There was no other traffic along this street; these were the homes of the wealthy, people who had no reason to venture out in the cold unless they did so in blanket-filled carriages. He saw no signs of Rhovann’s spies or Council Guards, and decided that a direct approach might be the best in this case. Squaring his shoulders, he marched up to the house’s front door and rang the bell.
There was no response for quite a while. He rang again. This time he heard several quick footfalls, and the door opened a double handspan. In the dark foyer beyond Sarth Khul Riizar appeared, his deadly magical scepter pointed at Geran. The tiefling wore the splendid scarlet and gold robes he favored, and his face-brick red in hue, and graced with two large, swept horns-was set in a stern frown. “I do not know you,” he said. “Explain this interruption at once!”
“Sarth, it’s me! Geran!” the swordmage said, his voice low.
The tiefling frowned and peered more closely at him. “Oh, so it is,” he muttered. “My apologies, Geran; it’s a good disguise. I thought you were some merchant coster armsman, come to deliver yet another offer of employment.” He lowered his scepter, and opened the door wide. “Come in, quickly. You’d best not be seen in the streets.”
“My thanks. I’m sorry for barging in like this.” Geran hurried inside, and Sarth closed the door behind him, bolting it with an absent wave of his hand. “I feared you weren’t at home when you didn’t answer.”
“Ah, well, I forgot that I’d given Wrendt the afternoon off. I thought he was here to answer the door.” Sarth set a hand on Geran’s shoulder. “It is good to see you, my friend. When I heard what had happened in Thentia … it is a monstrous thing to seek the murder of the children and your older relations, cruel and monstrous. I cannot believe that your enemies stooped to such wicked efforts. If there is anything I can do …”
“In fact, I think there is,” Geran replied. He gripped Sarth’s shoulder in reply, the age-old warrior greeting. He had no call on Sarth’s loyalty, no reason to expect that the sorcerer would be willing to make himself an outlaw and a rebel for the sake of a few shared moments of danger, but he hoped that he’d read the tiefling’s character correctly in the months they’d known each other. “Valdarsel, the Cyricist priest, was behind the attack on my family. I mean to kill him for it, and I’m hoping that you’ll lend me your help.”
The tiefling grimaced, and glanced around at the comfortable house around him. “He sits on the Harmach’s Council, you know. There will be unfortunate consequences.” Then he sighed, and nodded. “Very well. Allow me a few hours to make some preparations, and we will see what can be done.”
SIX
18 Hammer, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
Early on a cold, gray morning, Kara Hulmaster stood holding the reins of her horse Dancer, and watched as her captains maneuvered their companies of Spearmeet and Shieldsworn through marching drills in the steep vale behind Lasparhall. A light snow flurry fell, and she wore a heavy cloak against the cold. Close-order drill was something normally reserved for masses of pikemen, but she’d always thought it handy for welding together newly formed companies and giving new officers practice at commanding their troops. Five days earlier she’d decided to combine the surviving Shieldsworn soldiers with the Spearmeet militia to form three new combined companies-or “shields,” as they were called in Hulburg-for the campaign to come. The new units were still learning how to work together.
As she watched the captains maneuvering their shields, a dwarf riding on a thick-barreled mule came jogging down the lane leading back toward the manor. He was a black-bearded, broad-shouldered fellow even by the standards of his stoutly built kind, and he clenched the stem of a pipe between his teeth. When he drew up beside her, he reined in his mount and slid to the ground with a grunt. “Lady Kara,” the dwarf said with a small nod. “The chamberlain o’ the house told me I’d find you here.”
“Master Ironthane,” Kara replied. “My thanks for coming to call on me here. I’d have been happy to ride down to Thentia, you know.”
Kendurkkel Ironthane shrugged. “It’s the better part of two months now the Icehammers’ve been in winter quarters. I needed a reason to be out an’ about. Besides, I wanted t’ have a look at the Hulmaster army for myself.”
“How have you been keeping?”
“Fair enough,” he replied, watching the shields in their maneuvers. “Better’n you and yours, I’d say.”
Kara winced. Many dwarves had a tendency to speak the truth and spare no feelings, and Kendurkkel was an excellent example. “I wish that weren’t quite so true.”
The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “Are ye wishin’ hard times on me?” he said, but he smiled behind his pipe. Early the previous summer, the Icehammer mercenaries had stood side by side with the Shieldsworn and the Spearmeet to break the Bloody Skull horde at Lendon’s Wall. Kendurkkel was a mercenary and owed allegiance to no one … but Kara had won his respect with her generalship in the desperate battle against the orcs, and respect was something that Kendurkkel was slow to give.
“No, better times for me and mine,” Kara answered. She turned to face the mercenary and fixed her eyes on his. “We’ve got work for the Icehammers if you’re willing, Master Ironthane.”
“I’m always willin’ t’talk business. What’s it t’be, then?”
“I mean to retake Hulburg from Marstel and his supporters. We march at the end of next month. I’d like to hire the Icehammers to bolster our numbers.”
“That soon, eh?” The dwarf drew on his pipe. “It’ll no’ be cheap, Lady Hulmaster. If that’s what you’ve got in mind, well, there’s a damn good chance of a field battle t’be fought. We’ll no’ shy from fightin’, but it costs a good deal more, you see.”
Steeling herself for the answer, Kara asked, “What’s your price?”
“Well, the customary amount is two thousan’ gold crowns up front, and a thousan’ per month we’re in your service. Add another six hundred if we provide our own quarters and board.” The dwarf removed his pipe from his mouth and tapped it against his hand, emptying out the ashes. “We’ll need a bonus of one thousan’ per day o’ skirmishin’ or siegework, or five thousan’ for a major battle.”
Kara grimaced. That was frankly more than the Hulmaster fortune, such as it was, could manage, but she had to have the Icehammers. The winter weather meant that no other mercenary companies could be hired and brought to Thentia until late spring at the earliest, and that would pose its own problems-the Hulmaster treasury would be empty by then. More importantly, she couldn’t take the risk that Marstel’s agents might contact Kendurkkel and hire his company. All things being equal, she thought Kendurkkel would rather fight at her side than with her enemies, but it was hardly wise to count on such sentiments affecting a mercenary’s business dealings. If Marstel offered to meet the Icehammers’ price and she didn’t, there would be two hundred more veteran soldiers lining up against her, enough to make an already difficult task next to impossible.
“All right,” she finally said. “We can meet your hiring price and your monthly rates for several months, at least. We’ll look after your quarters and provisions.” Of course, that meant selling off almost all the jewelry she’d been able to scrape together from her mother’s collection as well as that of Harmach Grigor’s wife Silne, who’d died many years before. They’d fetch enough in the markets of Thentia to cover the Icehammers for a short season … she hoped.
“An’ if there’s fightin’, can you pay?” Kendurkkel asked.