Free Swordmage by Richard Baker Page A

with a fierce glare. “Fair is fair,” he
    grated. “We told you our colors. So whose colors do you wear, wizard?”
    “None but my own,” Geran snarled. He shifted his feet, and raised his blade into a high guard.
    “Stop it!” Mirya barked. “I’ll not have this nonsense in my store! Take your quarrel to the street, all of you!”
    No one moved. Mirya snorted in disgust, slid a few steps along the countertop, and pointed at Geran. “Oh, by all nine of the screaming hells. He wears no colors because he’s Geran Hulmaster, kin of the harmach,” she said to Bann and the other Veruna men. “Think on that before you strike!”
    Geran scowled and moved away. “Stand aside, Mirya. I know what I’m doing. This’ll be over with soon enough.”
    “The harmach’s nephew?” the armsman by the door said. He frowned. “Bann, I’m not sure about this. Someone cut up the Chainsmen last night. I heard it was him. And what’ll the townsfolk do if we hurt him?”
    “If he chooses the quarrel, we’ve broken no laws,” Bann said.
    “Aye, but Lady Darsi’ll have your heads if you lay a finger on him without her permission!” Mirya retorted.
    That dart found its mark. The Veruna man winced, and uncertainty flickered across his face. He glared at Geran a moment longer, and then he contemptuously spun on his heel and slammed his sword back into the sheath. “You might be surprised, Mistress Erstenwold,” he said to Mirya. He angrily jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, lads. We’ll just come back sometime when Mistress Erstenwold isn’t so busy.”
    The Veruna man strode out of the store, sparing Geran one more look before he bulled his way into the street. The other two blades followed him. Geran watched them pause and speak together for a moment out in the street before they turned and left together. He sighed and released the spells he’d been holding. With a simple flourish he returned his sword to the scabbard. “I suppose that’s done for now,” he said.
    Mirya watched the Veruna armsmen leave, her face a tight
    mask of disapproval. “And when did you become a wizard?” she demanded.
    Geran shrugged. “I know a few shields and evocations, but I’m no wizard. Sword magic is all the magic I can master.”
    Her eyes fell to the blade at Geran’s hip, and she studied him more thoughtfully. “I’ve heard stories of elven swordmagic,” Mirya finally said. “I thought the elves weren’t in the way of sharing their magic with outsiders. Is the sword enchanted?”
    “The lightning was a spell of mine, not the sword. But, since you ask—yes, the blade’s enchanted. I earned it in the service of the coronal.” He halted, unsure what else he could add. The people of Hulburg knew elves and elven ways only by what they heard from merchants of Hillsfar or Mulmaster, and the folk of those cities had good reason to fear the wrath of the elves. Consequently elves were likewise regarded as mythical and perilous in Hulburg too.
    I’m going to have to be careful about saying too much about my time in Myth Drannor, he realized. He grimaced and moved on. “The Veruna men shouldn’t trouble you for a while. I’ve dealt with their kind before.”
    “Well, that’s helpful,” Mirya said in a sarcastic voice. “And what do you thinks going to happen when they come back after you’ve gone away again? I’ll tell you, Geran Hulmaster: They’ll hold me to account for your nonsense. That’s what.”
    “If you have to, tell them that I interfered without your blessing,” he said sharply. He’d expected at least a little gratitude for his trouble, after all. “It’s true enough.”
    “It’s not so simple, and you know it.” Mirya clenched her fists in her apron. “You’ve been gone for ten years, and you’re sure to be gone again before the month’s out. I don’t need you to pick a fight and then sail off, leaving it to me!”
    Geran snorted. “If you beg forgiveness for standing up to a bully,