Swordmage (8 page)

The Veruna man strode out of the store, sparing Geran one more look before he bulled his way into the street. The other two blades followed him. Geran watched them pause and speak together for a moment out in the street before they turned and left together. He sighed and released the spells he’d been holding. With a simple flourish he returned his sword to the scabbard. “I suppose that’s done for now,” he said.

Mirya watched the Veruna armsmen leave, her face a tight

mask of disapproval. “And when did you become a wizard?” she demanded.

Geran shrugged. “I know a few shields and evocations, but I’m no wizard. Sword magic is all the magic I can master.”

Her eyes fell to the blade at Geran’s hip, and she studied him more thoughtfully. “I’ve heard stories of elven swordmagic,” Mirya finally said. “I thought the elves weren’t in the way of sharing their magic with outsiders. Is the sword enchanted?”

“The lightning was a spell of mine, not the sword. But, since you ask—yes, the blade’s enchanted. I earned it in the service of the coronal.” He halted, unsure what else he could add. The people of Hulburg knew elves and elven ways only by what they heard from merchants of Hillsfar or Mulmaster, and the folk of those cities had good reason to fear the wrath of the elves. Consequently elves were likewise regarded as mythical and perilous in Hulburg too.

I’m going to have to be careful about saying too much about my time in Myth Drannor, he realized. He grimaced and moved on. “The Veruna men shouldn’t trouble you for a while. I’ve dealt with their kind before.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” Mirya said in a sarcastic voice. “And what do you thinks going to happen when they come back after you’ve gone away again? I’ll tell you, Geran Hulmaster: They’ll hold me to account for your nonsense. That’s what.”

“If you have to, tell them that I interfered without your blessing,” he said sharply. He’d expected at least a little gratitude for his trouble, after all. “It’s true enough.”

“It’s not so simple, and you know it.” Mirya clenched her fists in her apron. “You’ve been gone for ten years, and you’re sure to be gone again before the month’s out. I don’t need you to pick a fight and then sail off, leaving it to me!”

Geran snorted. “If you beg forgiveness for standing up to a bully, you’re asking him to rob you again. You should know that, Mirya.”

“You’ve not been here, Geran, and you don’t have half an idea of what’s going on in this town!” Mirya snapped. “And it’s not just my own neck that I’m worried for. What if those

blackhearted scoundrels thought to teach me a lesson by hurting Selsha? Now how could I live with myself if I let her get hurt on account of my stubbornness? Or yours?”

“All right, then. I’ll make sure that I don’t involve you in my quarrels, Mirya. But I’ll be damned if I’ll stand still and watch some Mulmasterite thugs threaten my friends right in front of me. I promise you I’ll make sure my fights are finished before I go.” Geran shook his head and stormed away. He tried not to slam the door behind him, but he didn’t quite succeed. Mirya shouted something after him, but he turned back toward Griffonwatch and set off without looking back.

Slavers in the Tailings, the Shieldsworn keeping no laws within the town’s walls, and thugs dressed in the colors of foreign companies extorting native-born Hulburgans. Somewhere at the back of it all, Jarad Erstenwold had been murdered in the Highfells by tomb robbers. Geran fumed silently as he shouldered his way through the narrow streets. It seemed that looking after Jarad’s affairs might take longer than he’d thought.

Five

The day after the encounter at Erstenwold’s, Geran rose early and spent half an hour practicing his weapon-forms in a little-used court on the castle’s south face. When he finished, he returned to his chambers, splashed himself with cold water for a teeth-chattering bath, and dressed. Then, before leaving his rooms, he took a large book written in Elvish from his baggage. Geran spent an hour studying the words and symbols from the spellbook, pressing into his mind the arcane phrasings and signs he would need to unlock his magic quickly and surely should he need it. Given what he’d seen of the state of affairs in Hulburg so far, it seemed wise to be ready for anything.

With the swordmagic spells fixed in his mind, Geran took a few moments to renew the protective charms he usually maintained from day to day. He quickly rewove wardings of keen perception and deflection, defenses that just might save him from a dagger in the back or see him through an unexpected skirmish. His battle-shields were much more powerful, of course, but he couldn’t maintain them for long; the wardings he could wear all day, like an invisible shirt of light mail. He returned his spellbook to the trunk at the foot of his bed and whispered a locking spell out of habit.

“All right,” he said aloud. “Now for some breakfast.”

He trotted down the stairs leading from his old bedchamber to the great room in the Harmach’s Tower, where the family normally took their meals. Hamil was ahead of him, already finished with his own breakfast. The halfling was engaged in a game of dragon’s-teeth with Geran’s young cousin Kirr, who chortled with delight every time he found an opportunity to put one of his own markers on top of Hamil’s. Somehow the halfling never failed to provide the young lad plenty of opportunities to take his pieces.

Hamil looked up at Geran with a doleful frown. “It seems I’ve fallen into the hands of a master strategist,” he said. “I don’t doubt that this young fellow will grow up to be the greatest general since Azoun of Cormyr. Neighboring lands should sue for peace now, while his terms remain generous.”

“That’s right!” Kirr declared. “Ha! You missed another one, Hamil!” He plunked a red tile down on top of one of Hamil’s white ones.

“What—but how? You fiend! You have captured my last white!” the halfling spluttered in feigned outrage. The young boy cackled in reply, almost helpless with delight at his own cunning. His older sister, Natali, studied Hamil suspiciously while she arranged her own pieces for the next match, clearly aware that the halfling was throwing the game but wise enough not to say so right before she got a chance to play him.

Geran shook his head. In a hundred years he never would have guessed that Hamil had a weakness for children. He helped himself to a broad plate of honeycakes, bacon, and eggs from the breakfast service and sat down near the game to watch as he ate. “A word of advice, Kirr,” he said between mouthfuls. “If Hamil loses again but suggests that maybe you should play for coin next time, say no.”

The halfling snorted. “Even I am not that underhanded, Geran!”

“Do they play dragon’s-teeth in Tantras, Geran?” Natali asked. She was quieter than her younger brother, but in two

brief evenings Geran had already learned that she had a quick and lively sense of curiosity and never forgot a word she heard. Where Kirr was constantly in motion, fidgeting and standing and sitting and pushing tiles together when it wasn’t his turn, Natali held herself as still as a falcon watching a mouse.

Geran nodded. “Yes, indeed. And people play dragon’s-teeth in most other places I’ve visited too. In the Moonsea it’s regarded as a children’s game, but if you go down to Turmish or Airspur you’ll see grown men playing all afternoon. They take tremendous pride in playing well, and sometimes they gamble bags of gold on games. The marks on the tiles are different, but the game’s pretty much the same everywhere you go.”

“Where do the marks on the tiles come from?”

He smiled at that, wondering why in the world she thought he might know. “I’ve heard that long ago they were runes in Dwarvish, but they’ve changed over the years. Dragon’s-teeth is an old dwarven game. It’s said that once upon a time dwarf merchants used the runes and tiles to strike bargains and keep accounts with each other.”

The young girl studied the ivory tiles intently, her brow furrowed. “How could you make trades by playing dragon’s-teeth?”

“I don’t know, Natali. Maybe a dwarf could tell you.”

He heard a light, quick step approaching and looked up to see a blonde woman in a mail shirt trotting up the steps. Geran swung his legs over the bench and stood. “Kara! It’s good to see you!”

Kara Hulmaster smiled broadly when she caught sight of him and quickly crossed the room to throw her arms around him in a rib-cracking hug. “Geran! You’re here!” she laughed. She was not much more than about five-and-a-half feet in height, but she had wide, strong shoulders and an acrobat’s compact build, and when she squeezed, Geran had a hard time taking a good breath. “It’s been years!”

“Too long, I know,” he admitted. He returned her embrace and then stepped back to look at her. Her hair was

paler than he remembered, bleached by long months spent outside beneath the sun every year, and laugh lines gathered at the corners of her eyes. Kara had the squarish face and fine, narrow nose of the Hulmasters, but her strikingly luminous eyes glowed an eerie azure with the spellscar she had inherited from her father. The serpentlike blue mark entwined her lower left arm and covered the back of her left hand, beautiful and sinister at the same time. Two or three generations past, someone in her father’s line had come in contact with the virulent, unchecked Spellplague and had been changed by it. As far as Geran knew, Kara’s father had never even known it himself—the Spellplague was capricious that way. Certainly Harmach Grigor never would have permitted his sister Terena to marry a man known to carry the defect of a spellscar. But no one had known the danger until Kara’s spellscar had manifested early in her thirteenth year.

“I heard about Jarad,” he told her. “I’ve come to pay my respects and look after anything that needs looking after.”

“I should’ve known you’d come home,” Kara said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Geran. I wish you were here for a happier reason.” She glanced over to the table and noticed Hamil with Kirr and Natali. “Who’s your friend?”

“My apologies. Kara, this is Hamil Alderheart. Hamil, this is my cousin, Kara Hulmaster.”

Hamil slid off the bench, took Kara’s hand, and kissed it lightly. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Kara,” he said. If he was startled by her spellscar, he was careful not to show it. “Geran has told me a lot about you, but his reports simply don’t do you justice. I am your servant.”

Kara raised an eyebrow. “Why thank you, Master Alderheart.”

Geran rolled his eyes. Hamil had never met a handsome woman he didn’t try to charm, regardless of race or station. It was simply Hamil’s nature. Geran had even known Hamil to court human women before, although the halfling preferred ladies not much more than five feet or so in height; Kara was really a little too tall for him. The swordmage cleared his

throat and said, “Kara, I heard you were checking up on the border posts when we arrived. Is everything well?”

Kara shrugged. “It’s been surprisingly quiet. I spent three days prowling around the watchtowers, and I didn’t see or hear anything. Usually the tribes send out their scouts and hunters as soon as the snows melt. In any event, until the harmach names a new captain for the Shieldsworn, I’m standing in, so I wanted to take a good look for myself.”

“I’ve been doing some of that too over the last couple days. The town isn’t what I remember.”

“A lot’s changed in the last few years.” Kara started to say more but thought better of it. Instead, she asked, “So what are you doing today?”

“I’m going to drive out to Keldon Head and visit Jarad’s grave. I should’ve done it yesterday.”

Kara gave him a small nod. “I’ll ride with you, if you like. I can show you where it is.”

“I’ll be glad for your company,” Geran told her. He quickly finished his breakfast and said his goodbyes to Natali and Kirr. Then he, Hamil, and Kara threw on cloaks and headed down to the stable.

They harnessed a pair of horses to an old two-wheeled buggy they found in the musty carriage house. Hamil scrambled onto the quarter-bench behind Geran and Kara, since it would have been a tight fit with all three of them in the single full seat. Kara took the reins and drove out under Griffonwatch’s gates into the bright morning. It was another cold and cloudless day, with a brisk westerly breeze raising whitecaps on the Moonsea. The clip-clop of hooves on stone and jingle of the harness preceded them as they rode down the causeway winding around Griffonwatch’s crag.

Geran watched the town clatter past as Kara followed the same route he’d taken the previous day. The town seemed just as full as before. “What are all these people doing here?” he wondered aloud. “Is there a gold strike I haven’t heard about? A war somewhere that people are fleeing from? It must be something.”

Kara glanced sharply at him. “Mostly it’s the timber concessions,” she said. “My stepbrother’s idea. A few years ago he urged Harmach Grigor to rent logging rights in the Hulmaster forestland to foreign merchants. All the Moonsea cities are desperate for wood, especially since Myth Drannor put the woods of the Elven Court under its protection.”

“We deal in timber sometimes down in the Vast,” Hamil observed. “It doesn’t hurt that Sembia’s demand is driving up the prices everywhere.” Geran looked back to Hamil, and the halfling shrugged. “While you were strolling around the town, I spent my day talking to the clerks and superintendents of the merchant yards. I was curious about whether the Red Sails ought to do some business up this way. Sembia is ten times as big as the whole Moonsea together and just as hungry for wood—shades or no shades. We should think about it.”

“Which costers are here now?” Geran asked Kara.

“House Verunas of Mulmaster, the Double Moon Coster, House Jannarsk of Phlan, and a few others moved into town to handle the trade in timber,” said Kara. “They shipped in poor laborers from the larger cities to cut timber, drive wagons, work in the yards and on the docks. And of course those laborers bring others with them, tailors and grocers, smiths and wainwrights, brewers and cooks…. In the last year or two the harmach’s let out some mining concessions too, and the big merchant houses and costers are taking advantage of those as fast as they can.”