed to force the Council Watch to permit a visit. Geran stared at the cell holding him then at the shackles around his wrists.

Somehow, he had to escape.

TWlnty-three

Hours of anxious pacing and a furious examination of every furnishing in his cell did not provide Geran with any obvious way to slip free of the mage shackles. He considered feigning sickness or injury to bring one or two of his jailors into the cell but dismissed the idea quickly. He couldn’t imagine that anyone ever really fell for that ruse, and even if they did, there were simply too many men outside. He might be able to overcome one or two guards with surprise and a cudgel made from the leg of a table, but what then? And the Shieldsworn garrisoning the castle would be duty bound to try to stop him, as well. Some of them—Kolton, for example—might turn a blind eye to any escape attempt or even aid his efforts, but others would try to discharge their duty no matter what they thought of their orders. For that matter, there might be a few among the Shieldsworn who would act against Geran for less worthy reasons. Jarad Erstenwold had chosen to keep his mission in the Highfells secret from his own soldiers; that suggested to Geran that Jarad might’ve suspected that at least a few of his men might be in the pay of the Merchant Council or one of the foreign companies.

He studied his window for a time and tested its bars. Given a month he might be able to wear away the mortar and brick anchoring the bars in place and widen the window enough

to wriggle through—but that would leave him clinging to a sheer cliff face, and he doubted that he had a month.

No, what I need to do is to get word to Hamil that I must be freed, Geran decided. Or at least get word to Hamil to warn the harmach of my suspicions. He can handle things from there.

The question was, how to smuggle out a message? He could try to tear a page from one of the books in the cell, weight it somehow, and drop it out the window … but it would be a matter of chance if the right passerby picked it up and delivered it. And the night was wet, so his note would be in poor condition by the time anyone happened across it. He searched through his cell contents again, and his eye fell upon a small, dusty case in his bookshelf—a set of dragon’s-teeth tiles. Geran didn’t know any solitaire games to play with them, so he hadn’t given them much attention before. Now he opened the case and examined the tiles more carefully, laying them out on his table. Coins, bars, swords … dragons and griffons … they all were said to have a meaning. “If only I knew Dwarvish,” he murmured to himself. Of course, little Dwarvish remained to be seen in the iconography of the game, only a handful of Dethek runes to accompany the images. He studied the clay tiles for a moment, running his fingers over the glazed surfaces. People played the game all over Faerun, different variations in every country… . An idea began to take shape in his mind. Geran chose two of the tiles and set them aside, then he put the rest away and carefully stretched himself out on the bed to rest until morning. If it didn’t work, he could always use the tiles to weight letters he tossed out the window.

When his breakfast was delivered in the morning, Geran ate well. Then he set the two tiles he’d picked in plain sight atop the tray beside the dishes, and used a quill and ink to write “For Kirr” on a slip of paper under the tiles. He knocked on the door. “I’m done with my breakfast!” he called.

The council guards opened the door, and one came in to pick up the tray. He frowned at the two tiles. “What’s this?” he asked.

“For my young cousin Kirr,” Geran said, affecting a calm nonchalance he certainly did not feel. “He likes the ones with the dragons on them.”

The guard glanced at his sergeant, who stood by the door. The sergeant shrugged. “All right,” he said. “But check the paper and make sure he didn’t write anything more.”

The soldier inspected the note. “No, Sergeant. This is it.”

“Fine, then.” The council guard picked up the tray and backed out, keeping his eyes on Geran. A moment later, the keys turned again in the heavy lock.

Geran sighed and composed himself to wait. The real question now was whether Kirr would do what he thought the boy might do with the two new tiles, and he might not find out for hours yet. To pass the time he exercised again and then chose another book from the shelf to while away an hour or two.

The first sign of his plan’s success came about an hour later; he heard raised voices in the corridor outside his door. Geran set down his book and hurried over to put his ear to the door, but he could not make out anything with certainty. He returned to his book, but half an hour later he felt a familiar voice in his mind. Geran? Hamil said silently. If you’re there, look to your window.

The swordmage moved over and glanced out, but he did not see much. Then a small sound from over his head caught his attention. He ducked down and looked up as steeply as he could; Hamil clung to a rope a little above his cell’s window. I’m here, Hamil! he answered.

Are you well? The guards wouldn’t let me in to see you.

I’m well enough, but Sergen ordered his men not to allow anyone in to see me, Geran told him. Did you get the tiles?

I did, though I confess I almost ignored your cousin. He sought me out to show me his new dragons-teeth, and I didn’t think anything of it. Fortunately he was very persistent, and

finally paid attention just to humor him. Only then did he mention that you’d sent them to him. The halfling shifted a little and turned to set his feet on the top of the embrasure over Geran’s window. Keeping his voice to a whisper, he said, “Playing two dragon tiles together is considered bad luck in the south, you know.”p>

“I hoped you’d take it as a sign of distress. Listen, Hamil— I need to get out of this cell.” Geran kept his voice low. He did not think his guards could hear him through the thick door, but if one of them happened to slide open the viewport and check on him, he wanted to look as if he were simply staring out the window instead of holding a conversation with someone clinging to a line just outside.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask, but aren’t you worried about embarrassing your uncle by making an escape?”

“I think Sergen’s planning something awful. I’ve got to stop him. He means to have my uncle killed, maybe the whole family. He’s got the amulet that the King in Copper gave to Urdinger. No good can come of that.”

Hamil fell silent for a moment. “The lich said that whoever wore the amulet could call on his minions.”

Geran nodded. “And Sergen told me last night that I wouldn’t have to worry about regaining my liberty again. I take that to mean he’ll have me killed in my cell, or he intends to make himself the master of my fate by seizing the throne. I have to believe that Sergen’s got the medallion now, because he’s going to call on its powers. We’ve got to get it away from him or at the very least warn my uncle and Kara about his intentions.”

“Agreed. Let’s figure out how to get you out of there.” Hamil studied the window and then descended a few more feet to examine the stonework below it. “Hmmm, I don’t think the window’ll work unless you can use your teleporting magic.”

Geran shook his head. “I need to see exactly where I’m going, and I’ll need a safe place to appear. Besides, I’m still in mage shackles. I can’t use magic.”

“It’ll have to be the front door, then,” Hamil said. “I need to arrange for some help, Geran.”

“Leave the Shieldsworn out of it if you can, Hamil. Many of them are sympathetic to my situation, but their duty is clear—they’re sworn to resist any effort to break me out. You can’t count on their help, but I don’t want to see them killed.” Geran paused, thinking his way through what Hamil would have to do. “For that matter, it’d be better if you could avoid a massacre of the council guards. I’d rather have them incapacitated than dead. The charges Sergen laid against me are groundless, but they wouldn’t be if we killed men assigned to keep me under arrest.”

“As long as you’re thinking of ways to make my job harder, why not ask for a purple horse with a golden saddle to ride away on?”

“If I were certain that Sergen intended to move against the harmach within the next day, I’d tell you to do anything in your power to get me out and damn the consequences,” Geran said in a low voice. “But I’ve only got suspicions, Hamil. I’m hesitant to kill over them.”

“Fine,” Hamil sighed. “I’ll see if I can free you sometime this evening.”

“I’ll be waiting for that putple horse.”

Hamil snorted in response. Geran heard a whisper of leather against stone and a small grunt of effort, and then the halfling was gone again, scrambling back up to whatevet vantage he had descended from. The swordmage turned away from the window and surveyed his small room. A few more hours, he thought. He’d have to make sure he knew what to do once Hamil freed him. He sat down on the bed, his chin in his hand, and thought long and hard about the hours ahead. Then he composed himself to wait through the afternoon. He found that he had little appetite for his dinner, simply because he was growing anxious for Hamil, but he made himself eat well anyway; if things didn’t go well, it might be a long time before he had the opportunity to eat again.

After his dinner, Geran watched a spectacular sunset from

his window, which faced toward the southwest. The gloom and drizzle of the last few days was breaking up; a great mass of tattered gray clouds drifted slowly eastward, painted rose and gold by the setting sun. The skies above the western horizon seemed dark and clear. Another stretch of cold weather and strong winds, Geran decided. Already whitecaps were beginning to kick up on the purple gloom of the Moonsea, splashing against the soaring shadows of the Arches that dominated the harbor.

Nothing happened until three hours after sundown, and when it did, it happened quickly. Geran heard a brief commotion in the corridor outside his door—a sharp cry of alarm, quickly cut off, followed by a shrill ring of steel on steel. Then he heard a deep, rasping voice hissing syllables of arcane power, words of might that made the door tremble in its frame. Streams of reddish smoke seeped from under the door, carrying an acrid reek that made Geran’s eyes water and his throat burn. Then the key turned, and the door swung open.

Hamil stood there with a handkerchief tied over his nose and mouth. And behind him stood the proud tiefling sorcerer Geran had encountered out on the Highfells. The tiefling wore a heavy, hooded black cape over his finely embroidered scarlet robe, but he still carried his rune-covered staff. “The shackles, quickly!” he hissed to Hamil.

The halfling hurried up to Geran with a set of keys in his hand. “Geran, you remember Sarth Khul Riizar. We’ve met before, of course, but circumstances didn’t permit a proper introduction.”