Richard Baker - Swordmage

12 Ches, the Year of the Ageless One

When the clocktower in the Assayer’s House struck nine, Geran left Griffonwatch and descended the winding causeway to the town. Morning mists lingered in the lower streets, but the sunshine was bright and clear overhead. The fierce wind had finally died away, and the day promised to be mild and fair by the standards of the Moonsea spring. He’d left Hamil to look after himself for the morning. The halfling intended to spend the day looking into Red Sail business; Geran was content to leave it to Hamil for now, since he intended to put every street in the town under his boots at some point during the day. He wanted to see everything that was new or different or simply missing in Hulburg, and more importantly, he wanted to see everything that had stayed the same. He had exhausted his memories in the years he had been away, and he needed to collect the familiar sights and sounds and voices again.

Geran breathed deeply and threw his shoulders back as he walked, enjoying the cool, fresh air. He’d spent a good two hours of the previous evening reacquainting himself with his young cousins Natali and Kirr before their mother had ushered them off to bed-and not a moment too soon, because he was almost reeling from exhaustion by the time Erna put an end to their endless questioning. Natali was a slender girl of ten years who took after her father, Isolmar. She had the black, straight hair of the Hulmasters and a cat-quick sense of curiosity. Kirr was a rambunctious young fellow of seven whose reddish-gold hair favored his mother, Erna. Unlike his older sister, he seemed more inclined to measure his world by trying to break it one piece at a time. And, as Grigor had warned him, they wanted to know everything about every place he’d ever been and anything he’d ever done that might be considered adventurous, magical, or dangerous.

Isolmar would be proud of them both, Geran reflected. It was a heartbreak and a shame that they’d lost their father while so young, but that was hardly an uncommon thing in the Moonsea lands. Wars, monsters, feuds, and hard toil in hard lands orphaned many children and left most of those in much grimmer circumstances. At least Natali and Kirr had their mother and their father’s kinfolk to look after them, as well as a castle full of men and women sworn to the Hulmasters’ service. As far as he could tell, the servants and maids who worked in the castle loved the two young Hulmasters as if Natali and Kirr were their very own children.

He reached the bottom of the causeway, which was a small square called the Harmach’s Foot. Mule-drawn wagons clattered over the cobblestones, a steady stream passing both north and south. Those heading north were bound for the mining and woodcutting camps beyond the Winterspear Vale with provisions of all kinds-salted meat, sacks of flour, casks of ale, wheels of cheese, blankets, tools, all the things that men living out in the field would need. Those heading south were coming into town from the valley farms. At that time of year, all they had were eggs, dairy goods, and meat to sell in the town’s markets. It would be months before the summer crops came in.

He didn’t recognize any of the drivers heading out to the work camps. If their accents and manner of dress were any guide, most were from other Moonsea cities. He saw more Mulmasterites and Melvauntians, and even a few Teshans. Geran shook his head, struck again by how crowded the town seemed. “Well, where to?” he asked himself.

He thought for a moment then struck out north along the Vale Road. Once he left the Harmach’s Foot, the area between Griffonwatch and the Winterspear reverted to old, brush-covered rubble, with only a few buildings standing amid the remains of the old city. Most of the living town clustered close to the harbor, and the northern and western districts of Old Hulburg remained ruins except for the best sites, such as the Troll and Tankard, a taphouse on the edge of town.

When the Vale Road finally emerged from the ruins of Old Hulburg and headed north into the Winterspear farmlands, Geran turned west at the Burned Bridge. Centuries ago a fine and strong bridge had crossed the Winterspear on five stone piers. In Lendon Hulmaster’s time a simple trestle of wood had been laid across the remains of the ancient stone piers to link Griffonwatch more directly with Daggergard Tower, a small barracks and watchtower on the west bank of the river. Geran paused at the top of the bridge to lean on the rail and watch the water race by below. The snowmelt of spring was just beginning; in a few weeks the Winterspear would be ten feet higher, roaring with the voice of Thar’s high snowfields and the distant glaciers of the Galenas.

He made his way from Daggergard along Keldon Way, heading south as he circled the town. Above him rose the strange stone forest the folk of Hulburg knew simply as the Spires. Soaring, club-shaped columns of pale green stone stood embedded in the flanks of the ridge marking the western edge of the town, in some cases bursting through the old foundations of the ancient ruins. The Spires were change-land too, just like the spectacular Arches that guarded the eastern side of Hulburg’s harbor. Both were inexplicable legacies of the Spellplague that had swept Faerun nearly a century ago. Odd landmarks such as the Spires or the Arches were commonplace in many lands-rock and root of alien Abeir, piercing Toril’s flesh when the two worlds, long separated, had merged in a decade of unthinkable catastrophes following the Year of Blue Fire. Geran had heard that many such eruptions of Abeiran landscape in other lands were infested with all sorts of strange planar monstrosities or held undreamed-of marvels of living magic, but the Spires were simply tangled, fluted pillars of malachite, silent and inert. No alien perils or deadly magic were hidden within.

From the shadow of the Spires he descended quickly into the trading district at the foot of Keldon Head, where half a dozen tradeyards clustered near the wharves of the harbor. Here Geran slowed his pace and began to pay attention. The storehouse compound belonging to House Sokol of Phlan had stood in Hulburg for many years, but large new yards belonging to House Veruna of Mulmaster and the Double Moon Coster of Thentia were new. He turned eastward on Cart Street and found a striking new building, the Merchant Council’s Hall, standing not far from the merchant yards. A pair of armed guards stood in front of it, men who wore cuirasses of iron and carried short pikes-the Council Watch, or so he guessed. He didn’t like the idea of an armed company in Hulburg other than the Shieldsworn, but the town seemed full of mercenaries and sellswords.

Geran threaded his way through heavier crowds along Cart Street. The triangle of tangled streets between the Harbor, Angar’s Square, and the Low Bridge was the heart of Hulburg. Clerks hurried from place to place, carrying ledgers and quills. Porters threw barrels of ale or sacks of flour over the shoulders and carried them off. Children ran and shouted among the oxcarts and porters. “It seems that Hulburg isn’t a backwater anymore,” Geran muttered to himself. Was this what the harmach had meant when he mentioned Sergen’s designs for the town?

He turned the corner to Plank Street, and his footsteps faltered. He hadn’t even realized where he was allowing his feet to carry him, but now he was here, not more than ten feet from a familiar hammer-and-grain-sheaf emblem, hanging above a door. The signboard was old and battered, but he could still make out the faded lettering:

ERSTENWOLD PROVISIONER.

The storefront was old and weatherworn too, but it was tidy. Barrels full of last fall’s apples stood by the wooden steps. To his right, a large workyard and storehouse adjoined the store. The Erstenwolds had made a decent living for two generations by supplying foodstuffs, rope, canvas, woolen blankets, and iron tools to the ships that called on Hulburg and the miners and woodcutters who worked the hills to the north and east. Jarad’s family could still look after themselves, and that was a small comfort at least.