Richard Baker: Avenger

“A good idea,” Geran told the two guards. “Rhovann is dead, and I’m here to take back my castle. Now, where might I find Maroth Marstel?”

The two guards kept still until Hamil prodded his man with his knife. “The courtyard!” the guard answered. “The harmach is abandoning Griffonwatch. The Vaasans have offered us sanctuary. He sent us to see what was keeping Lord Rhovann.”

The Vaasans? Hamil remarked. What in the world do they have to do with this?

Geran scowled. He wasn’t sure what the Vaasans were doing in Hulburg, but here was a second piece of evidence of Warlock Knight meddling in the space of the last few hours. A year earlier, the Warlock Knights had aided Warchief Mhurren’s Bloody Skull horde; he’d dueled a Vaasan sorcerer during the battle at Lendon’s Wall. And Rhovann had said that the Vaasans had put Valdarsel up to his murder. Now Vaasans were waiting to spirit away the false harmach? No good could come of that. “How long before they ride?” he demanded.

“He’s waiting in the courtyard with the Vaasans now,” Castellan Sarvin answered. “We have no more quarrel with you, Lord Hulmaster. All we want is to be quit of this place.”

“You should have thought of that before you took Marstel’s coin,” Mirya replied. “What do we do with these two, Geran?”

“Bind them and leave them here. They answered, and for that I’ll spare their lives.” He smiled grimly. “After that, I think I’d like to go down to the courtyard and have a word or two with Harmach Marstel and these Vaasans before they depart.”

Hamil and Mirya quickly secured the two guardsmen. Geran noticed that the castellan wore a fine pair of light leather gauntlets; he tried on the right-hand gauntlet over the silver hand. He felt more than a little self-conscious about wearing Rhovann’s hand at the end of his own arm, and felt like he ought to keep it out of sight. Satisfied with the fit, he nodded to his friends, and they set out into the castle.

The halls of Griffonwatch were eerily quiet as Geran, Mirya, Sarth, and Hamil hurried down toward the lower courtyard. None of the castle servants or clerks seemed to be about; Geran guessed that they’d quietly slipped out of the castle in the last few hours to join loyalists in the streets or simply lay low and wait out events. Nor were any of Marstel’s mercenaries at their posts, since the towers and battlements seemed abandoned. They did find a number of runehelms as they descended, but Rhovann’s constructs were listless and unmoving. The magical glyphs marking their flesh had almost completely faded, and thin black ichor dripped from beneath their iron visors.

“Should we destroy these things as we pass them?” Hamil asked as they made their way through a motionless band of four gray guardians gathered around the upper entrance to the great hall.

“They are unlikely to pose a threat,” Sarth observed. “I suspect that the master stone’s destruction erased whatever orders or instructions Rhovann provided them, and clearly Rhovann will provide no new instructions now. With a little time, I might be able to determine whether the runehelms are crippled, awaiting new orders, or have simply ceased to function altogether.”

“Never mind that,” Geran answered. “We have no time to waste on the runehelms now-we must stop Marstel’s escape.”

“I’ve no reason to think kindly of Maroth Marstel, but does he matter at all now?” Mirya asked. “He was only a figurehead for Rhovann’s rule. Without the wizard, he’s naught but a drunken old fool.”

“That’s almost certainly true, but I can’t let the Vaasans have him. If the Warlock Knights have someone who can claim rulership over Hulburg in their keeping, there’s no end of the trouble they might cause. They might field an army of their own against us on the pretense of restoring Marstel to the throne. At the very least, it would give them a justification to keep up their meddling for years to come.” Geran led the way as they clattered down the steps at the rear of the great hall and ran to the doors at the room’s entrance. He set his hand on the handle and was about to yank one of the great doors open when Hamil caught his arm.

“Carefully,” the halfling said in a soft voice. “Listen!”

Geran paused, and cocked his head. He could hear the hoof stamps of horses and the anxious shouts of a number of men outside. Instead of opening the door, he instead moved to one of the shuttered loopholes in the door, undid the catch, and peeked out. The front of the great hall looked out on the castle’s large, lower courtyard. A light rain was falling, and deep puddles dotted the ground. To the left and right stood towers, barracks, and stables; directly across from the great hall stood the gatehouse, where the road climbing up from the Harmach’s Foot ended. In the cobbled space, two dozen warriors-some in the red and yellow of Marstel’s Council Guard, and some in the black and crimson of Vaasa-stood by their mounts or waited in the saddle. Maroth Marstel sat on a large charger, dressed in a broad-bellied suit of plate armor; beside him a Warlock Knight in a black, horned helm frowned impatiently.

“My lord harmach, we have waited as long as we dare,” the Warlock Knight said to Marstel. “Already our path may be blocked. We must leave now, and trust that Lord Rhovann will join us when he is able.”

“I don’t care for the idea of leaving without him,” Marstel answered. He stared up in the direction of the castle’s upper towers. “Perhaps I should go speak to him myself.”

“There is no more time , Harmach Marstel. I am leaving now, with my guards. If you hope to reach safety ahead of Kara Hulmaster’s soldiers, you would be well advised to come with us.” The Vaasan brought his mount in front of Marstel’s. “Rhovann is a very competent wizard. He will have little trouble making his way out of Hulburg, I am sure. But if you allow yourself to be caught here, then you may very well negate whatever effort Rhovann is engaged in. You can aid him best by leaving now.”

Marstel grimaced beneath his white mustache. “Very well, Lord Terov. Perhaps you are right. Let us go.”

The Warlock Knight-Terov, or so Geran guessed-nodded curtly to his men. With a creaking of saddles and the clatter of hooves on the well-worn cobblestones of the courtyard, the band of riders began to stream out through the castle gate and down the causeway beyond.

“They’re leaving,” Geran growled. “Quickly, after them!” Before he could reconsider his actions, he pulled open the door and ran out into the courtyard after the retreating riders, drawing the shadow sword as he went. It felt solid in the grasp of his new hand-perhaps a little rigid and stiff, but firmly under his control. Hamil followed after him, brandishing his knives, while Sarth stepped out into the doorway. The sorcerer conjured a ball of sparking green lightning and hurled it spinning into the middle of the soldiers waiting for their turn to pass the gate; with a great thunderclap it detonated, raking Council Guards and Vaasan soldiers alike with emerald bolts. Horses screamed in terror, and warriors tumbled from their saddles as panicked animals reared and shied. Mirya’s crossbow sang, and a Council Guard grunted as a bolt punched into his thigh. Some warriors spurred out after the lead riders, some turned to face the unexpected attack from the rear, and others simply hovered in between, torn by indecision.

Geran ran toward Marstel, intending to drag the fat old lord out of the saddle or kill him if he couldn’t manage that. For a moment, in the chaos and confusion of the courtyard, he thought he’d be able to reach Marstel unimpeded. But a pair of Vaasan armsmen moved to intercept him, blocking his way. The swordmage found himself engaged by a pair of competent bladesmen who wouldn’t simply be swept out of his way; grinding his teeth in frustration, he turned aside from his headlong charge to meet Vaasan steel with Umbrach Nyth , falling into the familiar flow of parry and attack. His wrist throbbed with each jolt of steel on steel, but the sword hilt remained firm in the silver hand’s grasp, and in a moment he almost forgot that it wasn’t his own living flesh that held the shadow sword’s leather hilt. “Sarth!” he shouted. “Stop Marstel!”