Richard Baker: Swordmage

“Who do I talk to in order to set the watch on the Chainsmen?” Geran asked.

Kolton snorted. “Captain Zara, down at Council Hall. But you shouldn’t expect much, m’lord. It seems to take a long time for Zara to be certain enough o’ the facts to bring charges against someone, especially if that someone happens to be on a guild or House payroll. Maybe it would be different if you said something-you’re kin to the harmach, after all.”

“I’ll bring it up with my uncle.” Ten days of hard travel were catching up with him, and the whole sorry mess just left Geran tired, with the beginnings of a headache. He glanced up at the banners flying above the gatehouse. The highest was a blue banner with a white seven-pointed star; by the traditions of Griffonwatch, it flew only when the lord of Hulburg was actually present. “Is there any reason I can’t see him now?”

“None at all,” Kolton answered. He looked over to his companion. “Orndal, you’ve got the gate watch. Call Sarise from the guardroom to take my place, and send word to the chamberlain that Lord Geran’s returned with a guest. Lord Geran, I’ll show you to the harmach.”

Geran nodded, and the Shieldsworn sergeant led him and Hamil across the courtyard to a wide set of stone steps climbing up between barracks, stables, armories, and storehouses of the Shieldsworn. In Geran’s experience a third or more of the soldiers were posted in various watchtowers and patrols along Hulburg’s northern marches at any given time, keeping watch for orc raids and spellwarped monsters out of the far north. Others would be on leave, staying with families down in the town or carousing in the taverns and alehouses. Either way, most of the barracks rooms were dark and empty.

Hamil studied it all with interest as they followed the guardsman. “I know that the harmach, Grigor, is your uncle,” he said to Geran. “Who else lives here?”

“Grigor’s daughter-in-law, Erna, and her children. Erna is the widow of my cousin Isolmar, Grigor’s son. He was killed in a duel about four years ago. I suppose Natali and Kirr are the harmach’s heirs now, but they’re still quite young.” They came to a second courtyard above the barracks and storehouses, where a large hall stood. Kolton trotted up the steps and opened the heavy wooden doors for them. The room beyond was a banquet hall and what served as the harmach’s audience chamber. It was rather plain by the standards of the southern cities, and wind whistled through some unseen draft high up near the rafters. “My Aunt Terena lives here too,” Geran continued. “She is Grigor’s sister.”

“And your father was Grigor’s brother?”

“Yes. Terena has two children: my cousin Kara and Sergen, who is her stepson by her second marriage.”

Hamil nodded. His people were very particular about relations. He sorted out family trees and remembered them with an uncanny ease-a useful advantage in the complicated dealings and rivalries of mercantile Tantras. Geran, on the other hand, had long since learned that he could never keep straight who was related to whom. He had to rely on notes in a journal. It was one more reason he appreciated Hamil as a business partner.

“Lady Kara rode out to the Raven Hill watchtower earlier today,” Sergeant Kolton said. “She may not be back tonight. Sergen spends most of his time at his villa out on Easthead, but he’s here now. This way, gentlemen.”

They climbed a staircase at the end of the hall, where two more Shieldsworn waited. Kolton spoke briefly with them-Geran did not know either man well, but they recognized him and welcomed him home-and then the sergeant led them up another flight of stairs into the third portion of the castle. This was not a true bailey, but simply a small courtyard crowning the hill. The buildings here comprised the Hulmaster residence, and so visitors were not normally permitted to pass beyond the large hall and kitchens below without an invitation or escort. The courtyard was circled by a roofed gallery linking several small buildings-a chapel, a library, a small kitchen, and the Harmach’s Tower itself, which was a good-sized stone keep sited on the highest point of the hilltop.

“One moment,” Kolton said. He knocked on the library door and entered. Geran and Hamil waited for a short time in the courtyard until the sergeant reappeared. “The harmach’ll see you now.”

“Thank you, Kolton,” Geran answered.

The stocky sergeant briefly inclined his head, which passed for a bow in Hulburg. “It’s good to see you home, sir.”

Drawing a deep breath, Geran let himself into the castle library. It was a small, cluttered space, really, but it did hold the largest collection of books for nearly fifty miles. It also served as the harmach’s study; when Geran thought of his uncle, he imagined him in that very room. He remembered the smell from his childhood, the musty odor of damp paper and the sharper scent of pipesmoke. He and Hamil passed through the small foyer and stepped into the study proper.

“Uncle Grigor?” he said.

“Well, this is an unexpected surprise.” Grigor Hulmaster sat behind a cluttered desk by a large window of leaded glass. He was a man of seventy-five years, tall and thin, stooped at the shoulder, with little hair remaining on his head except for a thin fringe that ran from the back of one ear to the back of the other. A knob-handled walking stick leaned against his chair, and his eyes were weak and watery. He pushed himself to his feet and peered at Geran. “Is that really you, Geran? How long has it been since you set foot in Griffonwatch?”

Geran came close and took his uncle’s hand; a cold tremble weakened the harmach’s grip. “Eight years last summer, Uncle.”

“Not since your father’s death, then. Your journeys in the south must have taken you to strange and far lands indeed. But, as they say, the traveler who walks the farthest yearns the most for home. I am glad to see you again, Geran.” The older man beamed and turned his attention to Hamil. “And who is this lad?”

Lad? Hamil demanded silently of Geran. To his credit the halfling kept his outrage from his face.

“This is my friend and comrade Hamil Alderheart, Uncle Grigor. He is a halfling of the Chondalwood, lately of Tantras. He and I were both members of the Company of the Dragon Shield, and together we run the Red Sail Coster of Tantras. He claims to be thirty-two years of age.”

“A halfling?” Grigor looked closer and shook his head. “I beg your pardon, good sir. I meant no disrespect. My eyesight is not as keen as it once was.”

Hamil forced a smile and bowed graciously. “Think nothing of it,” he grated.

The harmach does not look well, Geran thought. Grigor had never been a vigorous man, really. He was industrious and well read, but he had spent his life working with his head, not his hands, and he had never cared much for travel. As a young man a fall from a horse had left him with a badly broken hip that even the clerics’ healing spells had never been able to repair completely. In cold, damp weather-something Hulburg had no shortage of at any time of the year-it pained the old man greatly.

Does he ever leave Griffonwatch anymore? Geran wondered. The steps must be difficult for him to manage.

“So, you must have heard about Jarad,” Grigor said quietly. “Ill news carries swiftly and far, it seems.”

“I heard about it in Tantras. I’ve come home to pay my respects.”

“It’s a terrible thing, Geran. Jarad was a good man, a good captain to the Shieldsworn, a valued advisor… and a friend, as well. I still can’t believe that he is dead.” The harmach sighed and passed his hand over his face.

“Can you tell me what happened? How did Jarad die?”

“No one but his murderers could say for certain. He was found out in the Highfells, near one of the old barrows. He was alone. I know Kara rode out to study the scene; she could probably tell you more.”