“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 walclass="underline" 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.”