Avenger

EIGHTEEN

23 Alturiak, the Year of Deep Water Drifting (1480 DR)

Shortly after sunset, a clatter at his window startled Rhovann from his meticulous record keeping in his laboratory. A small gray shape scratched at the thick glass; the mage set down his quill and hurried over to open the window and let in one of his homunculus spies. The creature croaked once and flopped inside, collapsing on the windowsill.

“What is this?” the mage muttered to himself. The homunculus was dying. Something had raked its body with deep claw marks, and dark fluid dripped slowly from the wounds. He frowned and examined the number scribed at the back of its neck, trying to determine which of his minions this was. After a moment, he nodded to himself. This homunculus he’d sent to Thentia several days before. The injuries were severe, but it was quite likely that the tiny creature had spent itself in the wearying flight. The creatures were not made to endure days of travel in the harsh winds and weather of the Moonsea North.

He sighed, closing the window against the wind-driven hail and icy rain that beat against the panes of his workshop. “Well, let us see what you have found,” he said aloud. The creature could not understand that, of course, but the mage was speaking to himself, not the homunculus. He carried the small monster from the windowsill where it had collapsed to a worktable nearby. Murmuring the words of a spell, he set his hand-the living one-upon the tiny creature’s head, summoning up its recollection of what it had seen during its long flight.

Endless miles of moorland and barren, stony hillsides reeled by beneath him; Rhovann ignored it and shifted the creature’s recollection to something of significance. The image blurred, and then steadied again; now he seemed to hover above an encampment of wooden barracks and tents. Hundreds of soldiers in surcoats of blue and white marched and wheeled in some sort of mock battle. Rhovann blinked in surprise; that was certainly more than he would have expected the Hulmasters to gather in exile. They must have had more success reorganizing their Shieldsworn than he’d anticipated … or perhaps, as the Vaasans feared, some other Moonsea power had chosen to support the Hulmaster cause with gold and sellswords. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened.

“A matter for concern, but not panic,” he decided. No doubt Geran and Kara Hulmaster would get the most from the troops under their command, but the Council Guard still held an edge in sheer numbers-and that was not counting his own runehelms, who were far stronger and more resilient than merely human combatants anyway. “Show me more,” he commanded the homunculus, and the picture in his mind’s eye shifted again. Now he peered in a window at a large room where many captains gathered. He could clearly make out Kara Hulmaster, speaking at the head of the table. A tall young cleric in the robes of an Amaunatori friar stood listening nearby beside a black-bearded dwarf in heavy armor who smoked a pipe. Rhovann frowned, recognizing Kendurkkel Ironthane. He still didn’t understand why the Icehammers had joined the Hulmaster cause; it didn’t seem like the mercenaries to take on speculative work. There was a map on the table, and Rhovann strained to make out the details on it. Unfortunately, this vision only lasted a few more heartbeats before the homunculus was obliged to flit away from the window in order to avoid the attention of a nearby guard.

“What is your plan, Kara?” he wondered aloud. “You are outnumbered, but you prepare to attack regardless. What is it you know that I do not?” Geran and his cousin might be counting on more aid from friendly cities … or perhaps they hoped to combine forces with the rebels who’d been causing so much trouble in Hulburg. Yes, that might be it; they had a different appreciation of the numbers than he did.

Rhovann willed the homunculus to its next memory. He found himself flying over a field behind the manor, heading for one of the barracks. A solitary man on horseback sat back in the tree line, with something on his arm. He threw his arm forward with a sharp cry-and a large falcon leaped into the air, its wings beating with power and grace as it arrowed up toward the homunculus. There was a confused tumble of sky and ground, flashing talons … Rhovann snatched back his hand, unwilling to share in his small servant’s mortal agony. It was just as well-the broken thing expired an instant after he severed their connection.

“A falcon,” he murmured, pursing his lips in thought. Kara Hulmaster’s doing, no doubt. Evidently she’d decided to guard her camp against airborne spies; she was damnably clever about such things. If she was cautious enough to post falconers, she might very well be cautious enough to anticipate his spying and make a point of showing him things she wanted him to see … in which case, he could not be confident of any report his minions brought back from the Hulmaster camp. Well, he would just have to find another way to keep an eye on the so-called Hulmaster army.

He closed his eyes, thinking hard about what the homunculus had seen … and not seen. There was no glimpse of Geran Hulmaster anywhere. Of course, the odds of his homunculus spotting one specific person in a manor crowded with many hundreds were low, but Rhovann had instructed his small spies to seek out Geran, and for tendays now, they’d found nothing. For that matter, the human spies he employed in Thentia couldn’t confirm Geran’s location, either.

The mage scowled as he realized that some of his calm confidence about the coming conflict had eroded away. Still weighing the homunculus’s last vision, he closed his journal and secured the laboratory with the customary wardings. Then he went in search of Edelmark.

He found the Council Guard captain in the castle’s rain-splattered courtyard, observing the drill of one of his companies. “Come, Edelmark,” he said. “I want a word with you.”

“Of course, my lord mage,” the captain replied. He nodded to a subordinate to take over, and fell in a half step behind Rhovann as the elf mage led him into the dry interior of a turret overlooking the castle gate. A murmured spell and a simple gesture guaranteed their privacy.

“I have just received a report from Thentia,” Rhovann said to his captain. “The Hulmasters are drilling and maneuvering their army every day. And it seems that our initial reports were correct, and the Icehammers are marching under the Hulmaster banner.”

Edelmark nodded. “Do you know when they plan to march, my lord?” he asked.

“I haven’t been able to discover that with my observations,” Rhovann admitted. “If you were in command of the Hulmaster forces, what would you do?”

Edelmark frowned and considered his answer. “A winter campaign would be difficult. There’s no shelter to be had in the Highfells. Given my choice, I’d wait for the weather to turn … but time doesn’t favor them. If they wait for the spring thaw, the reopening of our port would give us the opportunity to bring more mercenaries into the city any time we liked.”

“It would also give me the opportunity to manufacture more runehelms,” Rhovann observed. He hoped that the number and strength of the constructs he’d created would come as a very ugly surprise to any Hulmaster loyalists marching on Hulburg. Geran and his cousin might understand that, or they might not. On the other hand, they probably wouldn’t overlook the significance of Hulburg’s port reopening. “If the Hulmaster army comes before the thaw, could your Council Guard defeat them?”

“With the Icehammers, they’ve got about eight hundred armsmen. That is close to matching the strength of the Council Guard and the allied merchant companies.” Edelmark shrugged. “Of course, many of the Hulmaster troops are ill-equipped militia and wouldn’t stand up well to our professional armsmen. But we have to assume that any loyalists remaining in Hulburg would rise in support of a Hulmaster army, possibly shifting the odds against us.”

Rhovann thought that his captain was a little too quick to dismiss the quality of the Hulmaster troops, but he didn’t want the man starting at phantoms. “My runehelms are nearly a hundred strong now. They would make our victory certain, would they not?”

The mercenary captain twisted his mouth into a small smile. “Nothing is certain in war, my lord mage. But I have a hard time imagining how the Hulmasters could beat that many of your gray warriors. They’re formidable opponents. Could you commit so many to the field?”

“What else would I do with them?” Rhovann asked.

“Some forces must be left to protect Griffonwatch and Daggergard, and keep order in the town. I don’t trust the Cinderfists, regardless of what the Vaasans might promise. Valdarsel seemed to be the only one who could keep them in check, and now that he’s dead, they’re all too likely to riot and start looting the town as soon as our backs are turned. For that matter, I’m not sure that we’ve completely suppressed the Hulmaster loyalists. There may be more of them than we’ve seen so far.”

“The Cinderfists do not concern me.” An unruly mob in Hulburg’s poorer quarters was troublesome, but without the priests of Cyric directing their efforts, they were simply ruffians, and didn’t pose a lasting threat to Rhovann’s control of the city. In fact, leaving them to roam unchecked might prove useful, since they’d likely harass native Hulburgans who might otherwise rise in support of the Hulmasters. Despite all of the plunder the Cinderfists had been allowed to strip from the native loyalists, they still clamored for more. “Who else might side with the Hulmasters?”

“The Thentians might take a more active role,” Edelmark answered. “Some of the merchant companies are unreliable. And it’s possible that a third party like the Mulmasterites might attempt to seize the city while we’re busy fending off the Hulmasters. But that isn’t likely until the ice is gone and the port opens again.”

At least the Vaasans are dealing with me instead of the Hulmasters, Rhovann reflected. He gazed out of the arrow slit overlooking the gray-shrouded town below the castle, flexing his metal hand unconsciously. Geran’s army didn’t frighten him since he was clearly in the stronger position for now, but there were many interests colliding in Hulburg, and he couldn’t guarantee that some of them wouldn’t align against him if the right circumstances arose. If enough of them did so, it was far from inconceivable that Geran and his wretched family might unseat him. All things considered, Rhovann much preferred to deal in certainties. Perhaps he could take steps to fix some of the unknowns Edelmark feared, and eliminate variables that might otherwise provide the Hulmasters with a chance to succeed in their desperate gambit.

“Thank you, Captain. That is all,” he said. Edelmark touched his knuckle to his brow and went back to his duties; Rhovann stood on the battlements, gazing out at the town-his domain, to order and arrange as he saw fit-for a short time before returning to his laboratory to work on the next group of runehelms.

For the next few hours, he weighed Edelmark’s advice and the reports of his spies as he labored. It seemed likely that he’d have to commit many of his runehelms to meet the Hulmaster attack when it came, and that of course would leave the city vulnerable to the threats posed by the Cinderfists or the Hulmaster loyalists. The Cinderfists were in hand, or so he thought; it depended on whether he could trust Terov. But his mind kept turning to the unanswered question of Geran Hulmaster’s whereabouts. Geran had already demonstrated the ability to slip into Hulburg whenever it pleased him. He’d be wise to come up with a counter to that potential threat.

“Bastion, I have an errand for you,” he said, making his decision. “Bring me Mirya Erstenwold-alive and unharmed. I wish to have a word with her. If she is not at her home, return for further instructions.”

The golem inclined its head, then turned and padded away. Rhovann put Bastion out of his mind, and turned his attention to the work at hand. The latest group of runehelms was almost finished; he had one more crucial step to see to. He went to a circle of silver runes inlaid in the workroom floor, and began to chant an incantation. The room around him began to grow dim, the shadows lengthening and taking on strange new shapes, and the air grew cold; light and warmth had little power in this place. Dark currents of power that Rhovann could barely perceive under most circumstances suddenly twisted into sharply defined focus, ready to his hand. He bared his teeth in a cold smile; here, in this realm, he was at his strongest. The spell of transference complete, he stepped from his silver circle into the Plane of Shadow.

The shadow workroom resembled his own workroom in the harmach’s castle, but that was the way of the Shadowfell. It had little true existence of its own, and merely imitated the daylight world-although never perfectly. Many of the furnishings and accoutrements from his workroom weren’t present here, or stood in the wrong place. Likewise, there were things present in the Shadow that didn’t exist in the living world version of this chamber. Before him, a complicated apparatus of silver coils and dark glass seethed slowly with a thick black substance. Rhovann approached the device, placed a rune-carved mold of silver beneath it, and carefully decanted eight marble-sized drops of liquid ebon into the impressions. Within moments the drops congealed into lustrous shadowy pearls, fixed in their form. “Good,” he murmured aloud. Then he returned to the silver circle and reversed his incantation, shifting himself back to the normal world. The shadows faded, and the air grew warm again.

Rhovann looked down at his shadow pearls, studying them for any imperfections. He found none. Satisfied, he carried them over to the great copper vats in which his runehelms grew. Murmuring potent spells, he took a shadow pearl and pressed it into the damp gray clay of each runehelm’s uncovered face, otherwise devoid of any features at all. Setting his mold aside, he took blank visors and affixed them to the empty faces of each of his new creations, whispering more words of power over the creatures to awaken the shadow pearls that would animate them.

A small commotion by the door of his laboratory caught his attention. He ignored it until he finished the last of the spells required. Then he brushed off his hands and looked up; Bastion stood waiting with Mirya Erstenwold, one great hand clamped around her upper arm. Rhovann noticed that her hands were bound behind her back and she’d been gagged, but her eyes were bright and furious. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “You may remove her gag, Bastion.”

The golem obediently undid the gag. Mirya spluttered as it came free, working her jaw with a wince of pain. “What do you want of me?” she demanded. “You’ve no right to send your monster off to fetch me whenever you feel like it!”

“I thought we might have a brief chat, Mistress Erstenwold,” he answered.

“You sold my daughter and me to pirates, you black-hearted bastard. I’ve nothing to say to you!”

Rhovann shrugged. “It would have been easier to have the two of you killed, Mistress Erstenwold; it was a matter of some inconvenience to spare your lives. I did so because I take little pleasure in wanton killing.” She glared at him, but he thought there was a shadow of fear behind her anger now. He sighed, and went on. “You have seen Geran Hulmaster since his exile, haven’t you?”

“You know that I have,” she replied. “As I told Edelmark, he wanted to see how I was getting along. He didn’t share any of his plans with me.”

“I’m sure. Well, let me come to the point. I expect that sometime within the next few tendays Geran may slip into Hulburg and contact you again. You will inform me at once should he do so.”

“Edelmark’s already threatened me, Rhovann.”

“Oh, you don’t understand. This is not a threat. It is a statement of fact.” Rhovann stepped close, and drew his wand with his silver hand. Mirya’s eyes widened in fright, but he touched the tip of his wand to her forehead and began a spell of domination. She shuddered in sudden panic and tried to pull away, but Bastion held her motionless, unable to retreat. The mage locked his eyes with hers, and bent the full power of his magic against her. She fought, and fought hard, her will surprisingly strong for someone untrained in the magical arts. For sixty heartbeats or more they struggled in silence, until finally her defenses crumbled under the relentless pressure of his enchantment. Her eyes, blazing in anger before, suddenly went blank and glassy, and her chin drooped toward the floor.

“When next you see Geran Hulmaster, you will do everything in your power to betray him to me,” Rhovann whispered in her ear. “Delay him in your home, lure him into meeting you in a specific place, seduce him-whatever you must do in order to keep him or maneuver him to a place where he can be caught. All you need do to summon me is to tell any runehelm-the helmed guardians in the streets-to tell me that you have Geran. Do you understand so far?”

“Yes, I understand,” Mirya said in a weak voice.

“Good. Now you will forget that we have spoken today, and carry on about your business as you normally would until you meet Geran Hulmaster again. Give no sign or indication to anybody what you intend, and do your best to conceal what you have done until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Mirya repeated.

“Very well. Bastion, unbind her.” Rhovann waited for the golem to free her wrists before finishing. “Now return home. If anyone asks what you were doing at the castle, you will say that you were questioned about Geran’s expedition against the Black Moon pirates. Supply whatever details are necessary to allay suspicion. You may go.”

Mirya’s eyes cleared, and she frowned. Without another word to Rhovann, she let herself out of the laboratory and hurried away. Rhovann returned his wand to his belt, feeling quite pleased with his own cleverness. Whatever else the next few tendays brought, Geran’s days of skulking around unnoticed in Hulburg were at end.