Part of the riddle was fairly obvious to Geran; Rivan was the first lord of the Hulmaster line. He’d come to power in Hulburg almost four hundred years earlier, right around the time that Aesperus had ruled over his short-lived kingdom of Thentur. Unfortunately, he had little idea what Grigor had meant about an oath, or any idea of where Rivan’s crypt might lie. Much of old Hulburg had been destroyed by the sackings early in the fourteenth century, and further damaged by the catastrophic emergence of changeland in the form of the Arches or the Spires later in that century. There was an excellent chance that Rivan Hulmaster’s burial place simply didn’t exist anymore, which would seem to be an insuperable obstacle to keeping any oath there, unless it was a clue not intended to be taken literally.
Geran prowled the warm hallways of Lasparhall, he rode over the snow-covered hills that surrounded the manor, he sparred with Kara and Hamil, he debated with Sarth a dozen magical theories about the powers of Rhovann’s construct army and ways the things might be defeated. He even spent a few hours with Sarth at the tower of the mage’s guild in Thentia, paying a handsome fee for the privilege of poring through musty old spellbooks and tomes of arcane lore in the hope of learning more about their foe’s defenses. He returned to Lasparhall little wiser for the effort; nothing he’d found about Aesperus in the guild’s stacks made any mention of an oath or hinted at anything more about Rivan Hulmaster than he’d already known. He lay awake for an hour or more that night, replaying again and again the last few things his uncle had said to him.
The next morning, he found his steps leading him up to the suite Grigor had used. The rooms were still unoccupied; the chamberlain Dostin Hillnor had urged Geran to take the suite, as he was the head of the family now, but Geran hadn’t wanted to yet. He looked around at the room, made up neatly but still palpably empty, and frowned as he recalled that last desperate struggle against the Cyricist assassins and their summoned devils. He sighed and sat in an armchair by one of the windows.
“Still stumped?” Hamil leaned in the doorway, looking over the room.
Geran nodded. “It’s important, I can feel it. But I can’t make any more sense of what my uncle meant.”
“It might have been nothing, Geran. He was mortally wounded when he spoke, wasn’t he?”
“He was. But I think he was trying to tell me something about Aesperus. There’s an old bargain between the harmachs and the King in Copper, you know. That’s why the harmach’s law was so stringent about opening barrows or crypts in the Hulmaster domains. But I don’t know the details of the arrangement.”
“If you want to speak to Aesperus, you could go out and break into a barrow or two,” Hamil pointed out. “Sooner or later he’d respond, wouldn’t he?”
“Possibly,” Geran admitted. “But I’d rather not bring him to me by doing something that offends him. If my uncle knew something about the King in Copper that I don’t, I’d like to figure out what it was before I risk drawing his attention to me again.”
“I don’t suppose I understand why it’s so important to deal with Aesperus,” Hamil replied. “You and Sarth know enough about Rhovann’s creations to take them into account. Assume they’re trouble and lay your plans around the idea of avoiding them or drawing them away from the crux of the fight. Wouldn’t that be sufficient?”
“That assumes the helmed guardians are the only surprise that Rhovann’s prepared for us,” Geran said. “Rhovann’s magic is the single most formidable threat to our plans to retake Hulburg. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that any attack we launch without some counter to his defenses will fail.”
“Sarth’s a very competent sorcerer,” Hamil pointed out. “Are you sure that he couldn’t defeat Rhovann in a spell duel?”
Geran shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m worried about. I think Sarth could very well defeat Rhovann in a straightforward contest. After all, I defeated Rhovann once in a duel. But he’s grown more powerful than he was a couple of years ago in Myth Drannor-or revealed more of the power he already wielded. Besides, his true strength doesn’t necessarily lie in simply flinging battle spells. His power lies in subtle enchantment and spells that might take him months to weave. He’s had half a year to prepare for an attack exactly like the one we’re launching in a few tendays. I think we have to do something he doesn’t expect.”
“So you seriously propose to call on that dreadful old King in Copper for help?” Hamil shuddered. “I was there when you met him, Geran. He isn’t a friendly sort. Why do you think he’d consent to help us instead of slaying you with some awful curse just for the temerity of asking?”
“Because Sergen managed to strike a bargain with him.” Geran stood over the spot where Grigor had breathed his last, looking down at the cold flagstones. They’d been scrubbed clean, of course, but those last moments were starkly clear in his memory. The harmach had been lying on his back, his head near the corner of the trunk against the wall. He’d looked off past Geran, reaching out weakly with his hand … “Somehow he summoned Aesperus and convinced the lich to hear him out. He knew about the Infiernadex because Darsi Veruna told him that Sarth was looking for it, so Sergen knew that he had a chance to get his hands on something that Aesperus might value. And Aesperus honored his end of that bargain when the book finally fell into his hands.”
“So how did Sergen summon Aesperus?”
“I think that might have been what Uncle Grigor was trying to tell me at the end,” Geran answered. “I know he trusted Sergen implicitly before Sergen’s true colors became obvious, but still, I doubt that Grigor would have told Sergen what he knew. After all, he didn’t choose to tell Kara or me at any point in the last few months until he was within moments of death, even though he knew that Sergen had dealt with the King in Copper.”
Hamil frowned in thought. “You think Sergen figured out something or stole something your uncle intended to keep secret until he passed it to the next harmach?”
“Exactly. And if it was that important, I think Grigor would have brought it out of Griffonwatch when he fled, and kept it somewhere close by here in Lasparhall.” Geran’s eye rested on the trunk again. Could it be that simple? He took two steps over to the small chest, dragged it a little way out from the foot of the bed, and kneeled by it, but when he tried the latch, he found that it was locked. “Hmmm. Hamil, I don’t suppose you’d have a look at this for me?”
The halfling sighed. “It’s a misuse of my talents to have me break into your uncle’s nightshirts,” he muttered. But he fished a small pick out of a pocket in his waistcoat, and kneeled in front of the old chest as Geran moved aside. A moment’s deft probing in the lock released the catch with an audible click. “I think we can safely assume your uncle didn’t fit his trunks with spring-loaded daggers or poisoned needles,” he remarked, but Geran noticed that he stood up and moved just a little to one side before he opened the lid-the hard lessons of a long past adventuring career remained with him, or so it seemed. Nothing but folded blankets greeted their eyes.
Hamil gave Geran a pained look, but Geran began to empty the chest, setting the blankets aside. Near the bottom of the chest he found a muslin-wrapped book; he lifted it out and carefully unwrapped it. The thing was musty with age, its vellum pages stiff and yellowed, and it was bound in thick black leather. On the cover small Dethek runes of tarnished silver had been hammered into the leather. Geran brushed his fingertips over the old tome, and he raised an eyebrow at his halfling friend.