Swordmage

FIFTEEN

26 Ches, the Year of the Ageless One

Council Hall was one of the largest and most striking buildings in Hulburg. Its lower walls were made of thick, strong stone every bit as sturdy as a watchtower’s, and its upper stories were well-fitted hardwood, with beam-ends carved into leaping dolphins and vigilant hounds-images of commerce and good fortune. Sergen Hulmaster glanced up as his coach rolled under the expensive carvings overhead; there was a gold dragon’s head over the front door that he liked best of all. In the fading afternoon light it took on a striking orange gleam.

“We’re here, Lord Hulmaster,” his driver said. The coachman reined in the team, and Sergen’s footman hopped down to hold open the door for him. Two Council Watch guards who rode on the coach’s running boards climbed down and arranged themselves on either side, ready to fall in and escort him. The watchmen looked competent and crisp in black tabards over breastplates of browned iron. They might not have been a match for the professional sellswords Veruna and the other companies employed, or even the harmach’s Shieldsworn, but Sergen intended to remedy that soon enough. Besides, an armed escort was one of the trappings of privilege, and he insisted on it.

“Very well,” Sergen said. “Wait for me here. I don’t intend to remain inside for long.” He smiled to himself as he stepped down to the cobblestones in front of the fine stone stairs leading up to the hall’s doors. He did every time he caught sight of the grand edifice, since it was really his building, a symbol of his personal power and importance in Hulburg. Oh, the Merchant Council was ostensibly an association of equals, with each merchant of consequence in the city commanding one seat on the council, and he merely presided over it without a vote in its deliberations. But Sergen was Keeper of Duties, which gave him all the power he needed to buy or sell votes as he liked, while the support of House Veruna-and its immense wealth-made him master of the council in fact as well as name. For years now he had dictated to lesser members the positions they should adopt and the measures they should support or ruined them by giving Veruna opportunities to plunder their interests. It hadn’t taken the smaller companies long to learn the cost of not doing what he wanted.

Sergen climbed up the steps and strode into the building, paying the guards posted by the door no mind as they grounded the butts of their halberds for him. The council chamber itself was to his right, but he walked past it and up a grand wooden staircase in the foyer. His chambers were on the second floor, a large suite that included working rooms for his staff, a library, a sitting room, servant’s spaces, and even a modest bedchamber if he decided that he didn’t care to return to his grand house in the hills after an evening in Hulburg. Few of the council clerks or attendants were in the building since the working day had ended an hour ago, but those who crossed his path were careful to stop and bow with murmured greetings of “Good evening, Lord Hulmaster,” or “By your leave, Lord Keeper.”

Sergen’s guards preceded him into the Keeper’s chambers. He swept in on their heels, doffed his expensive fur mantle, and handed it to his valet. “Is Ironthane here?” he asked.

“Aye, Lord Hulmaster,” one of the guards answered. “He waits in the captain’s room.”

“Show him upstairs immediately, then,” Sergen answered. “I am attending the theater tonight, and I don’t want to be late.” The guard withdrew and hurried off. Sergen sat behind his desk and quickly studied the documents and orders his minions had left for him to review before signing. He found nothing of any real importance at a quick glance, but before he could begin a more serious examination, he heard footsteps in the hall, followed by a knock at the door. “Enter,” he replied.

“Captain Kendurkkel Ironthane, my lord,” the guard said. He moved aside to make room for a wide-shouldered, black-bearded dwarf in heavy mail-and-plate, who wore a vast bearskin mantle over his armored shoulders and a wide gold chain to secure the fur. The dwarf had a long-stemmed clay pipe cupped in one hand and rested his other hand on the handle of a vicious-looking throwing axe that hung at his left hip. He was tall for his kind, just an inch or two under five feet, and was extraordinarily burly with shoulders that seemed a yard wide. He looked Sergen up and down and puffed once on his pipe.

“Welcome, Captain,” Sergen said. He looked at the other guards and attendants in the room and dismissed them with a gesture. Then he stood up and bowed slightly. “I am Sergen Hulmaster, Keeper of Duties in Hulburg.”

“I’ve no’ been long in Hulburg, but I’ve been here long enough t’ learn who you be,” the dwarf said. “You’re master o’ the town, as near’s I can tell. So what d’you want with me Icehammers?”

“Have a seat, Captain.” Sergen waited for the dwarf to make himself comfortable then went on. “I believe I have need of your mercenaries. I wish to engage your company as a special auxiliary to the Council Watch. You’ll report to me, and me alone. Are you interested?”

The dwarf shrugged. “It depends where you mean t’ send me lads, an’ who you expect us t’ fight, Laird Hulmaster.”

“You’d remain in or near Hulmaster for now-within an hour’s march, I would imagine. As for fighting, well, I doubt you’ll see any pitched battles. The Bloody Skull orcs are demanding tribute from the harmach, but I intend for that to be little concern of yours. I want to use your company to help establish and keep order in town and perhaps assist me in suppressing enemies of the Merchant Council.”

“An’ who be those enemies?”

“Whomever I tell you to consider an enemy, Captain.” Sergen leaned forward on his desk and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Lawless gangs in the Tailings. Outlaw bands on the Highfells. Merchant companies that refuse to abide by the fair rules this council enacts. Perhaps… others.”

Ironthane smoked for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. “How long will you be wanting the Icehammers at your beck and call, Laird Hulmaster?”

“Until I feel that good order has been established in Hulburg, Captain.”

“So y’want me to take an open-ended contract with no specific enemy in mind, other’n whatever poor bastards y’tell me to handle for you?” The dwarf tapped his pipe against the arm of his chair to settle the embers to his satisfaction. “In that case, I expect t’be retained month-t’month. Meet our price, an’ I’ll keep me lads ready for you as long as you’re to keep payin’ me.”

Sergen leaned back and frowned. He sensed that it might be better to be direct with Ironthane. Dwarves had a reputation for bluntness, after all. “I was hoping you would find something like that a reasonable arrangement. I foresee trouble in the next few months. Abrupt and decisive action may be called for. My Council Watch is a constabulary, not an army, but that’s exactly what I may need soon.”

“You want your own army, then.” Ironthane smiled humorlessly. “Well, Laird Hulmaster, it will no’ be cheap. Me Icehammers’ll cost you two thousan’ gold crowns up front and another thousan’ crowns per month, plus decent quartering and provisions. If you can’t provide quarters or rations, it’ll be another six hundred per month. I expect t’be paid the first o’ the month each month. If you pay me no', you’re in breach of our contract, and we’ll walk out on you. That coin buys you our services as guards, roustabouts, an’ a standing force in case y’need two hundred well-armed veterans at short notice. If you want us t’ undertake a major action-say, anything where me lads face more’n twenty enemies under arms at the same time-well, we’ll have t’negotiate a special bonus.” Kendurkkel Ironthane grinned to himself. “We’re no’ patriots, we’re no’ fanatics, and we won’t give you a moment’s loyalty that you don’t pay for, Laird Hulmaster. But we observe our contracts an’ fight damned hard when we’ve struck terms. You won’t find a tougher company than the Icehammers anywhere north o’ the Moonsea, and no’ all that many south o’ it neither.”

Sergen winced at the cost. “You’ll be looking after your own accommodations and provisions. I’m willing to go as high as twelve hundred per month. And we’ll need to come to a better understanding of what you mean by a special bonus and just what triggers it.”

“I’m willing t’ split the difference,” the dwarf said. “Fourteen hundred per month?”

Sergen considered for a moment, then nodded. “Done.” He stood up and offered his hand; Ironthane took it, and they clasped palms. “Pick out a good site for a barracks within half a mile of town, and tell your men to keep this quiet until I tell you otherwise.”

“Two hundred men, close t’ hand, no particular duties yet, an’ keep it quiet,” the dwarf repeated. He puffed on his pipe, eyeing the human lord with interest. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you intended a coup, m’laird.”

“Let’s just say that I believe in the value of being prepared.” Sergen stood and inclined his head to Ironthane. The less said about his actual intentions, the better; he really did not know how much he could trust the mercenary captain yet. “You’ll receive two thousand gold crowns first thing tomorrow. We’ll speak more then. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’m meeting someone at the theater. My men will show you out.”

“Enjoy the play, Laird Hulmaster.”

Sergen smiled sourly. “It’s supposed to be wretched beyond description,” he replied.

He left Ironthane in the company of the council guards and made his way back downstairs to his waiting coach. The driver clucked to the team, and the coach clattered off over the rough cobblestones. Sergen patiently endured the jolting and jostling from side to side that was the price of a carriage ride in Hulburg’s rough streets. He was a man of means, after all, and it wasn’t seemly to walk the four or five blocks to the playhouse. In a few minutes his coachmen drove up to the Crown and Shield, one of only two dedicated theaters in Hulburg. Sergen allowed his valet to open the door for him and then swept through the small foyer with its bowing theater attendants. He allowed them to show him to House Veruna’s private box and took his seat. The show had already started, a bawdy farce called The Bride of Secomber.

“You’re late,” Darsi Veruna said as he sat down.

“A small matter of business I needed to attend to. Forgive me.”

“Has your uncle decided what he’ll do with the Blood-skull tribute demand?”

“The arguments continue,” Sergen replied. The private box was a good place to speak freely. With the musicians below, the actors giving their lines, and the laughter-or groans-from the rest of the audience, there was not much chance of being overheard. “My uncle doesn’t want a war, but he can’t stomach the idea of giving in to the orcs’ demands, especially the demand for slaves. His position is difficult.”

“What will he do, then?”

Sergen frowned. “Kara advises him to stall. She believes that the longer things can be drawn out, the more likely it is that this King Mhurren will have his attention drawn away from Hulburg by some other event-an unexpected feud within his tribe or perhaps an attack by some other enemy.”

Lady Darsi looked away from the performance and met his eyes. “Stall? How? Morag was quite insistent on a yes or no answer. How could the harmach stall?”

“Send the emissaries back with an impressive array of gifts and the message that Hulburg might pay if the tribute demand were just a little more reasonable, and sufficient time allowed for the harmach to levy the necessary goods and coin from Hulburg’s people and the merchant companies in the city.”

“He intends to make us help him pay off this orc brigand?” Darsi demanded.

“Well, my dear lady, you and your House are theoretically at just as much risk as the harmach and his people. My uncle believes that you’re obligated to contribute something to the effort.”

“That is unacceptable,” Darsi snorted. She returned her attention to the play, and Sergen leaned back to watch as well while he continued to think on matters. He had an idea about what might be done next… but he wished to mull it over for a time, and so he paid some small attention to the action on the stage as his mind worked. Early in the second act, the final pieces worked their way into place, and he smiled in satisfaction despite the truly execrable quality of the shoddy little production playing out before him.

The sorry affair rambled on for another hour and a half before it mercifully staggered to an end. A poor script, a bumbling score, and actors who seemed to think that the height of their craft was to shout their lines at the audience made for a memorable night at the theater, Sergen decided. The best humor of the evening had come from watching for the next unexpected gaffe or badly delivered line. And, to be honest, he felt a distinct sense of relief when the curtain finally dropped at the end of the show. In that much, at least, watching The Bride of Secomber was not unlike repeatedly striking one’s head against a wall: It felt good when it ended.

“I believe I might go down to the proprietor and beat him until he returns my eight silver talents,” he said aloud. “The coin’s a pittance, of course, but as a matter of principle, I won’t stand for robbery.”

“What did you expect in Hulburg?” Darsi Veruna asked. She ignored the half-hearted applause rippling through the audience as the cast members came forward to take their bows. “In Mulmaster, the audience might wait around for the opportunity to stab one or two of those actors when they leave the theater.”

“An enlightened and cultured city,” Sergen remarked. He looked over to Darsi, who made a small face at him. “I’ve been thinking. I believe the Bloody Skull threat offers just the opportunity we’ve been looking for. In fact, the worse it appears, the better for us. To that effect, I have a small request for you, my lady.”

Darsi motioned with her hand. “Go on, my lord.”

“Would you place your pet Umbryl at my disposal later this evening?”

“Possibly. What do you want her to do?”

“Take a direct hand-or claw, I suppose-in negotiations with the Bloody Skull emissaries. I’ve determined that the harmach is about to send their heads back to Mhurren with some suitably insulting reply to the orc king’s demands. Of course, my uncle doesn’t know that’s what he intends to do. I must see to it for him.” Sergen leaned closer, since the lights were brightening and the audience was beginning to file out. “As far as my uncle and the rest of the idiots on his privy council will know, the orcs will simply disappear. They’ll guess that Morag and the others ran out of patience and left early.”

“But you’ll have the orcs killed?”

“I will have the orcs killed and make sure that it’s clear to everyone here that they broke camp and left. I need Umbryl to carry their heads in a bag back to Bloodskull Keep and drop it at Mhurren’s feet. That should bring the Bloody Skull horde to Hulburg’s doorstep in a matter of days.” Sergen smiled.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Darsi said, “but if the Bloody Skulls are as strong as they claim to be, won’t that result in the sack of the city and the loss of a tremendous amount of House Veruna property? As well as no small risk to our own lives?”

“It might, except that we now have a powerful ally who can repel the orc horde whenever he likes: Aesperus. The King in Copper owes us a great boon, and fearsome though he may be, he’s a man-so to speak-of his word.”

Darsi stood and motioned for her ladies and attendants. One hurried forward to drape an expensive stole around her lovely shoulders, while the men-at-arms-resplendent in light shirts of gleaming mail with surcoats of green and white-began to clear the rest of the departing crowd from her path. She lowered her voice and leaned close to murmur in his ear. “Speaking of Aesperus, my men report that he took the trinket he wanted right out of your cousin’s hands. Geran will soon report to the harmach that the lich has the book and that armsmen of House Veruna gave it to him.”

The ambitious lord scowled. “It would’ve been better if your men had killed him in the Highfells, so that he wouldn’t carry tales back to my uncle.”

Darsi ran her nails softly across Sergen’s chin. “I think I am glad that I’m no kin of yours, my dear. Do you really hate them all so much?”

Sergen’s expression darkened even more. “The Hulmasters wronged my father grievously, Darsi. Whatever befalls any of them is nothing compared to the humiliation they heaped upon him. They will make amends for their perfidy. I’ve sworn to it.” He paused for a moment, collecting himself, and then found the sardonic smile he habitually affected. “In any event… yes, you’re right, Kara will no doubt demand an explanation from you within an hour of Geran’s return. An attempt on the life of a Hulmaster, even a rootless vagabond like Geran, will no doubt fill her with righteous wrath. You’ll have to make a show of surrendering those responsible.”

They made their way out of the private box and strolled slowly down the carpeted stairs to the foyer. Veruna men kept the rest of the crowd at a comfortable distance, earning a few resentful glances that Darsi ignored. “My men are loyal and well paid, but I doubt that they’ll confess to an attack against the Harmach’s own nephew simply because it’s convenient for me if they do.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Sergen answered. “Your men are protected by the laws of concession. I can argue that it’s an affair for the Council Watch, not the Shieldsworn, and I’ll make sure that my dear stepsister remembers that. Of course, I’ll have to thoroughly investigate the entire matter… very thoroughly. By the time I’m forced to move, it should all be moot.”

He accompanied Darsi outside to where the Veruna men had already drawn up her coach, and joined her inside when she graciously invited him to. He dismissed his own driver and coach, and they drove away from the Crown and Shield through the cold fog blanketing the streets.

After a long silence, Darsi spoke again. “I think you may be too confident of your cleverness, Sergen,” she said. “Your wayward cousin has exposed House Veruna’s efforts to scour the Highfells for Aesperus’s book. And he must certainly suspect our involvement in Jarad Erstenwold’s death. The harmach may not be a decisive man, but this isn’t something he will let lie. Geran is dangerous to us. We need to find a way to neutralize him.”

“Leave him alone. He’ll soon grow bored,” Sergen replied. Darsi shot him a dubious look, and after a moment he sighed and met her eyes. “Or he might not. Very well, what do you propose?”

“We can’t move directly against him,” Darsi said, idly examining the exquisite rings that graced her hands. “It would lend far too much credence to any accusations he makes against my House.” She thought for a moment, looking out the coach window at the glowing halos the streetlights carved from the drifting mist. “Ideally, we would find a way to encourage Geran to neutralize himself, something that might encourage him to abandon Hulburg again or discredit him in the eyes of the harmach. Perhaps he can be lured into drawing steel against us. If we’re seen to be simply defending ourselves from an unwarranted attack, well, that would be acceptable.”

Sergen nodded in agreement. Darsi Veruna was so beautiful, so sophisticated in her decadence, that he sometimes overlooked the sharpness of her mind. She was right, of course, but how to encourage Geran to foil himself? He closed his eyes, summoning to mind everything he knew of his stepcousin… and something occurred to him. “Ah, I think I’ve got it,” he said. “The key to Geran is Mirya Erstenwold. If I know him at all, you’ll find that he will go to great lengths to protect her, great lengths indeed.” He smiled coldly. “Why, with the proper motivation, he might even do something rash.”