orchard keepers hardly paid for the house’s upkeep—but it was otherwise a comfortable home in exile for the Hulmaster family and those retainers loyal enough to follow them to Thentia.
How long before a home in exile simply becomes a home? Geran wondered tiredly. Three months earlier, the usurper Maroth Marstel and Geran’s old rival Rhovann drove Harmach Grigor and the rest of the Hulmasters from the castle of Griffonwatch. Fall had faded into winter, and still they seemed no closer to reclaiming their home. The swordmage sighed as he studied the old house—a fine enough place in its own way, but a far cry from the great halls and lofty towers of Griffonwatch. Every day that Marstel remained in power, the borders of Lasparhall grew more familiar, more acceptable … and more cagelike to Geran.
He trotted into the courtyard before the manor house, dismounted, and led his horse to the stable nearby. After passing the animal to the care of a stablekeeper, he hoisted the saddlebags over his shoulder and walked to the manor’s door. A pair of Shieldsworn guards in the blue and white surcoats of the harmach stood watch just inside, displaying to visitors that the Hulmasters in exile still commanded a small company of loyal armsmen—and were important enough to have enemies to be wary of.
“Welcome home, Lord Geran,” said the Shieldsworn sergeant by the door.
“Home, Noram?” Geran snorted and shook his head. “Hardly home. But I’m glad enough to return, nonetheless.”
Sergeant Noram flushed in embarrassment. He was a young soldier, new to his rank, having been promoted after the heavy losses in the fighting against the Bloody Skull horde nine months past. “Your pardon, my lord. I meant no offense,” he stammered.
Geran winced. He hadn’t meant to snap at the fellow. He paused in the doorway, and said, “It was nothing you said, Sergeant. Forgive me; it’s been a long day.”
Noram smiled nervously, and relaxed a little. “We’ll see to your saddlebags, Lord Geran,” he said. “I think the harmach and the rest of the family are at their supper, if you’ve a mind to join them.”
“My thanks,” Geran said. He allowed the sergeant to take the heavy pouches from his shoulder, and shrugged off his damp cloak. He was hardly dressed for dinner at the harmach’s table, but he was more than ready for a hot meal, and he figured that his uncle would forgive his informality. Working the stiffness from his neck, he crossed the manor’s front hall to the doorway under the great stairs and headed toward the kitchens. Lasparhall had a fine old banquet hall that was more impressive, but it was too big and drafty for anything less than twenty or thirty at a seating; the harmach preferred the smaller dining room that stood in the back of the house. He passed a few of the serving staff, folk from Griffonwatch who’d followed the Hulmasters into exile, exchanging greetings as he went. Then he came to the dining-room door and let himself inside.
Harmach Grigor, his uncle, sat at the head of the table, a roasted quarter-chicken untouched on the platter before him. To his right sat Grigor’s sister, Geran’s aunt Terena, and next to her Geran’s cousin Kara, who wore a simple dress of green wool instead of the armor she often wore during the day as the captain of the Hulmaster’s Shieldsworn. On the other side of the table were Erna and young Natali and Kirr, the widow and children of Grigor’s son Isolmar, dead almost five years now. Before Geran could even open his mouth to greet his family, Natali and Kirr scrambled out of their chairs and bolted around the table to launch themselves at his waist.
“Geran’s back! Look, Geran’s back!” the youngest Hulmasters shouted. “What happened, Geran? Is Marstel still calling himself the harmach? Did anyone recognize you? Did you see Mirya and Selsha? Can we go back to Griffonwatch now?”
“One at a time, one at a time! And who said anything about Hulburg?” Geran protested. He’d done his best to keep his travels secret, not wanting the children to worry about him while he was gone, but it seemed that the young Hulmasters had discovered his whereabouts anyway. He leaned down to hug his young cousins. Over their young lives Natali and Kirr had heard many stories about the Hulmaster who was off to see the world, and even after months of living under the same roof as Geran they still regarded him with appreciable wonder.