Swordmage (37 page)

“Far be it from me to question anyone helping me to escape, Hamil, but what’s he doing here?” Geran asked.

“I decided that I needed the best help available, in case we had to fight our way out of Griffonwatch,” Hamil answered. “And given what you’d told me about Sergen and Aesperus’s amulet, I thought Sarth might know something about what your cousin’s got planned. So I asked after Sarth all over town this afternoon, found him staying in a very fine inn called the

Captain’s House, and explained what was happening.”

Hamil found the correct key and unlocked Geran’s shackles; the swordmage shook them off and rubbed his sore wrists while Hamil knelt to free his ankle irons. Geran looked into Sarth’s face and frowned. “I appreciate your interest, Master Sarth,” he said. “But why did you agree to help? What do you have to gain?”

“To gain? Nothing but a clear conscience,” the tiefling answered. He glanced to the corridor outside and then looked back to Geran. “You see, I bear some responsibility for Jarad Erstenwolds death and your current troubles. I wish to make amends.”

Hamil found the key for the leg irons and quickly removed them. “You’re free, Geran,” he said. “We should go.”

“Just a moment,” Geran answered. “Explain what you mean, Sarth.”

“I came to Hulburg five months ago in search of the book called the Infiernadex. I knew that it had once belonged to Aesperus but had been taken from the lich king in the fall of Thentur centuries ago. I hoped to recover it for myself and to study the arcane secrets it contains. When I first arrived in town, I decided to seek out a sponsor, so I called on Darsi Veruna and tried to interest her in providing me assistance with my explorations.” The tiefling grimaced. “As it turned out, she wished to employ me as a wand-for-hire. I’d no particular desire to help her enrich herself any further, and we parted company. But I fear that I told her enough about my intended project for her to order her own people to begin searching for the book as well. As I understand it, their tomb-breakings soon attracted the attention of the captain of the Shieldsworn, who tried to put a stop to it and was killed for his interference. The Veruna armsmen would not have been there if I hadn’t sought out the aid of House Veruna at first. For that I am truly sorry.”

Geran shook his head. The tiefling seemed sincere, but he had a hard time taking Sarth at his word. Still, Sarth had evidently consented to help Hamil free him, and they had

fought together against Veruna’s mercenaries by the barrow of Terlannis. “I’ll need to hear more about this soon. I guess now isn’t the time,” he finally said. “But I’m sorry if I’ve misjudged you.”

The tiefling smiled ruefully and gestured at the small black horns jutting from his forehead. “I am accustomed to it.”

“Can we continue with your escape now, Geran?” Hamil asked.

“A sound suggestion.” Geran stepped out of the cell; the red smoke was already dissipating. Five council armsmen lay sprawled on the ground, coughing weakly. He spied a trunk by the opposite wall and opened it, retrieving the personal possessions he’d been carrying when Kendurkkel and his men had ambushed him. With a sigh of relief, Geran buckled his scabbard around his waist and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. “What now?” he asked.

“Mirya’s waiting with a wagon in the courtyard,” Hamil answered. “I arranged a large order for provisions to be sent to Erstenwold’s. We’re going to drive out the front gate as if nothing were out of the ordinary.”

“I’ll need a disguise.”

“I can attend to that detail,” Sarth said. The tiefling reached into a pouch by his belt to draw out a pinch of fine silver powder, and then cast the dust over the swordmage while murmuring a spell. Geran felt a strange prickling sensation over his skin and held still only through an iron determination not to flinch. Hamil and Sarth seemed to fade strangely in his sight, becoming pale and ghostly; when he looked down at his own body, he noticed that he seemed more ghostly still. “You’re invisible, Geran. Take care, since you can still be heard or felt. The spell lasts only a short time, so let us hurry.”

“I understand,” Geran said. He followed his rescuers down the corridor and then out through a guardroom where four more council armsmen lay where they’d fallen, snoring softly in an enchanted slumber. They descended a flight of steps and then turned aside into a small storeroom with

a door that opened on the courtyard behind the gatehouse. A large, open wagon stood just outside, its bed filled with several! casks and crates. More of the same stood in the storeroom.; Geran guessed that Hamil and Sarth had played the part of Erstenwold clerks unloading the wagon, only to slip away; when the opportunity presented itself. ?

Mirya stood in the shadows beside the wagon, wearing a] dark hood over her dress. She stroked the neck of the draftť horse to keep the animal still and quiet. When Sarth and \ Hamil appeared, she frowned in consternation. “What happened?” she whispered. “Where’s Geran?” I

“I’m here, Mirya,” Geran answered. He couldn’t resist a \ quick touch on her shoulder. She jumped and glowered in < his general direction. “You shouldn’t have let Hamil talk you j into helping out, though. You’ll be in a good deal of trouble i when the Shieldsworn figure out what happened.” *

Hamil laughed softly. “Trust me, Geran, it wasn’t my idea. ; All I wanted was the wagon and some empty barrels, but she ; insisted on coming along to help.” |

“It would be wiser to have this conversation somewhere 1 else,” Sarth said quietly. “We have not succeeded yet.” 1

Geran glanced up at the banners flying over the gatehouse. 1 They fluttered and flapped energetically in the strengthening | breeze, glimmers of gray in the moonlight. He was only a few | steps from slipping out of the castle, but he hesitated, quickly I reviewing the decisions he’d made earlier in the day. “You’d J better go without me,” he said slowly. “I must speak with the ; harmach and explain the danger to him. I can’t think of a i reason why Sergen would wear that amulet unless he intends I to use it to summon the King in Copper, and I think that he i! means to do it here.” ‘j

“Harmach Grigor may feel that he’s got to jail you again to jj keep his word to the Merchant Council,” Mirya pointed out. ij “You’ll not get a better chance to slip away.”

“I agree with Mirya,” said Hamil. “If they catch you now, it’ll be impossible to get you out later. Besides, it’ll raise some difficult questions for Mirya and me.”

“I’ll tell the harmach that it was my own doing. All I have to do is come up with a story to explain how I got out of the shackles. You should be fine.”

“That’s all well and good, but you can spare the harmach that decision by leaving with us now,” Mirya said sharply. “We can arrange to warn him once you’re out of danger. And if, after that, you still hold with the idea that Sergen’s up to some devilish plot, you’ll be free to take the fight to him.”

“Whatever you decide, decide quickly,” Sarth warned. “It will be far easier to spirit you out of the castle while you’re invisible, Geran.”

The swordmage thought for a moment longer then nodded—not that any of the others could see him. “I’ll go,” he said. “We’ll make sure to warn the harmach, but the best way to avert the danger is to get the lich’s amulet away from Sergen.” He clambered up onto the wagon, which rocked softly under his weight, and crouched down between a couple of empty barrels. The others climbed up onto the driver’s bench, and Mirya clicked her tongue at the draft horse. The animal gave a nervous whicker then pranced back in its traces.

“Easy, boy. Easy,” Mirya called softly. But the horse’s eyes rolled, and the animal stamped sharply as it shuddered and tried to back out of its harness. “Easy now!”

Geran rolled up on one elbow and looked at the animal, wondering what it was shying from. And then he felt it—a cold, sickening sensation that chilled his heart and made him shiver despite himself. The lanternlight burning by the castle gate seemed to dim and fail, and the shadows around the courtyard suddenly darkened and lengthened. He looked up and saw that the banners above the gatehouse hung limply from their masts.

“Something approaches,” Sarth rasped. “Something evil.”

Then, silently, terrible shapes began to rise from the moonshadows—ancient warriors in tattered hauberks, their.skeletal faces blank with hopelessness and dread. An

evil green light burned in the empty sockets of their eyes. The draft horse whinnied in terror and tried to rear in its traces; Geran rolled aside and abandoned the wagon, as did the others. The animal bolted away in panic, filling the courtyard with the horrendous sound of its screams and the clattering racket of the wagon bouncing over the cobblestones. Shouts of human terror echoed from the hallways and rooms of the gatehouse nearby as more and more of the specters appeared and glided into the castle.

“The King in Copper!” Mirya gasped. “He’s here!”

Geran caught her arm and retreated a few steps toward the storeroom behind him, sweeping out his sword even as he wondered if it would help against ghostly steel and spectral claws. Dozens of the terrible wraiths were already in sight, and more were appearing by the moment. “I hesitated too long,” he groaned. “Sergen’s decided to strike.”

A wraith flew overhead, wailing in a shrill, cold voice as it streaked past. It drew up and turned to gaze at them, the shadowy image of a long-dead warrior. “Slay them all,” it whispered to itself then it leaped down at Mirya, sweeping its phantom sword from its scabbard. Geran shoved her behind him as he parried with his backsword. Elven steel glimmered in the moonlight against dark shadowstuff, but the wraith’s ghostly weapon passed through Geran’s steel and sank into his arm. A bitter white chill pierced the swordmage’s flesh, and he cried out in agony. Then the wraith’s blade passed through him, leaving behind a thin white line of cold, pallid flesh like the scar of an old wound.

“Vaar thelmurnel’“‘Sarth shouted, and from his fingertips he hurled a bolt of bright fire at the center of the wraith’s body. The blazing bolt burned a hole right through the spirit’s substance, such as it was, and the wraith recoiled as though sorely wounded. “Steel is of little use now, Geran!”

The wraith’s features wavered and grew indistinct, but within moments its ghostly fabric began to knit together again, and the malice of its emerald eyes glittered brightly. It turned its attention to the tiefling and glided forward,

raising its phantom blade high for another strike. “Damn the luck,” Sarth muttered. “Perhaps my magic is not of much use, either.”

Geran shook off the lingering numbness in his swordarm and found the spell he was seeking. “Reith arroch!” he called, and his sword suddenly blazed with a brilliant white radiance. He leaped up to meet the wraith and drove his point right between the spirit’s eyes; this time the elven steel bit into the unearthly substance as if into living flesh. The wraith shrieked once, pinioned by the sword through its forehead, and then a flash of argent light destroyed it. But more wraiths swirled around them, and the castle courtyard began to take on an eerie, sepulchral appearance, as if the mere presence of the dead warriors had dragged Griffonwatch itself into the spectral horror of their shadowy existence.

“We can’t stay here, Geran,” Hamil warned. He had his daggers in hand—enchanted weapons both, but who could say whether they were keen enough to pierce flesh that was not there?—and he kept them poised as a defense of sorts, trying to hold off wraiths drawing close from that side. “We’re too exposed here!”

Geran looked around, and his gaze fell on the door leading to the banquet hall. A Shieldsworn guard fought furiously on the steps, only to crumple under the slashing assault of several of the furious wraiths. There was only one thing to do—Geran had to reach the harmach and the rest of the Hulmasters before the wraiths did. Hoping the others would follow his lead, he dashed across the courtyard and bounded up the steps into Griffonwatch’s horror-haunted halls.

TVtNTY-four

The Hulburgans had chosen a good defensive position. The track descending from the moorland down into the river valley ran between a high hillside on the east and a small rocky rise on the right. The white rushing Winterspear wound across the vale just in front of the human defenses, spanned by an old bridge of stone. One of their small watchtowers stood atop the rocky rise. Mhurren grinned in appreciation as he studied the small army arrayed against him. The sun had set more than an hour ago, but great bonfires burned across here and there in front of the human positions, set so the humans would have light enough to fight by. The human soldiers were careful to stand well back from the firelight; they might not be able to see past the line of fires, but then again, Mhurren couldn’t send his warriors at them without sending them through the firelight. Whoever the commander was, he was no fool.

“They think that little stream will stop us?” Kraashk snarled. The hobgoblin chieftain waved his hand at the humans. He was taller than Mhurren by half a head, and his rank brown hair was braided with tapers around his face; in battle Kraashk lit them to wreathe his face in flame and reeking smoke, believing it terrified his enemies. He pointed across the vale to its lower side, where the hillsides steepened and drew together again. “They would be wiser to stand at the defile, there.”

Mhurren shook his head. “The river runs through the middle of it. Dividing their warriors between the banks would be folly. Each part is unable to guard the other there. No, their captain chose good ground. The whole army fights as one, and he can fall back if he is beaten here.”

“You think like a human,” Kraashk said and let his fangs show for an instant to demonstrate that he did not mean it as a compliment.

The Bloody Skull chieftain ignored his vassal’s barb. He studied the vale for a time, then nodded to himself. It was a good plan. He pointed to the high hillside on the humans’ right flank. “Can your wolf riders manage that hillside, Kraashk?”

The hobgoblin studied it for a moment. “It won’t be easy, but yes, they could do it.”

“Then my plan is simple. Take your wolf riders around to the top of that hill. I will attack down the throat of the valley and bring the humans right to the edge of the stream. When I signal, you bring the Red Claws down the hill and take them in the flank. The humans will be busy with me, so they won’t have time to shoot at you.”