Richard Baker - Avenger

“Yes. Natali and Kirr weren’t hurt, thank the gods. Aunt Terena and Kara are fine too. But we lost a number of Shieldsworn and family retainers. It was a terrible scene.” He frowned and looked around. Speaking of the young Hulmasters had reminded him … “Are you and Selsha well? Is she about?”

“Aye, we’re well enough, I suppose, but I sent Selsha to stay with the Tresterfins for a time. I was worried that she might be caught up in some trouble here in town, and I thought she’d be safer in the countryside. I do miss her, though. I’m in the habit of listening for her footsteps or her voice.” Mirya sighed, and drew back.

The trouble must be growing worse if she sent Selsha away, Geran reflected. Mirya was hardly the sort to panic, as he well knew. “I saw that old Kettar’s workshop was empty,” he said. “Have Marstel’s tax collectors troubled you? Are you still able to make a living here?”

She made a dismissive gesture. “We’ve something laid by for hard times; we’ll see it through, I think. But I worry about my neighbors.”

“I do too. I won’t let this stand a day longer than I have to. I promise you.”

“I know it, Geran.” She fell silent for a time, gazing down at her hands. He knew her well enough to see that she had something she wanted to say. After a moment she shook herself a little, and looked up at his face again. In a quiet voice she asked, “What happened in Thentia?”

“Your old friend Valdarsel sent a priestess from his order to organize an attack at Lasparhall,” he said. “They struck in the middle of the night, when the household was asleep except for a few sentries. It was mere chance that I wasn’t killed as I slept. Kara and I-and the Shieldsworn-managed to foil the worst of the attack. But we were too late to save Harmach Grigor.”

Mirya covered her mouth in horror. “Oh, Geran,” she whispered through her fingers.

He sighed and glanced at the small gray patch of sky visible in the counting room’s tiny window. “Kara and I saw to it that the Cyricist and her mercenaries had no opportunity to enjoy their success. None of them got away.”

“Who is harmach now?”

He shrugged. “I am, I suppose. Well, I won’t take the title until Hulburg is free. But I’m the Lord Hulmaster.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Mirya recoiled in horror. “You must be mad! If Marstel knew that you were alone in Hulburg, right here under his nose …”

“I’m here to kill Valdarsel. He’s the one who ordered Harmach Grigor’s death. There will be no more Hulmasters assassinated on his orders.” The thought brought another flash of anger, and he clenched his jaw. “I don’t doubt that Rhovann put him up to it, and I’ll deal with him in good time. But for now I’ll settle for delivering an unmistakable message to Rhovann and his pet harmach about sending monsters and murderers against my kin. There’s a price to be paid.”

Mirya pressed her lips together, thinking on Geran’s words. A few months earlier she’d found herself on Valdarsel’s bad side, and she had good reason to fear the priest. “I wouldn’t miss him, and that’s the truth of it, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to put him under your blade. He spends most of his time in his new temple, and he’s got a strong guard with him whenever he leaves it.”

“New temple? What new temple?”

“They call it the Temple of the Wronged Prince,” Mirya replied. She shook her head. “I never thought I’d see the day when such a thing as a temple dedicated to Cyric might be built in Hulburg, but it’s happened.”

Geran frowned. Cyric was a dark god, but his doctrines embraced concepts such as ambition, change, and revolution-things that often appealed to folk who were poor and desperate. He suspected that Cyric’s priests downplayed the darker aspects of their Black Sun when recruiting from the wretched masses. “Where is this place?”

“On Gold Street, near the Middle Bridge. There are guards in black mail who stand by its doors both night and day, and acolytes are always about the public rooms. The priests’ quarters and the temple’s inner sanctum aren’t open to any but the servants of the Black Sun.” Mirya paused, studying him. “I’ve heard that there may be other guardians inside-devils or demons or some other such things. If you mean to face him, it might be better to wait for him to come out, guards or not.”

“That may be,” Geran replied. “Still … are there any other entrances?”

“Aye, there’s a small garden behind the building. A gate from the alleyway leads to the garden, and there’s a door leading in from the garden. It’s guarded by some sort of magical glyph.”

“I might be able to deal with that …” Geran mused aloud. Then a sudden thought struck him, and he looked sharply at Mirya. “Wait a moment. How do you know so much about this Temple of the Wronged Prince? Did Valdarsel have his ruffians drag you in?”

“No, nothing like that!” Mirya answered. She hesitated, looking away from him. “I’ve some … friends … who help me to keep an eye on things about town. We looked over the place a few days past, thinking that we might cause some mischief there. But as I said, it seemed too well protected to us, so we decided to leave it be.”

“Mirya, what have you been up to?”

“Marstel and his sellswords are running this town into ruin, Geran. We’re doing something about it. Hulburg is our home too, you know.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that sort of thing is?” he demanded. “Once you raise your hand against Marstel and his allies, you can never take it back. Didn’t you learn anything from what happened when you put your nose in Valdarsel and Rhovann’s business a few months ago? They’ll hang you for a rebel if they catch you!”

“If they catch me?” she said, bristling. “You’re the one skulking about in a disguise, and you’re the one person in all Faerun they’d most like to catch playing at spy! How can you tell me that what I’m doing is too dangerous?”

“This is different,” he retorted. “I have experience at this sort of thing. I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe I know what I’m doing as well, Geran Hulmaster.”

Geran rose to reply in anger, but bit back on his words. He’d never get her to see that he was right by shouting at her; Mirya could be exceptionally stubborn when she set her mind on something, and this seemed like one of those times. He decided to try another tack. “Mirya … I understand that you love this land as much as I do,” he said. “But I beg you, don’t take chances! I couldn’t bear to see you hurt.”

She stood as well, and folded her arms like a battlement in front of her. “And why is that?” she asked in a sharp voice. “Don’t I have the right to choose my own risks?”

He retreated from her, pacing around the small room. “Don’t be foolish,” he said. “You know that you’re dear to me.”

“I know no such thing,” she snapped. “Oh, I know that I matter to you. You followed me to the Tears of Selune. But why, Geran? Ten years ago you loved me. It ended. What is it that you think you still owe me? Why is it so important to you what happens to me now?”

“Because I-” he began, and stopped himself, unable to finish. He’d been about to say because I love you . He stood in silence, stunned to find those words on the tip of his tongue, and aghast at the realization that he’d come within a breath of speaking them aloud. He had no right to say any such thing to her. Ten years before he’d been a young, callous fool who broke her heart when he set out to make some kind of mark in the world outside Hulburg. She could never trust him with her heart again, and he could never ask it of her. He drew a deep breath, and found something else to say. “Because I owe it to Jarad,” he said instead. “He’d want me to look after you and Selsha. I failed him once when I left Hulburg to fall into the state it did while I was gone. I don’t want to fail him a second time.”