“It’s good to be back, Sergeant Kolton,” Geran answered. He paused. “I thought Kara was going to make a captain of you.”
“Beggin’ my lord’s pardon, but I turned her down. I’ve spent the last thirty years complainin’ about gentlemen of rank. It wouldn’t be a decent thing to do to an old veteran like me. So Lady Kara decided to make me sergeant-major instead, and give me command o’ the House Guard.”
Geran smiled, and set a sympathetic hand on Kolton’s armored shoulder. He’d known that Kara intended to reorganize the Shieldsworn and make some promotions. “Congratulations, Sergeant-Major. I’ll sleep easier knowing that you’ve got the watch.” He looked around the manor’s front hall, and asked, “Have you had any word of Sarth Khul Riizar yet?”
“Aye, m’lord. He arrived three days ago.” Kolton’s expression grew fierce. “We heard from the sorcerer how the two of you dealt with the Cyricist behind the harmach’s murder. That was well done, Lord Geran. Your da would’ve been proud.”
“My thanks, Kolton. Is Kara around?”
“She’s down at the encampment drilling the field companies. I expect she’ll be back within the hour, though. Mistress Siever usually sets out dinner at six bells.”
“Good. I’ll see her then. In the meantime, I’m going to bathe and change. It’s a hard ride from Hulburg at this time of year.”
He went to his chambers and rewarded himself with a long soak in a warm bathtub, letting the hot water take away the bone-deep chill of the winter road. When he finished, he dressed and went down to the Hulmasters’ private dining room, anticipating his first good meal in three days. The manor was quieter without Natali and Kirr around, and he decided that he missed his young cousins; he hoped they were faring well in the Selunite temple where they’d been sent for safekeeping. He arrived just as the servants were beginning to set the board with a roast of beef, a carved goose, and all the trimmings. His resolve weakened from a long day in the saddle, he headed over to help himself to a slice of beef even though the dinner hadn’t been announced yet.
“Now why is it that you can get away with that?” a familiar voice asked. “I’ve tried that two or three times in the last couple of days, and Mistress Siever has threatened me with bodily harm on each occasion.”
Geran looked around, setting down his purloined plate. “Hamil! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”
The halfling stood up from where he’d been sitting by the room’s great fireplace (he fairly well vanished in the human-sized armchair, so Geran forgave himself for not having noticed someone sitting there) and eyed the spread the Hulmaster cooks were setting out. He was a lean, wiry fellow a smidgen over four feet in height, dressed in a fine burgundy doublet, cream-colored breeches, and a wide-brimmed hat capped by a bright feather; Hamil had always prided himself on his sartorial splendor. “I arrived two days after you’d set out for Hulburg again. I thought about chasing after you, but decided that you’d probably be hard to find. Besides, this Moonsea winter is no fit weather for any reasonable man to fare abroad.”
Geran recovered his plate, added a wedge of cheese and some bread for Hamil, and joined his friend at the fireside. “How go things in Tantras?” he asked.
“Well enough. There’s a newly organized coster down in Turmish that’s buying up all the damned cotton, which is making it hard for us to place our own orders without paying twice what it’s worth, but I might just let ’em keep it this year and see if they’ve got any idea of how to get it to the northern markets. Business as usual, in other words.” He looked over to Geran, and his expression grew serious. “I was sorry to hear about the harmach. I set out from Tantras as soon as I heard about his murder, but travel’s slow in winter, and I couldn’t make it here in time for the funeral. Your uncle was a fine old fellow; I liked him a lot.”
“I know it,” Geran answered. “He didn’t deserve to die under an assassin’s knife.”
“I hear that you’ve already delivered something of a reply.”
“I did. I asked Sarth for his help, and together we paid a small visit to the Temple of the Wronged Prince.” Geran rubbed at his right fist, remembering the sensation of the steel shuddering in his grip as he drove it through the cleric’s black heart. “Valdarsel won’t trouble my family again, nor anyone else.”
“Good,” Hamil replied, a fierce smile crossing his face. He’d always been quick to answer an insult with a blade or blood with blood; he wasn’t about to lecture Geran on the hollowness of revenge. “I’m sorry I missed the chance to help you gut that murdering bastard. In fact, now that I think about it, I’m a little angry with you for killing him without me.”
Geran offered the halfling the plate he’d filled from the sideboard by way of an apology. He knew Hamil would have gone to Hulburg without a word of complaint. They’d first met almost ten years earlier, when Geran-then a footloose freebooter just setting out from Hulburg-had fallen in with the Company of the Dragon Shield, an adventuring band traveling through the Vast. After the Dragon Shields had parted ways, the two of them had bought shares in the Red Sail Coster in Tantras, working together until Geran’s travels had carried him to Myth Drannor … and after he’d been exiled from the realm of the elves, Hamil had cheerfully made room for him with the Red Sail again until Jarad Erstenwold’s murder had brought him back to Hulburg. “You can help me deal with Rhovann, then,” he said. “I can’t believe that Valdarsel would have moved against us here without Marstel’s consent, and from what I hear, Marstel can’t count to five without Rhovann’s help.”
“Ah, there you are.” Sarth appeared at the door, and gave Geran a stern look. “You certainly took your time in escaping. We have all been very anxious about your fate.”
“I found myself boxed in after we parted,” the swordmage answered. “I had to hide for a couple of days before slipping out of town, and then I joined a Sokol caravan on the Coastal Way for cover.”
“Hmmph. I exhausted my flying spell a few miles outside Hulburg and walked the rest of the way with no provisions or bedroll, very nearly freezing to death before I reached civilization again.” The tiefling scowled at Geran. “I sincerely hope you were hiding in some cold, dank hayloft with nothing to eat while I was trudging back to Thentia.”
Geran shrugged. “It was something like that,” he said carefully. Hamil must have sensed his evasions, for the halfling snorted and regarded Geran skeptically. Fortunately the swordmage was saved from explaining his escape from Hulburg in more detail by the arrival of his cousin Kara, who bustled into the room, doffing her heavy cloak and shaking off the water that had beaded over it.
Geran rose and went to greet her, giving her a quick embrace. “It’s good to see you, Kara,” he said. “It seems that you’ve got things well in hand here.”
“Not so well that you can plan to run off again and leave it all on my shoulders,” she replied. But she gave him a lopsided smile as she said it. “It’s good that you’re back. We have a lot to talk about.”
“After dinner,” he promised. “I’m sorely in need of a good hot meal, and I’d wager that you are too if you’ve been outside with the troops all day.”
“Go ahead and start. I want to dry off and change first.”
“You don’t have to say that twice,” Hamil remarked. He jumped to his feet and made a beeline for the smorgasbord. Geran and Sarth followed suit. Geran helped himself to a heaping plate-it always amazed him how hungry being outside on a cold day could make one-and Hamil did likewise on general halfling principle. After a short time Kara rejoined them, wearing a riding dress with a tailored leather jacket instead of the heavy armor she’d had on before. Over their dinner Geran related a somewhat abridged version of his visit to Hulburg, including his conversation with Mirya, his strike against the Temple of the Wronged Prince with Sarth, and their efforts to evade Rhovann’s constructs afterward. He admitted to taking shelter in the Sokol compound-which brought a grumble from Sarth, and a raised eyebrow from Hamil even though he left out any hint of the hours he’d passed with Nimessa-and finished by recounting how the helmed guardians seemed to be watching the roads out of Hulburg now. When he finished, the four of them helped themselves to mugs of mulled wine and retired to the seats close by the fireplace.