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Griffonwatch anymore? Geran wondered. The steps must be difficult for him to manage.
    “So, you must have heard about Jarad,” Grigor said quietly. “Ill news carries swiftly and far, it seems.”
    “I heard about it in Tantras. I’ve come home to pay my respects.”
    “It’s a terrible thing, Geran. Jarad was a good man, a good captain to the Shieldsworn, a valued advisor … and a friend, as well. I still can’t believe that he is dead.” The harmach sighed and passed his hand over his face.
    “Can you tell me what happened? How did Jarad die?”
    “No one but his murderers could say for certain. He was found out in the Highfells, near one of the old barrows. He was alone. I know Kara rode out to study the scene; she could probably tell you more.”
    “I’ll ask her when I see her, then.”
    Grigor nodded. “Will you be staying long?”
    “I don’t know.” Geran hadn’t intended to, but standing in the old castle, listening to the cold hard wind, and breathing in the sights and sounds and smells of home, he found that old memories were pressing close around him. Strange how he had never let his footsteps turn toward Hulburg in the long months since that last day in Myth Drannor. What was I avoiding? he wondered. Perhaps he had allowed himself to become bewitched in Myth Drannor, as Hamil thought, but that was over. He had lost that long waking dream that was his life for four years in the city of the elves, ending it in one dark moment he still did not understand. His heart longed for autumn in Myth Drannor, for Alliere’s musical laughter, but those things were not for him any longer. Geran closed his eyes to drive the image of her face from
    his mind, castigating himself in silence. It did his heart no good to dwell on her, but he seemed determined to anyway.
    He must have frowned at himself. Grigor took his expression for disapproval and raised his hand. “I only meant that you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” the old lord said. “There is always room for you here, Geran.”
    “Forgive me, it’s been a long journey,” Geran answered. He mustered a small smile for his uncle. “I have no business in Tantras that can’t manage itself for a tenday or so. As long as I’m here, I might as well reacquaint myself with my kin.”
    “Good,” said Grigor. “But Geran, please, be careful. The harmach’s writ doesn’t run so far as it used to in Hulburg. There are people in town who owe the Hulmasters no allegiance at all, much more so than when you were growing up. It was no accident when Isolmar was killed in that tavern quarrel, and I suspect that it was no accident that Jarad died alone out in the Highfells. When you set foot outside of Griffonwatch’s walls, you must watch your back.”
    Hamil sketched a small bow. “That’s why I’m here, Lord Grigor,” he observed. “I have no use for a dead partner, so it’s in my interest to keep an eye on him. Why else would I venture so far from civilization?”
    Grigor smiled, but his tone was serious. “If you are a friend of the Hulmasters, Master Alderheart, you may need to watch your own back as well.” He looked back up to Geran and indicated the study door. “Now, on to happier matters. Unless I am sorely mistaken, you have two young cousins who will be quite anxious to meet you. I expect they’re in the great room, resisting their mother’s efforts to put them to bed.”
    The old lord took a mantle from a hook by the door, pulled it around his shoulders, and with the help of his short walking stick made his way to the covered walkway and court outside. Geran and Hamil followed. The wind sighed and hissed among the eaves of the old castle’s buildings, and the lanterns illuminating the way rocked in the breeze. Small yellow pools of light swayed and spun lazily beneath the wooden shakes.
    “I’ve been meaning to have this enclosed,” Grigor remarked. “It’s a cold walk on a winter night.”
    Then he led them into the