A quick elf laugh interrupted him. “You succeeded!” Alliere said. He turned and found her in the moonlit clearing opposite the doorway they’d just come through. Daried Selsherryn sat on a log close by, smiling broadly. Alliere came forward to embrace him, and quickly drew back. “Well done, Geran! I knew you’d manage it!”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I couldn’t have done it without your help. Thank you for aiding us-both of you. I sincerely hope that you don’t wind up taking our places in the tower.”
Daried stood. “I suspect that the coronal won’t be unhappy with your escape. She did not care for the idea of Rhovann Disarnnyl causing mischief in other lands after she’d banished him from her realm. We shall see.” He clasped Geran’s arm, and nodded to Sarth and Hamil. “Come, you cannot linger here. I will seal the moon-door to bar pursuit, but the coronal’s mages will be able to discern the door’s destination easily enough, and we are only a couple of miles from Myth Drannor. You’d better go while you can.”
Alliere took Geran’s hand and led him and his friends to a trio of horses picketed in the shelter of an old courtyard, while Daried began to chant words of closing, interrupting the doorway behind them. As she’d promised, their belongings were gathered in tidy bundles by the horses; Geran belted his sword to his hip as Sarth tested his rune-marked scepter and Hamil rearmed himself with his seemingly endless store of daggers. When they’d finished, she handed Geran a wooden tube. “The manuscript you brought from the Irithlium,” she explained.
Daried returned from the moon-door. “That should suffice for now,” the bladesinger said. He nodded at the forest outside their small clearing. “There is an old road that strikes the Moonsea Ride not far from here, but if you’ll heed my advice, you won’t go that way. Any who pursue you will certainly expect you to fly in that direction. I would instead suggest that you make for the Silverleaf Trail and head due north, through the woods. Three to four days of hard riding should bring you to the Hillsfar-Yulash road, a day’s ride west of Hillsfar.”
“Sound advice that I think I’ll follow,” Geran answered. He set his hand on Daried’s shoulder. “How can I ever repay you for the help you’ve given us?”
“Give Rhovann my warm regards,” the bladesinger said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Our paths will cross again before too long, I think.”
The swordmage released his old mentor, and turned to Alliere. Strange, he thought. Only a year ago, and I would never have been able to turn my back and ride away from her, yet now he meant to do exactly that … and his heart was content. He took her hands in his, and looked into her face. “I am truly sorry for what I did before,” he said to her. “But I’m glad that we part in friendship now. Sweet water and light laughter until we meet again.”
She held his gaze for a moment before she nodded. “And to you, dear Geran,” she answered. Then she released him and stepped away.
Sarth and Hamil were already mounted and waiting for him. He quickly swung himself up into the saddle, turning his mount’s head toward the forest. “Follow me!” he said to his companions. He kicked the horse’s flanks and led the way as they sped off into the night.
EIGHTEEN
23 Alturiak, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
Shortly after sunset, a clatter at his window startled Rhovann from his meticulous record keeping in his laboratory. A small gray shape scratched at the thick glass; the mage set down his quill and hurried over to open the window and let in one of his homunculus spies. The creature croaked once and flopped inside, collapsing on the windowsill.
“What is this?” the mage muttered to himself. The homunculus was dying. Something had raked its body with deep claw marks, and dark fluid dripped slowly from the wounds. He frowned and examined the number scribed at the back of its neck, trying to determine which of his minions this was. After a moment, he nodded to himself. This homunculus he’d sent to Thentia several days before. The injuries were severe, but it was quite likely that the tiny creature had spent itself in the wearying flight. The creatures were not made to endure days of travel in the harsh winds and weather of the Moonsea North.
He sighed, closing the window against the wind-driven hail and icy rain that beat against the panes of his workshop. “Well, let us see what you have found,” he said aloud. The creature could not understand that, of course, but the mage was speaking to himself, not the homunculus. He carried the small monster from the windowsill where it had collapsed to a worktable nearby. Murmuring the words of a spell, he set his hand-the living one-upon the tiny creature’s head, summoning up its recollection of what it had seen during its long flight.
Endless miles of moorland and barren, stony hillsides reeled by beneath him; Rhovann ignored it and shifted the creature’s recollection to something of significance. The image blurred, and then steadied again; now he seemed to hover above an encampment of wooden barracks and tents. Hundreds of soldiers in surcoats of blue and white marched and wheeled in some sort of mock battle. Rhovann blinked in surprise; that was certainly more than he would have expected the Hulmasters to gather in exile. They must have had more success reorganizing their Shieldsworn than he’d anticipated … or perhaps, as the Vaasans feared, some other Moonsea power had chosen to support the Hulmaster cause with gold and sellswords. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened.
“A matter for concern, but not panic,” he decided. No doubt Geran and Kara Hulmaster would get the most from the troops under their command, but the Council Guard still held an edge in sheer numbers-and that was not counting his own runehelms, who were far stronger and more resilient than merely human combatants anyway. “Show me more,” he commanded the homunculus, and the picture in his mind’s eye shifted again. Now he peered in a window at a large room where many captains gathered. He could clearly make out Kara Hulmaster, speaking at the head of the table. A tall young cleric in the robes of an Amaunatori friar stood listening nearby beside a black-bearded dwarf in heavy armor who smoked a pipe. Rhovann frowned, recognizing Kendurkkel Ironthane. He still didn’t understand why the Icehammers had joined the Hulmaster cause; it didn’t seem like the mercenaries to take on speculative work. There was a map on the table, and Rhovann strained to make out the details on it. Unfortunately, this vision only lasted a few more heartbeats before the homunculus was obliged to flit away from the window in order to avoid the attention of a nearby guard.
“What is your plan, Kara?” he wondered aloud. “You are outnumbered, but you prepare to attack regardless. What is it you know that I do not?” Geran and his cousin might be counting on more aid from friendly cities … or perhaps they hoped to combine forces with the rebels who’d been causing so much trouble in Hulburg. Yes, that might be it; they had a different appreciation of the numbers than he did.
Rhovann willed the homunculus to its next memory. He found himself flying over a field behind the manor, heading for one of the barracks. A solitary man on horseback sat back in the tree line, with something on his arm. He threw his arm forward with a sharp cry-and a large falcon leaped into the air, its wings beating with power and grace as it arrowed up toward the homunculus. There was a confused tumble of sky and ground, flashing talons … Rhovann snatched back his hand, unwilling to share in his small servant’s mortal agony. It was just as well-the broken thing expired an instant after he severed their connection.