But if she’d betrayed him on Selsha’s account, she hardly would have needed to admit her love for him. Had Mirya lied when she’d said she was a fool to love him, that she couldn’t bear to live in doubt of his own constancy? No, he decided, it wasn’t a lie. She loved him, perhaps as much as he loved her. But that made the fact of her betrayal hurt more, not less.
Whatever her reasons, Mirya had put him in a desperate situation indeed. In a matter of hours Kara would be moving in on Hulburg, expecting to brush aside the wizard’s deadly constructs. If he didn’t carry out the strike against Rhovann’s hidden source of power, she’d have to fight her way through all the runehelms at the wizard’s command. Scores, perhaps hundreds, of Shieldsworn and Hulmaster loyalists would die in that battle … assuming they won.
It’s up to Sarth and Hamil, he decided. When he didn’t show up for their planned rendezvous, they’d realize that he’d fallen into some kind of trouble. They’d understand that somehow they’d have to undo Rhovann’s spells without his help-if that was even possible. The black hilt of Umbrach Nyth gleamed in its silver-tooled sheath among Geran’s clothing and other possessions. Was it even possible to destroy the master pearl without the lich’s gift?
With a small groan of frustration, Geran gave himself up to his black despair and slipped into unconsciousness again.
TWENTY-THREE
14 Ches, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)
Some time later, the creak and clang of the dungeon’s heavy iron doors roused Geran from his darkness. Swift, light footsteps echoed down the hall, and then Rhovann appeared, dressed in a long, tailored blue waistcoat over his shirt, with breeches of elven graysilk and knee-high suede boots. His wand rested in a holster at his hip, and his silver hand rested lightly on its slender ivory handle.
The elf wizard halted a few steps from Geran, studying him with narrowed eyes. “Ah, now this is a sight to warm the heart,” he said softly. “Here hangs Geran Hulmaster in chains. The reckless freebooter and scofflaw, captured by a few words whispered in my runehelms’ ears!”
Geran carefully set his feet under him and levered himself fully upright. Standing, his hands were chained at about the height of his head; sharp twinges of pain in his shoulders and wrists brought a wince to his face, but he stifled it quickly. “Enjoy it while you can,” he told Rhovann. “No matter what happens to me, your days in Hulburg are numbered.”
“Your confidence appears misplaced,” the elf answered. “Matters seem well in hand to me. I have you exactly where I want you, my harmach’s dealt with your army-with a little help from my runehelms, of course-and soon enough I’ll have Mirya Erstenwold help me clean up the ugly little resistance she’s been fomenting all winter. I anticipate nothing but success in all my endeavors.”
Geran set his jaw in an angry frown. Dealt with the army? He had a sinking feeling that Rhovann wouldn’t bother to lie to him as long as he was in his power, which meant that something else had gone wrong with the Hulmaster strategy. Kara was supposed to be waiting near Rosestone; she wouldn’t have deviated from the plan they’d worked out. Had Rhovann sent out his army to face Kara already? He and Kara had talked about whether it would be wiser to wait until the runehelms were disabled before bringing the Hulmaster army eastward, and ultimately they’d decided that it would be useful to either lure much of Marstel’s strength away from Hulburg or bring their own force within striking distance. But if Rhovann had somehow surprised Kara outside of the town with a number of runehelms, then they’d simply stuck their heads into the spring-loaded trap Rhovann and his minions had readied for them-the worst possible outcome, really.
How many more catastrophes am I going to blunder into today? he wondered. Even though he had no desire to listen to Rhovann’s smug triumph, he had to know more about Kara and the Shieldsworn. “I don’t believe you,” he replied. “Kara trained that army all winter. They wouldn’t break.”
“I hardly care whether you believe me or not,” Rhovann snapped. “Still … it seems a pity that you should remain uninformed as to the scope of your failures.” The mage turned to study the nearest runehelm, and murmured the words of a spell. With one hand he touched the creature’s shoulder, and with his silver hand he extended one finger and tapped Geran between the eyes. “Observe!”
A confusing jumble of images appeared in Geran’s mind, and he struggled to make sense of what he saw. It was dark outside, with a cold rain falling. He seemed to stand at the foot of a low but steep bluff crowning a wide hillside; under his feet were bare gray rock and tufts of moorgrass. Dozens of guttering lanterns glimmered in the night, illuminating company after company of Council Guards and runehelms who sought to climb up the rain-slick hillside. Atop the bluff, a large knot of Shieldsworn still held their ground, fending off the runehelms with what looked like pikes improvised from wagon axles and peppering the ranks of Marstel’s army with a steady arrow fire. Geran caught a glimpse of Kara at the top of the Hulmaster defenses, shouting for the Shieldsworn to stand fast. Then his point of view swiveled, almost as if he were turning his own head; Geran realized that he was seeing from a runehelm’s eyes, such as they were. Is this how Rhovann can perceive what his constructs perceive? he wondered. With the new perspective, he saw that Marstel’s army had the Shieldsworn and the Icehammers fairly well trapped on the hilltop. They couldn’t push Kara off the hill, but neither could she fight her way clear.
If they lost the camp, they’ll be short on food, water, and shelter, Geran thought furiously. How long can they hold out on a bare hilltop?
Rhovann withdrew his finger, and Geran blinked the wizard’s images out of his sight. “As you can see, it is merely a matter of time. Perhaps I will allow your cousin to surrender her army and spare their lives, or perhaps not.” He chuckled. “I must admit, I never would have thought to look for you in Hulburg when I observed you riding out to parley with Marstel. A clever trick, that; I owe Mistress Erstenwold my thanks for pointing out my mistake. I shall have to give some serious thought to devising an appropriate reward for her.”
Geran scowled. “What do you mean to do with me?”
Rhovann smiled coldly. “I could have ordered your arrest half a year ago when you returned from the black moon. But I would have faced an inconvenient amount of unrest if I’d passed a harsh sentence on you after your incompetent bumblings appeared to save Hulburg from the threat of the corsairs-so instead I permitted you to go into exile, knowing full well that you would inevitably return to challenge me. Now you are a traitor, rebel, and murderer. At last, I can see to it that justice prevails for all the insults and injuries you have given me.”
Geran raised his head and looked Rhovann in the eye, even though his head was splitting. “Do your worst, then,” he rasped. “But spare me your aggrieved airs and your little show of sanctimony. It’s wasted on me, and there’s no one else here but your creatures.”
“Aggrieved airs?” Rhovann snarled. “Believe me, there is nothing insincere in the grievances I bear you. With the exception of the Years of Retreat, my family has lived in Myth Drannor for almost three thousand years. Thanks to your your fawning and simpering before that softhearted coronal, you were permitted to displace me in the affections of a teu Tel’Quessir princess as if you were in some way my equal, or hers! Our Houses were ancient and glorious when your inbred ancestors were crouching in squalid huts and fumbling with sticks to make fire! Do you have any idea how much shame you brought upon my family, and Alliere’s?
“And let us not forget this,” Rhovann continued. He stepped close and thrust his silver hand into Geran’s face. The swordmage found his eyes struggling to focus on it; the artificial member was bound seamlessly to the flesh of the wizard’s wrist. Tiny runes gleamed around its base, where it met the stump of the arm. “The Red Wizards provided me with this replacement-a capable enough device, bought at a very dear price, I might add-but not a day goes by that I do not feel the ache of my severed hand and long to feel with these cold metal fingers as my living fingers would have. Not a day goes by that I am not constantly reminded of how you maimed me, Geran!