a way to give the dead body a voice. Only things known to Valdarsel in life could be drawn out with this spell. Rhovann considered the questions he desired answers for, then addressed the corpse. “Who slew you?” he asked.
The dead jaws worked in silence before the answer came. “Geran Hulmaster.”
Geran? Rhovann had to force himself to stay silent despite his surprise. If he spoke aloud, the spirit animating the corpse might take it as another question, and simply repeat its answer. So it was no common sellsword or assassin his runehelms had pursued the night before—it was the impudent swordmage, his most bitter nemesis, challenging his power in a brazen act of mayhem! Not only had Geran visited Hulburg in defiance of his family’s exile, he’d murdered a high-ranking member of the Harmach’s Council and a useful, if somewhat unreliable, ally of Rhovann’s. The elf ground his teeth together and mastered his anger before proceeding to his next question. “Who was with him?”
“The tiefling … Sarth Khul Riizar,” the corpse groaned. “No others that I saw before I died.”
“I should have known,” Rhovann murmured to himself. He’d known that Sarth was almost certainly a Hulmaster sympathizer, given the amount of help he’d provided to Geran when Geran was hunting the Black Moon corsairs. I should have driven him off too, he fumed. But the sorcerer had simply kept to himself and hadn’t done anything to provoke suspicion, at least not until the attack on the Temple of the Wronged Prince. Rhovann believed he was Sarth’s better in the arcane arts, but he hadn’t been so confident that he’d been willing to directly confront Geran’s friend without evidence of conspiracy. Clearly, Sarth’s participation in the attack on the Cyricists changed that; as soon as he finished here he’d see to Sarth Khul Riizar. But he suspected that he’d find nothing more than an empty house if the tiefling wasn’t stupid.
He returned his attention to the burned corpse at his feet. “Why did Geran attack you?” This was a little trickier, since it called for speculation, but the mage hoped that Valdarsel’s corpse might retain enough resentment toward his slayer to cooperate.
The grisly thing did not answer for a long time, but just as Rhovann was about to give up, it stirred. “Vengeance,” it said. “I ordered Larisse to destroy the Hulmasters in Thentia, and gave her gold to hire sellswords and scrolls to summon devils. For that Geran Hulmaster slew me.”
Rhovann frowned, wondering which of Valdarsel’s followers Larisse was. She might have been one of the assassins who died in the attack, of course. He’d been almost certain that Valdarsel was behind the attack at Lasparhall, although he’d also suspected House Veruna and the Crimson Chains of involvement in the clumsy debacle. It seemed that Geran Hulmaster had uncovered Valdarsel’s hand behind the attack too. If it had been anybody else, Rhovann might have savored the sheer justice of Valdarsel dying at the hand of an adversary he’d underestimated; after all, he’d been foiled by Geran Hulmaster before, and there was a grim satisfaction in measuring himself by the quality of his enemies. “Did Geran tell you anything about his plans when you met him here?” he asked the corpse.
The corpse groaned again. “No. He only spoke of vengeance. Now let me rest.”
“Very well.” The mage straightened and brushed the soot from his robe. With a gesture he ended the ritual, severing the tenuous thread that imbued the corpse with its animating force. It fell still at once, nothing more than a dead body again. Rhovann absently rubbed at his right wrist, thinking about what he’d learned.
Edelmark looked down on the corpse, frowning in distaste. He cleared his throat and asked, “Are you finished with the high prelate’s remains, Lord Rhovann?”
“Hmm? Oh yes, I have no further use for poor Valdarsel here … no, wait. I may very well need to speak with him again. Inform the surviving clerics that we will see to the high prelate’s burial, and have the remains sent back to the castle.”
“Yes, m’lord.” The mercenary motioned to one of the Council Guards hovering nearby, and glanced around at the wet, smoking ashes and rubble. “It seems that Geran Hulmaster has much to answer for. I can’t believe that he would be so foolhardy as to defy the harmach’s edict and wantonly murder his councilors.”
“I can,” Rhovann muttered. He knew all too well that Geran was a man with more determination than sense at times, and