“We have observed your creatures garrisoning the town,” Terov replied. “As you say, a useful magic indeed. But a handful of battle constructs won’t deter Mulmaster or Melvaunt should they decide to land an army on your shores. They’d likely bring war machines of their own.”
“Not like these,” the wizard replied with a small smile. He motioned the runehelms aside, and murmured the words of a passage spell to unlock the door they guarded. The room inside had been converted from a small banquet hall into a great laboratory. Cluttered tables lined the walls, covered with a fortune in imported glassware and urns full of alchemical reagents. A row of leaded-glass windows across the room offered little in the way of a view, but was sufficient to illuminate the room. To the left, eight great copper vats were arranged in a row along the near wall. “Come, Bastion,” Rhovann said. “I need your assistance.”
A hulking creature even larger than the runehelms outside stirred and silently stood. “Yes,” it said in a deep, rumbling voice. Terov studied the creature with interest; he hadn’t ever seen a golem imbued with the power of speech, no matter how limited. Clearly Rhovann was quite skilled in the creation of such devices. At the mage’s gesture, the golem moved to the first of the copper vats, lifted its heavy lid, and began to pour a gray powder from a large wooden cask into the dark fluid inside.
“As much as I might like to create more servants such as Bastion, it simply isn’t practical,” Rhovann remarked as he observed the golem adding the powder to the vat. The hooded golem moved on to the next vat, opened it, and began to pour out more powder. “Instead, I devised my runehelms. As you can see, they are grown in these vessels.”
Terov looked into the vats as the wizard’s golem servant opened them one by one to add the reagents. In every one, the powerful form of a new runehelm floated in a bath of dark ichor, each progressively larger and more intact. The last was not animated yet, but it seemed to the Warlock Knight that it was otherwise complete, except for one detaiclass="underline" it possessed no facial features at all, only a blank visage of damp gray clay. “How long does it take you to grow one of your alchemical warriors?” he asked.
“Twelve days from start to finish. With eight vessels, I can manufacture twenty or so a month.” Rhovann briefly inspected the creatures taking shape in the vats, and nodded to Bastion. The hooded golem closed each vat one by one, locking the lid with a heavy bar.
Terov glanced to his bound sorceress. Saavi replied with an imperceptible shrug, admitting that this was something outside her experience. She glanced at the complicated equipment filling the room, and said, “Fashioning the bodies is one thing, Lord Rhovann, but I am curious as to how you instill them with the semblance of life. That is no simple enchantment.”
The elf laughed softly. “That is a professional secret, I fear. For now, all you need know is that animating the runehelms presents me with no great difficulties.” He motioned to the door. “I think we are done here for now.”
“I thank you for the interesting demonstration, Lord Rhovann,” Terov said. “However, I am not sure I understand why you shared this with me.”
“I want you to understand that I am very confident in the defenses I have woven around Hulburg, my lord Terov. You will have to offer me something more substantial than dark hints about foreign adventures if you wish me to support a Vaasan presence in Hulburg … something very substantial indeed if you intend to bring Hulburg entirely within Vaasa’s orbit.”
Terov’s eerily crimson eyes flickered, but he made no other show of disappointment. “I see. What sort of incentive do you have in mind?”
“For a start, I believe that the priests of Cyric and their Cinderfist allies have outlived their usefulness. They were helpful in the overthrow of the Hulmasters, but now they are something of a liability. Before the harmach agrees to any Vaasan concession, we would have to be guaranteed that no more Vaasan gold or arms will go toward our dissatisfied citizenry.”
Terov considered the question in silence for a long time. He had little liking for the elf, but he could not deny that Rhovann appeared to be very well entrenched in Hulburg. His best chance to bring Hulburg within Vaasa’s influence was most probably by working with Rhovann, and not against him. After all, Rhovann was the power currently in possession of Hulburg. The Warlock Knights would hardly need to throw gold and mercenaries at Rhovann to keep him in power, but they’d have to spend, and spend dearly, to support his overthrow.
“It might be that we could exercise our influence with the clergy of Cyric and see to it that your request is met,” he finally said.
“Good. And we would also need some guarantee that you are not supporting the Hulmasters in any way.”
The Warlock Knight snorted in amusement. “Having gone to some trouble to allow our sympathizers in Hulburg to help Lord Marstel in his coup, it would seem counterproductive to then begin dealing with the Hulmasters now.” Unless the Hulmasters came to Vaasa in a position of extreme need, in which case Terov might indeed have considered reversing course. Of course, Rhovann did not need to know that.
“I take that to mean that you do not object to giving me some guarantee on that score,” Rhovann replied. “Very welclass="underline" if you withdraw your support for the Cinderfists and remain disengaged from the Hulmasters, I will allow a Vaasan concession, subject to our normal laws of concession-which limit the size of your garrison, I should note. Is that agreeable to you?”
“It is,” Terov said. A mercantile concession was only a small part of what he wished from Hulburg, but it was a useful first step. In time, that narrow opening might be widened. He held up his fist; the iron ring all Warlock Knights wore gleamed on his right ring finger. “Swear to it on my iron ring, and I will swear too.”
Rhovann shook his head. “I will not place myself under your geas, no matter how specific or limited. You will simply have to trust me, and I in turn will trust you. We both stand to gain from our bargain; most people in the world make do with that.”
Terov studied Rhovann’s face for a long moment. It seemed that the master mage of Hulburg would not be so easily ensnared. “So be it. As a gesture of goodwill, allow me to add this word of warning: you can expect the Hulmasters to march in the second tenday of Ches. Kara Hulmaster hasn’t been as careful in her hiring of sellswords as she should be. A few of her armsmen are sworn”-he held up his ring again-“to our service, and have provided agents of ours in Thentia with some insight into the Hulmaster plans.”
“That agrees with what I have observed with my own spies, although I hadn’t expected them to march quite that early,” Rhovann said. “My thanks, Lord Terov. I look forward to our next meeting. Now, when would you like to be introduced to Harmach Maroth? I think you’ll find him quite reasonable.”
SIXTEEN
15 Alturiak, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
The night in Myth Drannor was cold and fogbound. The silver lanterns that served as the city’s streetlamps were few and far between in the chill mists; weak halos of light surrounded each, quickly giving way to the heavy murk. Geran regarded the weather as a great stroke of luck; not even elves cared to linger out in the streets, and the mists would make it much harder for any patrolling guards to notice him and his friends while they were in places they weren’t supposed to be. As midnight approached, the streets fell still.
A half hour before their appointed meeting, Geran and his comrades slipped out of the Swan House into the fog. Hamil glanced up and down the deserted street, and shivered in his cloak. “I thought the nights were always starry and clear in Myth Drannor,” he muttered. “This is no different from a sea fog in Tantras. Where are the faerie lamps and the dancing nymphs?”