Geran propped his feet up on a stool and sipped at the warm wine. If I mean to get anything more done before morning, I’d better do it soon, he realized. He was more than ready to retire for the evening. “You’ve heard the tale of my visit to Hulburg,” he said to Kara. “How are matters proceeding here?”
“Well enough,” she replied, “but our purse isn’t deep enough to keep our men fed and quartered much longer. We have to march in Ches or Tarsakh, because by Mirtul I doubt we’ll have an army any longer. On the bright side, I secured the Icehammers for a couple of months.” She made a face. “I’m afraid that will probably cost us Lasparhall. I had to promise the manor and the grounds to Kendurkkel Ironthane as security against the contract’s fighting bonuses.”
Geran winced. He wished she hadn’t done that; if their throw of the dice failed, Lasparhall would have at least provided a modest inheritance for Natali and Kirr, a minor title for the family to cling to in generations to come. There’s no point arguing it, he told himself. I told Kara to do as she must in order to raise an army and then left it all in her hands, so I’ve got no cause to complain with how she does what I ask.
“How does your army compare against Marstel’s forces?” Hamil asked.
“With the Icehammers included, we’ll march with a little less than eight hundred soldiers,” Kara answered. “That’s a fair match for the Council Guard and any merchant detachments that Marstel can muster. If we count the Cinderfist gangs, I guess we’d be a little outnumbered, but I’m confident in our ability to beat the Council Guard and a hodgepodge of mercenary companies and ruffians in any kind of open battle.”
“You’re forgetting about Rhovann’s helmed guardians,” said Geran. “We didn’t take them into account before, but I think we have to now. If Marstel’s sellswords have enough of the guardians backing them up, we might not be able to beat them.”
Sarth nodded in agreement. “The constructs would be formidable foes on the field of battle.”
Kara leaned forward, looking from Geran to Sarth. “How many of these helmed guardians are there?”
Geran thought for a moment. He’d seen as many as ten at one time, counting the group that he and Sarth had skirmished with as others were closing in. Others had been posted in pairs at each of the bridges, by the Council Hall, and likely in other strategic spots throughout the town, and Mirya had mentioned that there were more in Griffonwatch. Presumably the creatures didn’t sleep or rest; they were automatons, and wouldn’t need to be rotated on or off duty. “My guess is that Rhovann’s got at least twenty of the creatures scattered throughout the town, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he has that many more guarding the castle. He might have as many as fifty or sixty.”
“That matches my estimate,” Sarth said.
“How did they fight?” Hamil asked.
“They’re not quick or skillful, but they’re as strong as ogres, and they’re damned hard to kill,” Geran replied. “Nothing seems to hurt them much. They don’t even bother to defend themselves, really. I think they’d cover ground fast too-they’re likely tireless, or close to it.”
“So, in other words, we’d better assume that the Council Guard is backed up by fifty trolls, or creatures that fight much like trolls?” said Kara.
Geran grimaced. He hadn’t thought of it in such a way, but Kara’s comparison was fairly accurate. Trolls were big, strong, slow, and likewise damned difficult to kill. And they knew it, of course, so they wouldn’t hesitate to throw themselves into a hedge of spears to win a fight. By most measures a single troll was worth five human footsoldiers in a battle, which meant that even twenty or thirty of Rhovann’s monsters could be a very formidable force in the field. “Yes,” he said. “They’d be a lot like trolls.”
Sarth shook his head. “Perhaps physically,” he said, “but I think you would be wise to remember that the helmed guards seem to act in concert. They might prove even more dangerous on the battlefield than their sheer strength and resilience would indicate. For example, they might relay messages over great distances, or react far more swiftly to orders than simple trolls would.”
“If that’s the case, I don’t see how we can risk a pitched battle without some way to deal with these helmed guardians,” Kara said. “It would be foolish to march out just to put ourselves where Marstel and Rhovann can finish us off. Maybe we could draw them out with skirmishing, or drive Marstel out of power by blocking commerce long enough …”
“There must be some weakness you can exploit,” Hamil offered. “Trolls fear fire; it’s one of the few things that can hurt them. If you think you might have to deal with trolls, you make certain you’ve got the means to burn them. Sarth, isn’t there some magic you could employ against them? A counterspell or disjunction to remove their animating force?”
The tiefling spread his hands. “Given time, I am confident I could find a spell that could disable one physically. If nothing else, I might disintegrate enough of its mass to render it useless. But I know nothing about the magic that animates them and bends them to Rhovann’s will. My own arts simply do not deal in necromancy or shadowstuff, and that is precisely what powers the helmed guardians.”
“I don’t suppose we know any necromancers?” Hamil remarked. No one answered, and he gave a small shrug. “Well, in the absence of a magical counter, I’d wager that you could immobilize one of Rhovann’s creatures if you cut it apart. Zombies ignore pain and don’t bleed, but it’s simple enough, if a little messy, to make sure their limbs don’t work anymore. These helmed guardians must have the same sort of mechanical connection of muscle to bone-or whatever they use in place of muscle and bone-that living creatures would have, or they couldn’t move. It’s not like they’re specters or ghosts.”
Ghosts and necromancers … Geran stared into the wine in his goblet, thinking. He found himself remembering the desperate night when Sergen Hulmaster had summoned an army of spectral warriors-servants of the lich Aesperus, the King in Copper-to attack Griffonwatch in a bid to wipe out the rest of the family and seize power. An undead mage of dreadful power, Aesperus had claimed dominion over the barrowfields of the Highfells between Thentia and Hulburg for centuries. Geran had met the lich once on a cold night out in the barrowfields, and Aesperus had recognized him as a Hulmaster. And later on, the lich had used the slain crewmen of the luckless Moonshark to deliver a cryptic warning to Geran about the doom approaching the House of the harmach.
Harmach Grigor said something about Aesperus before he died, he recalled. “An oath to be kept in Rivan’s crypt,” he murmured aloud, frowning into his wine. What had Grigor meant by that?
The others looked at him strangely. “What did you say?” Kara asked.
He looked up, and spoke more clearly. “I think we do know a necromancer. The question is whether or not he’d help us … and at what price.”
ELEVEN
1 Alturiak, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
For the next few days, Geran worried at the mystery of Grigor Hulmaster’s final words. He’d all but forgotten them in those confusing days as the family had struggled with the questions of how to carry on after Grigor’s death. Immediately after the funeral he’d fixed his mind on his need to avenge the harmach’s murder, focusing all his attention on the deadly dangerous game of threading his way through Hulburg’s streets and shadows without making some error or blundering into his enemies’ hands. And finally he’d been more than a little distracted by his interlude with Nimessa Sokol and the indecipherable yearnings in his own heart as he made his way back home. Now, for the first time in half a month, he found himself looking past the exigencies of the moment toward the confrontation looming ahead … and every time he closed his eyes and tried to envision the reckoning that drew closer each day, he couldn’t shake the nagging sense that Grigor’s words about the King in Copper were important.