and black, and even a large band of House Veruna armsmen in their coats of green and white. She pursed her lips in anger at that sight; the Verunas had done their best to help her stepbrother Sergen in his bloody-handed coup attempt of a year past, and she’d taken great pleasure in watching them abandon their position in Hulburg when Sergen’s plots came to nothing. But here they were again, restored to at least some of their former holdings by Marstel. We’ll set that right soon enough if things go well, she promised herself. But most worrying of all, she could make out the towering shapes of scores of runehelms in a tight knot around Marstel’s banner.
Kendurkkel Ironthane strolled up to where Kara and Sarth sat their horses, a battle-axe leaning on his shoulder. “They’ve got us in numbers by a wee bit,” the dwarf observed. “Can’t say as I’m happy t’ see those big gray ones over yon. I’d hoped the wizard would keep ’em close t’ home.”
“I’m not worried about their numbers,” Kara replied. “The merchant coster men aren’t going to be in any hurry to die for Maroth Marstel. As for the runehelms, we’ll see what we see. We’ve got reason to believe they might not be as formidable as we fear—at least, not here.” She looked over to Sarth. “I think it’s time, Sarth. I doubt we’ll have much to say, but I suppose we should offer parley anyway.”
“Very well,” the sorcerer said. “Please excuse me for a moment.” He dismounted, handing the reins to a soldier, and ducked into a doorway of the outlying abbey ruins. Kara thought she heard a whisper of arcane words and felt a tug of the unseen forces around her; the spellscar she carried made her more sensitive to such things than any but a trained practitioner of the arcane arts. A few moments later, there was a rustling in the doorway of the outbuilding—and Geran Hulmaster emerged, dressed in a light coat of elven mail, a fine cape of dark blue fluttering behind him and a plumed helm tucked under his arm.
“Sarth will be preoccupied for a time with important divinations,” he said. “He suggests that we continue without him.”
Kara hid a smile behind a small cough. The likeness was almost perfect. If she hadn’t known that it was Sarth wearing her cousin’s appearance, she never would have guessed the truth. There were a few details that weren’t quite correct—Sarth’s gait wasn’t quite right, the voice was subtly off, and he didn’t carry himself with the same unconscious ease and physical readiness Geran had gained through years of study in swordsmanship. But she knew that she was an exceptionally keen observer of such things, and she was of course very well acquainted with her cousin. People who knew Geran casually would never guess that he wasn’t who he seemed to be, especially if Sarth was careful to avoid speaking too much.
“Very good,” she replied. “Let’s go.” Tapping her heels to her mount’s flanks, she trotted out into the open field ahead of the massed Shieldsworn. Her standard-bearer Vossen rode out behind her, carrying the blue griffon banner of the Hulmasters. Sarth, in his magical guise, rode on the other side of the banner, and Kendurkkel Ironthane jogged along on a stout pony just beside him. They reached a point about halfway between the two armies, and halted. Kara eyed the enemy ranks carefully; there were a handful of arbalesters mixed in with the Council Guard infantry, but none of them seemed to be thinking of trying their luck at a long-range shot. There was a small stir among the riders grouped under the banners at the center of the council army, and then a small knot of riders trotted ahead, riding slowly to meet them.
“What is the point of this exercise again?” Sarth asked quietly.
“Traditionally, it’s done to issue challenges, to set terms for the ransom of prisoners, or to convince someone in a difficult position to retire without a fight,” Kara answered. “I don’t have any such notions on my mind today. My purpose is to make sure that Marstel and his captains see you here. I don’t see any harm in misleading them as to Geran’s whereabouts.”
Kendurkkel chuckled into his beard. “Well, now I confess I’m wonderin’ myself,” he said. “’Course, Laird Hulmaster might not want me t’be knowin’. I hogtied him and dropped him on the Council Hall steps the first time we met.”
Kara smiled