Mhurren roared in triumph and raised his spear for the killing thrust, but then Geran shouldered his way past the Skull Guard in his way and leaped at the warlord. Mhurren whirled with catlike speed to meet Geran’s attack, catching the swordstroke on his shield and responding with a furious fusillade of overhand spear-thrusts, stabbing again and again for Geran’s heart. The swordmage parried the first, twisted away from the second, parried the third, but then Mhurren stepped close and slammed his shield into Geran’s right side. The warlord had a small spike on the boss of the shield, and it punched a deep wound in Geran’s shoulder. Geran staggered back, losing his blade from fingers that suddenly went weak as water, and he gasped desperately for breath. “So much for Hulburg’s champions!” the warlord gloated.
He lunged for Geran’s belly, and the swordmage twisted aside once more and caught the spear-shaft just behind the head with his left hand. Mhurren bared his fangs and tried to wrench his weapon back, but Geran kept on his feet and followed Mhurren around, staying away from the shield-spike and the spearhead both. The orc warlord was as strong as an ox, and he was much fresher than Geran; he was going to get his weapon back, and soon. In desperation, Geran released the spearhead and used the heel of his left hand to strike a sudden blow up at the bottom of the half-orc’s helm. The visor jammed up a couple of inches and momentarily covered Mhurren’s eyes, blinding him so that Geran could leap free, but not before a wild slash with the heavy war spear laid open his right thigh.
“Damn you!” Mhurren snarled in rage. He reached up to pull his visor back into place-
— and Kara’s bow sang again.
The visor Geran had knocked two inches out of place had given her the mark she needed. Her arrow took Mhurren just under the line of his jaw, plunging through his throat to pierce the back of his neck. The warlord gaped silently, dark blood foaming over his chin. He fumbled at the arrow, and then he sank to the ground and fell still.
“The warlord has fallen!” one of the Skull Guards cried out in Orcish. “Mhurren is dead!”
The orcs nearby turned to look, disengaging from scores of personal duels, and an eerie hush descended over the battlefield around the fallen warchief-a hush that slowly spread as news of Mhurren’s death spread through the horde. All along the dike, the orcs and their allies slowed their surge, looking uncertainly toward the center where their king’s banner no longer flew. Two of the remaining Skull Guards stooped by Mhurren’s body and hoisted the fallen chief up on their shoulders; more orcs came to help carry him, and the small knot of warriors retreated from the breach. Geran, Kara, and the Shieldsworn standing close backed off slowly and let the orcs carry away their chief. More of the Bloody Skulls to each side began to disengage, glaring at the defenders of Hulburg and shaking their spears in anger.
Hundreds of Bloody Skull warriors lay at the foot of the dike or strewn through the gap of the Vale Road, far more than Geran had thought. Between the first attempt to storm the dike, the assault of the undead warriors, and the second attack against the dike, the Bloody Skulls had paid a terrible cost in blood. In the distance, behind the orc lines, he saw a dozen black-clad horsemen clambering into their saddles-more of the Vaasans. They surveyed the field for a short time, and then turned and rode off to the north.
He realized that he was still standing unarmed and retrieved his sword, picking it up with his left hand. He could still fight if he had to, but not very well. He took a deep breath and glanced over at Kara. “Should we attack the orcs while they’re leaderless?”
“With what?” she replied. “If we have a third of our strength left, I’d be surprised. No, I think it best to hold our ground for a while and see what the Bloody Skulls do. If Mhurren doesn’t have a clear successor, they’ll be fighting each other soon enough.”
Geran shook his head, suddenly amazed to find himself alive and still on his feet. Blood streamed down his right arm from his wounded shoulder, and he realized that the slash across his thigh was bleeding as well. “Then I guess the battle is over,” he said.
THIRTY
2 Mirtul, the Year of the Ageless One
The rumble of distant thunder rolled over the misty green peaks of the Highfells as a springtime storm drifted eastward past the harbor of Hulburg. It was raining, but it was a soft, cool drizzle-not the icy downpours of Tarsakh or Ches. The magnificent Arches that graced the southeast side of the harbor glimmered white in a dazzling sunbreak only a mile away. It seemed a good omen to Geran. He looked up at the skies and said, “You’ll have fair weather for your crossing, Hamil.”
The halfling grimaced. “I think I’m owed it,” he answered. He no longer wore his arm in a sling, and he walked with only the trace of a limp from the wound he’d taken in the fight by the postern gate. “To be perfectly honest, I’d rather ride around the Moonsea than cross it.”
“It’s at least six or seven hundred miles out of your way,” Kara said with a smile. She’d come down to the harbor to see Hamil off, despite her many duties as commander of what was left of the Shieldsworn. She wasn’t the only one; Mirya and her daughter, Selsha, were there to say their good-byes too, and of course Natali and Kirr had insisted on escorting Hamil to his ship. The ranger rested a hand on Natali’s shoulder and smiled at Hamil. “Most of that’s impassable mountains and trackless wilderness filled with hungry monsters. Are you certain you’d like to go that way?”
Hamil made a show of thinking over his answer for a long time. “No, I suppose not,” he finally sighed. “Better the sea I know than the mountains I don’t. Besides, if I take too long getting back to Tantras, the Double Moons or Sokols or Marstels will gobble up all of Veruna’s leavings before the Red Sails can stake a claim.”
“Don’t be worried about that,” Geran replied. “My uncle’s already promised the Red Sails the best of the Veruna docks and storehouses.” House Veruna, of course, was no longer welcome in Hulburg. After their role in the attack against Griffonwatch-an accusation that Darsi Veruna had vehemently denied, though she had no answer to the charges that her mercenaries had dealt with the King in Copper or abandoned the field during the Battle of Lendon’s Dike-the Verunas had holed up in their fortified compounds for three days before it became obvious to Darsi that she and her clerks, servants, and sellswords would be burned out by a Hulburgan mob if they remained. In the dark hour before dawn, the Verunas had boarded their ships and slipped away to Mulmaster, abandoning their holdings throughout the harmach’s domain. Harmach Grigor had already revoked their concessions and leases anyway, and the Merchant Council had chosen not to lodge any protests on Veruna’s account… a wise decision in Geran’s estimation. His only regret was that they’d also carried away his cousin Sergen, who’d made his escape aboard one of the Veruna ships.
“I think the captain’s anxious to cast off, Hamil,” said Kara. “You should go aboard.”
The halfling sighed. “Some dutiful persons often say that there’s no point in putting off unpleasantness,” he observed. “For my own part, I’ve never understood that reasoning. Should I be struck dead by a bolt of lightning a minute from now, I’d rather not have spent my last moments beginning to get seasick.” But he picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder, setting foot on the gangway.
“Farewell, Hamil!” Natali said. She darted over and gave him an enthusiastic hug, followed a moment later by her younger brother.
“Don’t go, Hamil!” Kirr said. “You can stay in Griffonwatch with us!”