Richard Baker: Avenger

“Geran’s back! Look, Geran’s back!” the youngest Hulmasters shouted. “What happened, Geran? Is Marstel still calling himself the harmach? Did anyone recognize you? Did you see Mirya and Selsha? Can we go back to Griffonwatch now?”

“One at a time, one at a time! And who said anything about Hulburg?” Geran protested. He’d done his best to keep his travels secret, not wanting the children to worry about him while he was gone, but it seemed that the young Hulmasters had discovered his whereabouts anyway. He leaned down to hug his young cousins. Over their young lives Natali and Kirr had heard many stories about the Hulmaster who was off to see the world, and even after months of living under the same roof as Geran they still regarded him with appreciable wonder. Natali was the older of the pair, a clever, dark-haired girl of ten years with dark, thoughtful eyes. Kirr had his mother Erna’s reddish gold hair and a rambunctious, inexhaustible energy to him that seemed enough to vex and bother half the adults in the manor, Hulmaster, Shieldsworn, and servant alike. The one good thing about the family’s fortunes in the last few months, he reflected, was that he’d finally come to know Isolmar’s children.

“Geran, my boy, good to see you again,” Harmach Grigor said. He motioned to the far end of the table. “Please, sit down, have something to eat. I’ll wager you’ve had a long ride today.”

“Twenty-five miles by my guess. I just came in.” Geran gave his uncle a tired smile, but he found himself surprised by how gaunt and pale the old man looked. In the tenday that Geran had been off to Hulburg and back he’d somehow forgotten just how fatigued his uncle was. The defeat at Marstel’s hands and the subsequent flight into exile had taken a heavy toll on the harmach; Grigor was better than seventy-five years of age, and he hadn’t enjoyed very good health to begin with. The swordmage shook himself free of his young cousins and ventured over to clasp his uncle’s arm in greeting. The harmach’s grip was shockingly weak.

“Well?” said Geran’s Aunt Terena. She was Grigor’s younger sister and Kara’s mother, a woman who wore the wisdom of her years well. She had a kindly, gentle manner, but there was unmistakable firmness in her voice. Much of Kara’s stubbornness came from her mother. “Since the secret of your journey’s out, what news of Hulburg?”

“Things are much as they’ve been. Marstel is still holding court in Griffonwatch, I’m sorry to say, and his Council Guard holds the town in force.” He moved around the table to kiss his Aunt Terena on her cheek, set a hand on Kara’s shoulder, and then sat at the next place down. The kitchen servers quickly set a plate of roasted chicken and a goblet of warm mulled wine in front of him before retreating from the room again. Between mouthfuls of chicken, he recounted a carefully edited version of his journey to Hulburg and travels around the countryside, leaving out most of the names. Since his treacherous cousin Sergen’s passing, there were no more Hulmasters he didn’t trust, but the children were young and might say something where they shouldn’t. If word got back to Rhovann that he’d been helped by the Sokols or had spoken with Mirya or the Tresterfins or any other old loyalists, lives might be in danger. But he made sure to exaggerate every conceivable hardship and moment of peril he faced for the sake of Natali and Kirr, so that the whole drab and wearying tenday became a hair-raising dance with death in the retelling.

By the time he’d finished, the eyes of both young Hulmasters were wide with astonishment. Erna frowned sternly at Geran, well aware that the truth had been stretched more than once. “They’ll be up half the night with that tale in their heads,” she said. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Geran!”

“Every word of it true,” he answered. “Besides, Hamil isn’t here to spin them their bedtime story. I did what I could in his place.” Hamil Alderheart, Geran’s old adventuring companion, was greatly beloved by the young Hulmasters. He’d sailed back to Tantras a month before to see to the business of the Red Sail Coster, his trading company.

“Every word true, indeed,” Erna muttered. “Come, Natali, Kirr. It’s to your lessons and then bed for the both of you, and I’ll not hear a word of protest about it!” She gathered her children and shooed them out of the room. Terena excused herself and followed to give Erna a hand with the young Hulmasters, leaving just Kara and Harmach Grigor with Geran.

Kara looked at Geran, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m accounted one of the best trackers in the Moonsea North, and I have to say, I’ve never met any frost giant robbers or pixie bandits haunting the roads between here and Hulburg.” Laughter danced in her brilliant blue eyes, touched years before by the azure fire of the Spellplague. “Natali saw through every word of that, you know.”

“I know it,” answered Geran. “I simply didn’t want to say too much about my true business in Hulburg. Careless words may prove dangerous.”

They fell silent for a time, listening to the receding sounds of the children retreating to their rooms. Harmach Grigor smiled sadly, and then returned his attention to his nephew and niece. “Speaking of dangerous, you were rash to return to Hulburg, Geran,” he said. “We have other sources of information. It’s not worth your life.”

Geran shook his head. “I disagree. There’s a difference between reading about what’s happening in the town and seeing it with your own eyes. Besides, to have any hope of organizing resistance to Marstel’s rule, we must have the trust and respect of old Hulburg. We will be asking people to run deadly risks on our behalf. They need to see that we haven’t abandoned them.”

“Geran is right, Uncle,” Kara said firmly. “Even the most loyal hearts will lose hope if they come to believe we don’t intend to return.” With the brilliant azure of her eyes and her well-known spellscar, she could not disguise herself as easily as Geran. He knew it was hard for her to leave the dangerous spying to him, but as risky as it was for him to venture into Hulburg now, it would have been twice as risky for her. She looked over to Geran and asked, “So how do matters stand in Hulburg now?”

“It’s hard on the folk who supported us,” he admitted. “Marstel-well, Rhovann I suppose, I can’t imagine this was Marstel’s scheme-is taxing the old landowners and shopkeepers into penury. Then he’s awarding their confiscated property to the outlander gangs to buy their support. Yarthin, Errolsk, Baudemar, they’re all out of business.”

“And the Cinderfists are staying bought?”

Geran nodded. “For now. Their priest Valdarsel now sits on the Harmach’s Council as the so-called high prelate of Hulburg. Things might be different in a few months when Marstel’s tax collectors run out of folk to rob and have no more gold or land to give to the Cinderfists, but that day isn’t here yet.”

“Who did you see?” Grigor asked.

“Mirya, of course. After her, Sarth, Burkel Tresterfin, Theron Nimstar, the Ostings, a couple of others. Nimessa Sokol likely knows I slipped into Hulburg in a Sokol caravan, but I didn’t speak with her or any of her folk.”

“How many of the Spearmeet are ready to fight for our cause?” asked Kara.

“If Tresterfin, Nimstar, and the Ostings are right, a couple of companies still. I’d guess ten score, altogether. More would join once the fighting began in earnest, I think. Few are willing to be the first to rise in opposition, but once some do, more would follow.”

“No,” said Harmach Grigor. “Not yet. Encouraging our loyalists would only bring down reprisals that we cannot shield our people against. If we cannot protect them, then we must make sure that they don’t suffer on our behalf.”