“The Hulmasters have taken refuge in a modest estate-an old family holding from the time of Grigor’s grandfather, it seems-in Thentia’s lands. A small number of guards and servants accompanied them into exile. They aren’t penniless, my lord, but I doubt that they’ll have the means to mount a challenge to Marstel’s rule any time soon.”
Terov looked sharply at Valdarsel. “I fail to see why they are permitted to live at all.”
“I am puzzled too. Certainly it would be wiser to eliminate any possibility that a deposed dynasty might someday reassert its claim. But the mage Rhovann has taken no steps to tidy up that little detail, at least no step that I’ve seen.” Valdarsel shrugged. “In all honesty, my lord, I believe that Rhovann prefers the Hulmasters to live with their defeat, and does not especially care whether Marstel’s rule is secure or not. He hates Geran Hulmaster far more than he enjoys wielding power through that hapless old oaf Maroth Marstel.”
“Hmmm.” The Vaasan lord considered the priest’s words for a long moment. “If Rhovann is not inclined to act, then you must, Valdarsel. I require the Hulmasters to be eliminated-all of them. And if you can arrange to implicate Maroth Marstel, so much for the better.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult, my lord.” Valdarsel smiled coldly. “If anything unfortunate befalls the harmach in exile, suspicion will naturally fall on the man who seized his throne. But I will ensure that strong evidence of his involvement surfaces to confirm what everyone will suspect anyway.”
“Good. With a little work, I imagine we might bring down Marstel and his Merchant Council as well-which will of course leave Hulburg with a crisis of leadership, to say the least. You should be well placed to exploit that. I mean for Hulburg to be under Vaasa’s control by spring.” Terov gave his guest a predatory smile. “You will be richly rewarded on that day, Valdarsel. I promise you that on my ring of iron.”
The Cyricist inclined his head. “My lord honors me with his confidence.”
“You have done well so far. Finish the Hulmasters, and the rest should fall into place.” Terov reached out to set a hand on Valdarsel’s shoulder. “Now, I am afraid I must turn you out into the weather again. I start back for Vaasa today, and I cannot delay any longer or leave the tower here.”
Valdarsel bowed again. “Occasional discomfort is good for the character, my lord. Besides, you have the more difficult journey. May the Black Sun guard your steps as you make your way home.”
“And you, my friend,” Terov answered. He walked Valdarsel from the great room down to the foyer by the tower’s door and waited as a servant gave Valdarsel a dry cloak to replace the sodden one he’d worn on his ride from Hulburg. Another servant waited in the drizzle outside, holding the reins of the priest’s horse. Valdarsel mounted, touched his brow and bowed to Terov, and then rode off down the lonely trail leading back toward Hulburg.
Terov didn’t waste time watching his underling ride off. He looked at the servants in the foyer and said, “Inform the staff and the guards to make ready for the march. We are returning to Vaasa, and I wish to depart within the hour.”
The warlock lord spared one more glance for the leaden sky and the towering white peaks looming ahead, and then he went to prepare for his journey home. He’d tried once before to panic Hulburg into his arms with the threat of the Blood Skull orcs. Where violence and fear had failed to accomplish his aims, ambition and deceit were poised to succeed.