Geran stood silent for a long moment. He reached out and rested his hand on the cold stone. It simply didn’t seem possible that Jarad truly rested under that heavy slab. Behind him, Kara and Hamil exchanged looks and retreated a short distance, leaving him alone with his old friend. “Jarad,” he whispered. He felt as if he should say something more, maybe give in to tears or try to find some shadow of a smile in a good memory, but there was nothing in his heart except a dull, cold ache. He let his fingers brush over the sun symbol atop the tomb, following the design aimlessly. I never knew he thought of himself as a follower of Amaunator, Geran reflected. Jarad was not a particularly religious man. Was it something the harmach had picked out for him? Or Mirya? Or the Tresterfins? He was engaged when he was killed, after all.
I wonder if I would have come home for his wedding, Geran thought dully. He hoped he would have. But ever since the terrible day when he’d left Myth Drannor, he’d avoided things that reminded him of who he used to be. Maybe he wouldn’t have shown up after all.
“I’m sorry for that, Jarad,” Geran said to the cold stone. “You deserved better from me. Everyone here did, I think.” He heard the steady rhythm of hooves on stone and looked up. Someone else was driving up to the cemetery in a simple wagon. He put it out of his mind and let his hand fall from the stone.
“Ten years ago I would’ve followed the men who killed you to the ends of the world,” he murmured softly. “I think you’d want me to look after things before I set out again. I’ll see what I can do. And if I happen to run across the men you met out in the Highfells while I’m at it, well, so much the better.”
Footsteps swished through the long grass. Geran looked up again. Mirya Erstenwold stood watching him, a small bunch of wildflowers in her hands. She dropped her gaze to the ground and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“It’s nothing.” Geran noticed a small stone vase at the foot of the tomb, near where he stood. A small spray of wildflowers rested there, faded with the weather. He retreated a few steps and made room for her. “I’ll leave.”
“There’s no need for that.” She knelt by the foot of the tomb and began to remove the old flowers from the vase. “I met your friend Hamil. He seems a good man.”
“You don’t know him very well yet, then.”
Mirya gave him a bleak smile. She replaced the old bouquet with the fresh one and took a moment to arrange the flowers. “I’ve come up here once a month since my mother passed,” she said without looking at him. “It’s a fair spot in the summertime. Sometimes I’ll bring Selsha for a picnic.”
“Did she know Jarad well?” Geran asked.
Mirya closed her eyes and nodded. “Aye. He supped with us once or twice a tenday and was always stopping by the warehouse. She cried for days when I told her that he was gone.”
Geran’s stern resolve cracked at the idea of a heartbroken little girl who’d never see someone she loved again and couldn’t understand why he wasn’t coming home. It ached like a cold knife in the center of his chest. He was a grown man, and he’d seen his share of death and misfortune, but the grief of a child was a damned hard thing to dwell on. He sank down against an old moss-covered tomb next to Jarad’s with his hand over his eyes.
“Ah, Mirya, I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “If I’d been here…”
Mirya watched him in silence, and her stern expression softened. “Geran, what happened to Jarad was no fault of yours. Aye, things might’ve been different if you’d been here in Hulburg. But if you hadn’t gone off to find your fortune in the south, who’s to say that someone else wouldn’t have died because you weren’t there to stand by their side? Who in turn might have died because those people didn’t live? And even if you’d come home to Hulburg before now, well, fate might have called you and Jarad to some ill end years ago. Why, if I hadn’t-” Mirya stopped herself abruptly and sighed. She rose and brushed her hands against her skirts. “Anyway, there’s no point to wishing on might-have-beens.”
He looked down between his boots at the wiry grass, growing by a weathered stone marker so old that its inscription was only a set of illegible dimples in its surface. He knew that Mirya was right, and that there was no telling how things could have turned out if he’d made different choices… the duel against Rhovann in the glades of Myth Drannor, for example. He knew that he had no real cause to blame himself for failing Jarad. But it was the simplest and straightest course for his grief.
“I know you’re right,” he said. “I know it. But somehow I can’t help but feel that this didn’t have to happen.” He kicked idly at the grass, pushed himself upright, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. “I’ll be on my way.”
She met his eyes briefly and found a small smile for him. “Take care of yourself, Geran Hulmaster.”
Geran took a deep breath, turned, and made his way to the carriage where Kara and Hamil waited. They watched him pull himself up into the seat, adjusting his cloak to keep his sword arm free. “I’m ready to go,” he said to Kara.
Kara nodded and said, “We can come back any time you want.” She took the reins in hand.
“Geran, wait!” Mirya hurried up to the carriage, holding her skirts. She stopped and studied him, evidently considering what she wanted to say. Finally she spoke. “Listen, likely there’s nothing at all to what I aim to tell you, but I thought you ought to know.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Several days past, I thought I saw something… Jarad had an elf-made dagger that he often wore. It was a handsome thing with a hilt of silver wire and a pommel in the shape of a sprig of holly. I think he got it from you.”
Geran leaned forward in the seat. “Yes, he did. I sent him that blade shortly after I arrived in Myth Drannor. It was nothing, really, just an ordinary dagger of a coronal’s guardsman, but I wanted to send him something elf-made, something to show that I’d visited the city of the elves. When we were boys we always talked about going there someday.”
“It was nought to you, perhaps, but Jarad treasured it. He wore it at his belt always.” Mirya’s voice grew flat. “I think I saw that dagger on the hip of a hired sword by the name of Anfel Urdinger. He’s in the pay of House Veruna. He and a few other Verunas were keeping watch on Erstenwold’s from across the street. Like as not they were keeping count of my business to work out the Merchant Council’s cut.”
Hamil looked at Geran. “If it’s a common design as you say, it may not be the same dagger. Or even if it is, it’s possible that this man Urdinger simply got it from someone else-won it throwing dice, traded for it, stole it, who knows?”
“Aye, your friend may have the right of it,” Mirya acknowledged. “But this I do know: Jarad wasn’t afraid to interfere with Merchant Council business when he had a mind to, and interfering with Merchant Council business means interfering with Veruna business. If you mean to start asking questions, then you might start with asking whether House Veruna is interested in tomb-breaking out in the Highfells.”
“Mirya, you should’ve told me about this,” Kara said with a frown. “If there’s any reason to suspect Urdinger, I need to know. Do you realize what you’re suggesting? If you’re right, House Veruna’s armsmen ambushed and killed the captain of the Shieldsworn. That’s a direct attack on the harmach.”
“You were away up at the northern posts, Kara,” Mirya replied. “Besides, what I saw’s no proof of anything. Even if I’ve got the right of it, well, as Hamil said, Urdinger could claim that he came by that dagger in any number of ways. All I’ve got are my suspicions.”
Geran met Mirya’s eyes. “I take your suspicions seriously, Mirya. I’ll remember what you’ve told me. And I’ll keep my eyes open for this fellow Urdinger. He’s got some questions to answer.”
Kara shifted in her seat to look at both Geran and Mirya. Her armor rasped and jingled. “Geran, you’ve got to move with care,” she said. “You can’t just challenge this man in the street, regardless of Mirya’s suspicions. The harmach’s law applies to you as well as everyone in Hulburg-especially to you, since we can’t afford to have anyone say the Hulmasters are above the law in this city. Besides, you might be playing into House Veruna’s hands. Someone arranged for Isolmar to meet a professional duelist four years ago. Whoever arranged that for Harmach Grigor’s own son wouldn’t hesitate to arrange something similar for you.”