“Get used to saying that,” she answered. “Now, what must you do tonight?”
“I’d thought I’d call on one or two more loyalists before I meet up with Sarth and Hamil. It’s still a few hours shy of midnight.”
Mirya cocked her head, struck by a sudden thought. She frowned, gazing off into space as she gave it her full attention.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I have a better idea,” she finally answered, still seemingly distracted by her thought. “We’ll go to Erstenwold’s, and I’ll bring whoever you need to see to you. For that matter, I’m in contact with a few loyalists. If I call for them, they’ll carry messages for you. You’ll be able to stay out of sight.”
Geran weighed the idea quickly. Erstenwold’s might be watched, of course, but it was centrally located-and it had access to Hulburg’s buried streets, which might prove very useful. She’s got an instinct for skullduggery, he reminded himself. “Very well,” he replied. “Let me leave my horse in the barn, and we’ll do as you suggest. Time’s growing short.”
TWENTY-ONE
14 Ches, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
Kara Hulmaster sat in her saddle at the edge of the Hulmaster encampment in the Highfells, watching as Maroth Marstel’s army marched to meet her. “Well, then,” she murmured aloud. A blustery wind out of the south held the banners and pennants of her small army aloft, fluttering and snapping in the breeze. The afternoon was waning, and the half-ruined silhouette of Rosestone Abbey was a jagged stump against the southern sky; heavy gray clouds marched in serried ranks to the Moonsea, a few miles away. It would rain soon, a cold hard rain, and she wondered which side the weather favored more.
For the last four days she’d led the Hulmaster army eastward over the Highfells, intending to take up a position within striking distance of Hulburg in accordance with the plan she’d worked out with Geran. But instead of waiting in camp for events to develop, it seemed she had a battle on her hands. Along the line of the old abbey walls her Shieldsworn stood to arms, watching as company after company of the Council Guard and their merchant allies formed up across the moorland a thousand yards distant.
“It seems that Marstel dislikes waiting,” Sarth observed. The tiefling sat awkwardly on his own mount close by Kara, gazing at the ranks of the Council Guard marshaling a half mile away. “You expected him to stand on the defensive in Hulburg, did you not?”
“I did,” Kara answered, frowning unhappily. Rosestone Abbey was a little less than ten miles from Hulburg, and its ruined outbuildings offered good defensive ground and shelter against the elements for a camp. If she needed to, she could hold her army in position for a month right where she was; Rosestone was in a good position to cut off Hulburg from the overland trade routes, but not so close that Marstel could attack her without leaving Hulburg uncovered-or so she’d thought. “It seems that Marstel’s captains have a different view of the situation than we do.”
“Marstel’s captains might be worried about loyalists joining your ranks if he allows you to come any closer,” Sarth guessed. “Or it may simply be impatience, or a concern for the perception of weakness. Maroth Marstel’s motives do not necessarily have to make sense to you.”
I hope Geran knows what he’s doing, Kara thought as she studied the enemy ranks. The warriors in Marstel’s Council Guard wore surcoats of red and yellow, but they weren’t the only formation facing her. Behind the ranks of footsoldiers small companies of merchant company armsmen sat on horseback, each in their own colors. There were House Jannarsk riders beneath a banner of dun and red, Iron Ring Coster mercenaries in brown and black, and even a large band of House Veruna armsmen in their coats of green and white. She pursed her lips in anger at that sight; the Verunas had done their best to help her stepbrother Sergen in his bloody-handed coup attempt of a year past, and she’d taken great pleasure in watching them abandon their position in Hulburg when Sergen’s plots came to nothing. But here they were again, restored to at least some of their former holdings by Marstel. We’ll set that right soon enough if things go well, she promised herself. But most worrying of all, she could make out the towering shapes of scores of runehelms in a tight knot around Marstel’s banner.
Kendurkkel Ironthane strolled up to where Kara and Sarth sat their horses, a battle-axe leaning on his shoulder. “They’ve got us in numbers by a wee bit,” the dwarf observed. “Can’t say as I’m happy t’ see those big gray ones over yon. I’d hoped the wizard would keep ’em close t’ home.”
“I’m not worried about their numbers,” Kara replied. “The merchant coster men aren’t going to be in any hurry to die for Maroth Marstel. As for the runehelms, we’ll see what we see. We’ve got reason to believe they might not be as formidable as we fear-at least, not here.” She looked over to Sarth. “I think it’s time, Sarth. I doubt we’ll have much to say, but I suppose we should offer parley anyway.”
“Very well,” the sorcerer said. “Please excuse me for a moment.” He dismounted, handing the reins to a soldier, and ducked into a doorway of the outlying abbey ruins. Kara thought she heard a whisper of arcane words and felt a tug of the unseen forces around her; the spellscar she carried made her more sensitive to such things than any but a trained practitioner of the arcane arts. A few moments later, there was a rustling in the doorway of the outbuilding-and Geran Hulmaster emerged, dressed in a light coat of elven mail, a fine cape of dark blue fluttering behind him and a plumed helm tucked under his arm.
“Sarth will be preoccupied for a time with important divinations,” he said. “He suggests that we continue without him.”
Kara hid a smile behind a small cough. The likeness was almost perfect. If she hadn’t known that it was Sarth wearing her cousin’s appearance, she never would have guessed the truth. There were a few details that weren’t quite correct-Sarth’s gait wasn’t quite right, the voice was subtly off, and he didn’t carry himself with the same unconscious ease and physical readiness Geran had gained through years of study in swordsmanship. But she knew that she was an exceptionally keen observer of such things, and she was of course very well acquainted with her cousin. People who knew Geran casually would never guess that he wasn’t who he seemed to be, especially if Sarth was careful to avoid speaking too much.
“Very good,” she replied. “Let’s go.” Tapping her heels to her mount’s flanks, she trotted out into the open field ahead of the massed Shieldsworn. Her standard-bearer Vossen rode out behind her, carrying the blue griffon banner of the Hulmasters. Sarth, in his magical guise, rode on the other side of the banner, and Kendurkkel Ironthane jogged along on a stout pony just beside him. They reached a point about halfway between the two armies, and halted. Kara eyed the enemy ranks carefully; there were a handful of arbalesters mixed in with the Council Guard infantry, but none of them seemed to be thinking of trying their luck at a long-range shot. There was a small stir among the riders grouped under the banners at the center of the council army, and then a small knot of riders trotted ahead, riding slowly to meet them.
“What is the point of this exercise again?” Sarth asked quietly.
“Traditionally, it’s done to issue challenges, to set terms for the ransom of prisoners, or to convince someone in a difficult position to retire without a fight,” Kara answered. “I don’t have any such notions on my mind today. My purpose is to make sure that Marstel and his captains see you here. I don’t see any harm in misleading them as to Geran’s whereabouts.”
Kendurkkel chuckled into his beard. “Well, now I confess I’m wonderin’ myself,” he said. “’Course, Laird Hulmaster might not want me t’be knowin’. I hogtied him and dropped him on the Council Hall steps the first time we met.”