Kara grimaced. “Well, if I had that many Shieldsworn, of course I’d be able to keep the harmach’s laws in the city without any call for the Council Watch. But the Spearmeet musters aren’t Shieldsworn.”
“They’re not the Spearmeet, Kara,” Mirya said. “Only the harmach himself can call out the Spearmeet, you know. It’s the Moonshields you’re speaking of, and they’re just Hulburgans who choose to associate with other like-minded folk and make sure to step in if they see someone in need.” She allowed herself a sly smile. “If most Moonshields happen to be Hulburgans who also belong to the Spearmeet, well, that’s just a coincidence.”
“Moonshields?” Geran asked.
“Well, I think the official name is something like the League of Good and Loyal Defenders of Hulburg and Protectors of the Moonsea Coast, but Hamil suggested that we ought to find something to serve as a nickname.” Mirya reached into a pocket hidden in her skirt and drew out a small emblem-a plain silver shield-shape with a blue crescent moon painted on it. “Some of the storekeepers are painting this device on their doors and signboards to let everyone know where their loyalties lie.”
“You too, Mirya?” said Kara.
“After word of Geran’s arrest got around town, Durnan Osting begged me to come to the Troll and Tankard and speak,” Mirya answered. “These are my friends, my kin, and my neighbors, Kara. What else can we do? The Council Watch works for the foreigners. Who’s to keep the law in Hulburg if we don’t stand up now?”
“Speaking of my arrest, Kara,” said Geran, “Sergen claims that he’ll arrange a special council session to try me for murder under Mulmaster’s laws. I never studied much of the harmach’s laws, but I seem to remember that the harmach himself has to hear high crimes like murder. How is it that the Merchant Council can hold me?”
Kara fell silent for a long moment, and her mouth tightened. “That’s currently under dispute,” she said.
“Under dispute? What’s there to dispute? If I’m accused of murder-and I shouldn’t be, since Urdinger struck at me first and it was a fair fight after that-then it’s a matter for the harmach. I’m not so arrogant as to think that Hulmasters are above the law, but I don’t understand why the harmach’s allowing the Merchant Council to usurp his authority.”
“The Verunas have found several so-called witnesses who say you rendered Urdinger helpless with an evil charm, then cut his throat,” Mirya said. “I’m sorry to say it, Geran, but there’s more than a few folk-most of whom ought to know better-who find themselves wondering whether you killed Urdinger in self-defense or murdered him.”
“That’s a damned lie,” Geran growled. “Does anyone believe them?”
Kara lowered her voice again. “I doubt it, Geran, but the Merchant Council refuses to surrender you. They claim it’s a charge of murder and that they’re entitled to try you under Mulmaster’s laws.”
Geran was speechless for a moment. “You mean to say that the council has decided to set aside the harmach’s law and use their own instead?”
His cousin simply met his eyes. “As I said, we dispute that.”
“Who rules in Hulburg, Kara? The harmach or the Merchant Council? It can’t be both.”
“I know it, Geran. For what it’s worth, the council doesn’t seem ready to proceed with their trial yet. Perhaps Sergen realizes that he’d give the harmach no choice if he keeps on his course. We’re doing what we can.” Kara sighed. “I’m afraid I must go. I haven’t heard from several of my scouts in Thar yet, and I fear that the Bloody Skulls have something to do with it.”
Geran took a deep breath and shifted in his chains. The idea of arranging his own freedom was growing in its appeal; he didn’t know much about Mulmaster’s laws, but he doubted they would favor his account of events. “I’m sorry, Kara. I shouldn’t have spoken in anger.”
Kara gave him a small smile. “I understand, Geran.” Then she left, her mail coat jingling with her steps.
Mirya lingered a moment longer.
“It’s on my account that you’re in that cage, Geran, and that’s wrong,” she said. “If I’d found some other way to deal with the Verunas-”
“It might not have mattered, Mirya, because I likely would’ve killed Urdinger on Jarad’s account instead.” He looked down at his chains and bared his teeth in a grim smile. “I know it won’t bring back your brother, but I can’t say that I’m sorry that Anfel Urdinger’s dead.”
She looked away from him, and her shoulders fell a little. “Justice for Jarad wouldn’t be worth your life. If it turns out that you’ve come back to Hulburg after all these years only to-well, I couldn’t live with myself. Not after what I did to you.” Her face softened for a moment, and Geran glimpsed the girl he’d known more than ten years ago-shy, tender, and kind, haunted by a strange and distant sadness he’d never quite understood.
“Mirya, I don’t know what you think you did to me,” he finally said. He never would have guessed that she’d have the strength to keep Erstenwold’s in business, to hold her own against competitors like House Veruna, and to raise her daughter at the same time. Her life hadn’t been easy in the years that he’d been away, and she’d found true iron in herself to meet its challenges. “I’m the one who left. It was my decision. I never meant to hurt you.”
“It’s not what you think,” she said. She stepped closer and set her hand on the bars of the cell. “I-”
“Mistress Erstenwold, step away from the cell,” the council armsman said sharply. The man hurried forward with a frown. “And you need to be leaving, anyway. I’ve given you a good long time to talk, and the last thing I need’s trouble for it.”
Geran looked through the bars at Mirya. “Don’t worry about me,” he told her. “Watch out for yourself, Mirya. Keep Selsha safe, and stay close to home. I’ve got a feeling that Kara might be right about the troubles heading our way.”
She held up her hand in parting and hurried away. The Watch guards saw her out, and the heavy iron door leading to the dungeon clanged shut behind them. Geran let out a deep breath and sank to the floor amid his chains.
TWENTY-ONE
7 Tarsakh, the Year of the Ageless One
The mood of Hulburg was growing ugly, Sergen decided. As his coach rolled and bounced through the streets, he passed by corners and through squares where small knots of disheveled peasants and laborers stood around in their blue hoods, shivering in the cold early-spring mists and rains that had settled over the town. Angry glares followed his coach, and sometimes a fist was shaken in his direction. Of course most of the rabble had no idea who was in the fine carriage, since his driver and footmen wore no House colors other than that of the Council Watch, and he kept his curtain drawn. But the mere fact that he was riding in a fine coach marked him as a man of wealth and power, and in Hulburg that signaled an affiliation with foreign merchants. That was sufficient to draw the ire and resentment of Hulburg’s commoners these days.
His driver flicked the reins, and the coach jerked ahead as the team picked up its pace to climb the causeway leading up to Griffonwatch. Several other coaches and carriages crowded the lower courtyard of the castle; the harmach still had power enough to command immediate attendance when he called his council to attend him. Sergen scowled in annoyance. This summons had come only an hour after sunrise, such as it was on this gloomy day, and he had still been in his bed. “A few more days, and I’ll see to all such annoyances,” he told himself. The carriage came to a stop, and he rose and let himself out even before his footman could open the door for him. An appearance of haste and concern would be seemly this morning.
“Good morning, Lord Sergen.” One of the castle valets hurried down the steps to take Sergen’s fine fur cape and matching cap. “The Harmach’s Council is assembling now. They are waiting for you.”