Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II (20 page)

“To arms!” the leader shouted. His men found their feet—more than a few swaying—and drew blade or grasped spear. Villagers scattered in every direction.

The shadow walked into camp, almost casually, and by the graceful walk and the curve of hip, the leader knew—

“A woman!”

Nearly naked but seemingly covered in the dust from which she’d sprung. Her long, dark hair pulled back. The only color the firelight rippling in her eyes and the blood dripping from the dagger she held in one hand. She seemed altogether undisturbed by the four spearmen surrounding her.

She walked until the nearest man’s spear touched the flesh just above her navel. She looked at the leader, cocked her head, and blinked once.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “
Who
are you?”

“My name is Hweilan.”

No fear in her voice. No deference. Not even challenge. Flat. Emotionless.

The leader shook his head, utterly perplexed. “My name is—”

“Your name doesn’t matter,” she said in the same disinterested tone.

“You’ll show some respect!” said the man to her left, and raised the butt of his spear to strike.

The woman twisted sideways around the spear at her gut, grabbed it with her free hand, and kicked its wielder so hard that he went backward with enough force to flip his feet over his head. The woman kept turning and brought the spear around to block the next man’s strike. She swiped his spear aside, then backswiped with the point of her own. The leader actually saw the iron point rip the man’s jaw from his face.

Another man screamed and threw his spear, but she simply knocked it out of the air.

“Stop this!” the leader screamed. “You men, fall back!”

His men retreated, their spears and blades held on guard. The leader stepped forward, his own sword held before him.

The first two men she’d struck had stopped their kicking. The one she’d impaled still had both hands gripped around the spear, but the leader was quite sure the man was dead. The one she’d kicked and robbed of his spear was on his feet again, but still doubled over and obviously having trouble breathing. The last man was on his knees, making a terrible mewling sound as he used his blood-soaked hands to try to reattach his jaw.

“The way you took out my spearmen,” said the leader, “impressive, I must admit. But they’re both half-wits and quite drunk. You stand no chance against the rest of us.”

The woman tossed the spear on the ground.

The leader smiled and opened his mouth, intending to say,
Very wise. Now get down on the ground
.

But the woman flipped the knife in one hand, caught with the other, then motioned for him to come for her.

“I have five more hardened warriors up that slope,” said the leader, motioning with his sword. “Elgren! Morn! You men, get down here!”

“Those five are dead,” said the woman. “Nine down. Five to go.”

The leader put on his bravest face, but he still had to
swallow before he could find his voice. “You cannot count. There are six of us.”

The woman smiled, teasingly. “Oh, you I’m not going to kill.”

“Enough of this,” said the leader. “Kendremis, deal with her.”

He stepped back, and the man to his left stepped forward. He wore no armor, and only a light cloak over fine linen clothes. He extended both hands, his fingers already weaving intricate patterns.

Kendremis smiled as he began his incantation. “
Uth duremmen ta—
”

The point of a spear burst out from his chest, his back arched, and a gout of blood ran down his chin.

Eyes wide, the leader whirled to see one of the villagers holding the spear. He heard the snap of bowstrings, and the
flifft
sound of arrows cutting the air. Like that, and it was over in seconds. He stood alone. The only one of his men still making a sound was the poor fellow trying to hold his face together. But one of the old women stepped forward with a club and put an end to that.

The villagers turned their eyes on the leader.

“No!” said Hweilan.

The leader looked to her. “What—?”

“Run,” she said.

His sword dipped. The point was trembling, and the blade suddenly felt very heavy. “You’re letting me live?”

“That depends on you.”

He opened his mouth, but a great howling cut him off. Wolves. Dozens of them at least, howling from every direction. The leader swallowed and looked around. Eyes from the darkness sparkled in the light cast by the fires.

“What is this?” And even he heard the rising panic in his voice. He whirled, looking for a way of escape. And that’s when he saw it. The moon had risen high enough out of the dust to lose its bloody pallor, and it shone down like new
ivory. Standing on the nearest height, framed by the moon, was a man. Or something like a man. Taller than any man he had ever seen. Crooked antlers sprouted from his brow, and even from the distance of a hundred yards or more, he could see eyes shining with green fire.

Hweilan said, “You should start running now.”

C
HAPTER
FIFTEEN

H
WEILAN SAT ATOP
G
LEED’S TOWER, HER LEGS OVER
the edge, her heels drumming an irregular rhythm against the ivy-covered stone. Heavy clouds, thick with rain, hung low in the sky. With evening coming on, the light growing grayer by the moment, the woods across the lake were impenetrable gloom. When she and Ashiin had returned to the Feywild, the cool had been most welcome, and they had both bathed in the falls, washing away the blood and dirt. The shock had felt good. Welcome. After the warmth of where they’d been, she’d even welcomed the shivering. But, hours later, she was still shivering.

After coming back, after what they’d done, she’d had to seek a high place. She’d grown up in a fortress on the edge of the mountains. Her bedroom window overlooked a garden, but beyond the garden wall she’d been able to see to the horizon, and she had spent many nights watching the moon rise over the snowfields. She’d grown used to the confines of the Feywild woods, but she couldn’t bring herself to love them. To clear her head, she needed to see distance. Gleed’s tower was a poor substitute, but it was the best she had.

Today had not been Hweilan’s first blood. She’d killed before. Hunting, she’d killed more animals than she could remember. And she’d killed two people—but both times,
those people had been intent on killing her. It had been kill or be killed. Today had been different. She’d gone looking for a fight. True, those she and Ashiin had killed would be no great loss to the world. After what she’d seen them doing, she knew every last one of them had it coming.

Still …

Hweilan couldn’t quite decide what she was feeling. Not guilt. Not over those men. Regret? Perhaps. Part of her missed the Hweilan that had been. The girl who always had someone to watch out for her, to take care of her.

But that only brought the anger back. She used to have people who cared for her and took care of her. But they had been taken from her. Killed. And those who had done it were still breathing. And that planted a cold shard of ice in her gut.

And so, round and round, back and forth, these thoughts went through Hweilan’s mind. No conclusion. Just a wrestling of conflicting emotions.

All the doors to the stairways and upper levels of Gleed’s tower had been locked or blocked with rubble, so Hweilan had simply used the vines to climb up the outside. Behind her, she could hear someone doing the same. The rustling vines stopped, and she heard bare feet rustling through the leaves and vines that covered the tower’s top. Gleed, then. She didn’t turn when she heard her teacher walk up behind her and stop.

“You’re thinking about what happened,” said Gleed.

Hweilan shrugged.

“This wasn’t the first time you’ve killed.”

“No.”

A long silence, then Gleed asked, “Then why are you up here? Something is troubling you.”

“I miss the high places,” said Hweilan. “I miss—”

Gleed waited. But when Hweilan didn’t finish he said, “You miss what?”

“The way I used to be.”

“You’re better than you used to be,” said Gleed, an edge
entering his voice. “You think you could have dealt with those dogs without Ashiin’s training?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

Hweilan whirled to her feet. “Because I—”

Gleed stood his ground. He looked up at her, scowling. “Yes, well? Spit it out.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“Good.” Gleed turned away, chuckling. “You’re learning. That old fox is good for something after all.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, it is you who do not understand. You come from a line of warriors, girl. You think they did not enjoy the heat of battle? Of killing their enemies?”

“My father never enjoyed killing.”

“Then your father was a fool.”

Hweilan snarled and drew the knife from her belt as she lunged.

Green light washed over her and she found herself caught fast. The vines and branches had come alive, cracking the air like tiny whips as they writhed and twisted around her legs, then encased her torso, and finally her arms. Hweilan shrieked and thrashed and fought, but the vines only pulled tighter, constricting, pulling her arms close. In moments, she could barely move. She found herself staring at the old goblin, green light sparkling off his upraised staff, his free hand weaving an intricate pattern in the air.

“You really think you can take me?” said Gleed. “Even Ashiin knows better than to challenge me on my own ground.”

He was only inches away. Hweilan gathered her strength and tried once more to break free, but the vines were strong as steel wire, and she could feel the power running through them.

“You ever disrespect my family again,” said Hweilan, “and I’ll kill you.”

“You really think you could?”

“Even
you
sleep.”

He held her gaze. Neither looked away. The green fire of his magic sparkled in his one good eye. The other dead eye was flat and gray as a stone.

He smiled. “But would you
enjoy
it?”

Hweilan spat in his face. “Curse your mother.”

Gleed through back his head and cackled, then wiped the spittle from his face. “Oh, I did. Believe me. And long before the shriveled old monster deserved it. Still, I guess this exchange of sentiments makes us even. Does it not?”

Hweilan tried again to move. Still nothing. She might have been encased in stone. “I meant what I said.”

“I don’t doubt you. But you’ve got a lot to learn before you can take me.”

His gaze shifted and locked on the blade held in her hand. The light from his staff seemed to catch there and glow like an emerald brand.

“She
did
give it to you then,” he said.

It was the blade Menduarthis had given Hweilan. More than a foot of sharp steel, etched with waves and whorls. Ashiin had been true to her word and returned the knife to her.

“Ashiin was the second one to give it to me,” said Hweilan.

“Then I shall be the second to take it away,” said Gleed, and he reached for it.

Hweilan tightened her grip.

“Let go,” Gleed said.

“No.”

Gleed twitched his fingers, and the vines around her right arm and wrist tightened even further. Hweilan felt her skin press into the muscle beneath, and the whole pressing almost flat against the bone. She gritted her teeth and forced her fingers to hold the fist around the hilt of the knife.

I will
not
scream
, she told herself.
I will
not—

Skin tore, and the vines bit into the flesh beneath. She held the grip a moment longer, but when the vine began to
worm its way through flesh and into bone, her body betrayed her. Her fingers went limp.

Gleed snatched the blade. “Thank you,” he said and turned away, holding the blade close to the light emanating from his staff.

The vines loosened, but not enough for her to break free. Warmth began to spread down her forearm, a dark stain spreading down her sleeve.

“Ahh,” said Gleed, studying the blade. “Now this is a wonder. A real beauty.”

He waved the blade before her face.

“Can you read the steel’s riddle?” said Gleed.

Hweilan tried to move, but the vines only bit into her again.

“This particular knife,” said Gleed,” has quite a history. A lineage rivaling even your own—and that is saying something. Not ancient, no, but quite special. This particular tooth was forged in the depths of Ellestharn. Do you know of this place?”

“The palace of Kunin Gatar,” said Hweilan through teeth clenched in pain and anger.

“Very good, girl. Very, very good. Not a nice place. But one of great power. And powerful indeed were the hands that crafted this blade. Wise in the ways of wind and waves.”

“I didn’t care for the place much.”

Gleed laughed, low in his throat, croaking almost like a toad. “No, I don’t suppose you would. But then, the queen has always had a taste for pretty girls. Still … the power she wields is not without its uses.”

With that, he began an incantation. Not the usual spells in the speech that Hweilan knew—the tongue of her Vil Adanrath ancestors. This was something altogether different—long vowels and harsh consonants that rasped in the back of the throat. A speech of cold wind cutting over sharp rocks.