“I escaped to warn you of this attack-too late, it seems,” Geran answered. “This is Sarth Khul Riizar, who helped Hamil and Mirya get me out of the cell. I hope you’ll forgive them, Uncle, but I had to try to warn you: Sergen means to kill us all. He summoned the wraiths to Griffonwatch.”
“Sergen is behind this?” Grigor demanded.
Geran’s Aunt Terena looked up from the man she tended. The wraith’s attack had caught her in her bed, and she wore only her dressing gown and a cloak thrown over her shoulders. She strongly resembled her daughter, Kara. She was a fit woman of sixty years, strongly built, with long gray-white hair. Terena paled and put her hand to her throat. “So he’s finally chosen to follow in his father’s footsteps,” she said. “Ah, Grigor, I’m so sorry. I never imagined he had so much hate in him. He wasn’t always what he’s become.”
“Excuse me, but all that can wait for later,” Hamil said sharply. He stood by the chapel’s door, looking out into the courtyard. “The wraiths are returning, Geran. We’ve got to leave now or fight here.”
Geran looked at his uncle. “We should flee,” he said. “I don’t know if we can hold off many more of the wraiths. The postern’s our best chance to get the children out of the castle.”
Grigor nodded. “Agreed. Lead the way, Geran.”
“Shut the door, Hamil,” Geran said. He hurried across the chapel to a small door that led outside to the tiny courtyard where he had practiced a few times. With luck, the wraiths would be gathering by the chapel’s front door, massing their might to overcome the old, weak blessings that deterred them for the moment. It took him a moment to get the side door open-this one was rarely used, and he had to put his shoulder to it to push it open through the leaf-mold that had accumulated on the other side. But no wraiths waited in the small cloister beyond.
“This way, quickly,” he said to the others. He hurried across to the door leading back into the Harmach’s Tower on the far side of the small courtyard. Mirya and Hamil helped the injured Shieldsworn to his feet, and Erna grasped Natali and Kirr firmly by their hands and followed.
Geran led them into the Harmach’s Tower and found the stairs that led down to the hallway by the trophy room. They encountered no more corpses here nor any wraiths. It was normally a lightly traveled part of the castle, and he began to hope that he might actually get his uncle and the rest of the family out of Griffonwatch safely. He turned into one of the passageways cut through the hill’s heartrock and came to a barred iron door. Geran threw the bar aside and pushed it open to reveal a staircase spiraling down into the gloom. “This way,” he said. “Be careful of the steps, it’s a long stair.”
“Are the ghosts going to follow us down there?” Kirr asked.
“I hope not, Kirr. We’re trying to stay a step ahead of them,” Geran answered. “Down you go!”
The stairs spiraled down forty feet or more, lit by dimly glowing light-globes the Shieldsworn refreshed every few months with minor magic. The stairwell was cramped, cold, and dark, but Geran could still see enough to lead the way down. Below the staircase stood a large hall with a low, barrel-vaulted ceiling. This chamber was designed to house scores of warriors in full kit, since the postern gate-the castle’s small back entrance, from which a force inside could sally in strength to attack besiegers from an unexpected direction-was close by. Geran halted at the foot of the stairs and guided the others into the room as they appeared. “Over there,” he said.
The harmach limped badly when he reached the bottom step. He grimaced in pain. “Stairs pain me,” he explained. “You shouldn’t wait on me, Geran.”
The sorcerer Sarth brought up the rear, watching carefully behind him with his rod at the ready. “We must keep moving,” the tiefling said. “They are not far behind us.”
Geran did not pause. He hurried back across the hall and ducked into the short passage leading to the postern. Normally the door was securely locked and barred, since the Shieldsworn didn’t keep any guards there, but when he turned the corner he found the postern standing open. It seemed that he wasn’t the only person in Griffonwatch to think of the side gate. He started forward, but Hamil reached out and caught his sleeve.
Something seems awry here, the halfling said silently. Douse the nearest lights, and wait here a moment. I’ll take a look.
“Go ahead,” Geran said softly.
He retreated a few steps and covered the light-globes gleaming in the postern passage. Hamil glided into the shadows and slipped out the heavy iron door; even though Geran knew the halfling was there, he couldn’t see or hear him. He motioned for the rest of the small company to hold still and wait.
Thirty heartbeats later, Hamil returned. “It’s an ambush,” he said quietly. “Several of the castle folk lie dead just outside. There are a dozen Veruna armsmen outside, ready for someone to blunder out the door.”
Geran’s fist tightened on the hilt of his blade. The extent of Sergen’s perfidy was now clear. “So Sergen sent the specters to slay everyone in the castle then made sure to have his armsmen waiting by the gates to cut down anyone who managed to flee?” he snarled. “He’s a traitor and a murderer, just like his father was.” He looked at Natali and Kirr, waiting with their mother. With Hamil and Sarth, he might have a chance to cut his way free of the trap, but he could hardly lead the children or his older relatives into a fight.
“We’ll have to try some other way,” the harmach said wearily. “The main gate, I suppose.”
“If those villains are watching the postern, Lord Harmach, there’s not a chance in the world they’ll not watch the main gatehouse too,” Mirya pointed out. “Is there any other way out of the castle?”
“There are a couple of places where a rope might be lowered from the walls, but I am not sure if the children could manage it,” the harmach said. “Or if I could, in all honesty.”
“We could wait here,” Erna said. “The specters might not come to this part of the castle.”
“Inadvisable,” Sarth said. He stood by the foot of the stairs, head cocked to one side to peer upward as far as he could. “It’s only a matter of time before the ghosts descend to this level.”
“We’ll have to break out, then,” Geran decided. “Sarth, do you have any spells that could protect us outside?”
The tiefling frowned. “A spell of fog. But it would blind us as well.”
“It’ll have to do.” Geran turned to his uncle. “Hamil and I will try to deal with the men waiting outside. Wait inside the postern as long as you can.”
Harmach Grigor nodded. “Good luck, Geran,” he said quietly.
The swordmage moved close to the doorway and muttered the incantation of the dragon scales to guard himself as best he could. A shimmering stream of purple-glowing diadems formed around him, rippling in the shadowy light. Hamil drew up close beside him, a dagger in each hand.
The halfling looked up at Geran and said, “I have some doubts about this plan.”
“Best not to dwell on it, then.” Geran looked over at Sarth.
The tiefling raised his clawed hands and softly chanted the words of his spell. Billows of blue mist began to rise from the ground, rapidly filling the doorway and spilling into the night outside. The swordmage waited a moment for the fog to thicken more and steeled his nerve. Then he stepped into the fog and felt his way out the postern gate. The gate opened onto a small landing near the foot of Griffonwatch’s hill, about halfway around the castle from the main gate. Worn stone steps covered by a low wall descended twenty feet to an old wrought-iron fence. Beyond that stood a tangle of alders, blueleafs, and blackberry thickets, a small woodland that ringed the eastern side of the castle’s hill. Geran could barely see the steps under his feet, and he kept one hand on the wall to navigate through the mist. It was cold, and the steps were slick with frost. Then, abruptly, he descended out of the tattered blue mist and caught sight of the armsmen standing nearby in Veruna’s green and white.