Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II (27 page)

Ashiin swiped with the bow, batting the insect away. The yew struck the thing with a
crunch
of shattering chitin.

Hweilan hit Ashiin full force an instant later. They tumbled down in a cloud of dead pine needles and dirt, and
when they separated, each of them coming to their feet in a defensive crouch, facing each other, Hweilan held the bow.

They stared at each other, master and student weighing each other, waiting for the other to strike. At last Ashiin stood straight, relaxing, and smiled. “Well done, Hweilan. You are ready.”

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

H
WEILAN CRADLED THE BOW IN HER ARMS AS THEY
walked back. Ashiin opened the portal, taking them through the falls into the Feywild, and led the way back to Gleed’s lake.

But Hweilan’s mind barely registered any of that. After so long without it, she had her father’s bow back. Holding its familiar weight in her hands, it seemed that she stood on a knife’s edge between her past and present. The arc of pale wood inscribed with sacred runes—she could not look at it without seeing her father, dressed in his full armor, holding it in one hand as his squire fitted the quiver to his back. But mostly she saw the smile he’d always given her before leaving. This bow summed up her childhood: the comfort of her father’s love, mixed with the grief of his leaving. With that leaving came both pride and dread. She knew her father was going out to keep their lands safe, to help those unable to help themselves. When she was very small, he’d seemed almost a demigod to her. But with that was the knowledge that he might not come home again. Every parting held the chance of his death. And one day that time had finally come.

Remembering all those things, Hweilan realized they proved Ashiin’s words true—
like a baby’s favorite blanket, it fuels your childishness
. But she would not let the feelings go.
She was the Hand of the Hunter, Chosen of Nendawen, but that could never erase where she’d come from.

But Ashiin’s other words were true as well. It was a weapon, meant to be used. More than memories of the past, the bow held for her the promise of a future. Despite the grief and regret tempering her emotions, Hweilan felt one thing above everything—an eager anger. That thing, Jagun Ghen, had slaughtered everyone she’d ever loved. As she’d learned from Kesh Naan, he had done that countless times over generations to her people. Time for that to end.

Hweilan had just detected the first scent of the lake when Ashiin stopped. Most days after training they parted ways there, but usually Ashiin just melted into the shadows and was gone, sometimes with a farewell, sometimes not. It was the first time Hweilan could remember her teacher stopping.

“What?” said Hweilan.

Ashiin looked away a moment, glancing toward Gleed’s tower, then back at her. “Remember what I told you. When the time comes, you must not hesitate. To kill. A great deal depends on this.”

Hweilan looked at her, puzzled by the sudden emphasis. She’d passed every test Ashiin had laid before her. Why this reassurance now? So she simply said, “I know.”

Ashiin gripped both Hweilan’s arms and squeezed, hard enough to hurt. “Do you really, girl? You swear it?”

Taken aback, Hweilan stared into Ashiin’s eyes. They were deadly serious. Even desperate. Why … she didn’t know, but there was no mistaking Ashiin’s urgency.

“I swear it,” she said.

Ashiin held her gaze a moment longer, then let go. A moment later, she was gone, leaving nothing but a rustle in the undergrowth.

When Hweilan stepped back onto the island, she saw Gleed climbing down the outside of the tower. She stood at its base and watched. It never ceased to amaze her that a
creature who relied so heavily on his staff while walking the ground could be agile as a squirrel in the trees and rocks.

He stopped about halfway and looked down at her. “Your father’s bow? Ashiin gave it back, I see.”

“I wouldn’t say she
gave
it back exactly.”

“Ha! I don’t doubt it.” He looked around, staring into the swiftly falling twilight. The bats were not yet out, but the shadows under the trees were thick already, and the first stars would be out soon. “Come up,” he said. “Quickly.”

She didn’t understand, but didn’t argue. Holding the bow in one hand, she worked her way up the vines and branches. She could hear Gleed muttering above her, and as she came near, she saw a particularly tight knot of vines and leaves writhe and part, like the opening of a huge vertical eyelid. Beyond was a crumbling window, leading into the tower.

Gleed climbed into it and she heard him call, “Quickly, girl!”

She wedged the bow in first, then pulled herself in after.

The old goblin muttered again, and the vines and leaves closed behind her, plunging them both into darkness.

“Half a moment,” said Gleed, and he spoke an incantation, quiet but clear. His staff lit first, suffusing the chamber with a green light. It caught in hundreds of symbols and runes and scratchings around the chamber. Some seemed to have been painted with some sort of metallic ink, some carved into the stone itself, and a few were even shoots and roots that had been braided and twisted into unnatural shapes. But every one of them caught the arcane light and seemed to kindle lights of their own—a hundred variations of green, blue, red, gold, and silver.

“What is this place?” said Hweilan. She could see no other way in or out. The window through which they’d come had been completely sealed by the vines, and if there had ever been another door in wall or floor, she could find no trace of it.

“A place safe from prying ears and eyes,” said Gleed. He shuffled to the middle of the floor, then turned and sat. “We must speak. Please, sit.”

She sat cross-legged in front of him, the bow across her lap. Gleed’s one good eye had closed to little more than a slit, buried in the wrinkles of his brow, but his other—usually a milky white—stared wide, and caught every glow and sparkle in the room. Hweilan wondered how blind that eye really was, or if it merely saw things the other could not.

“We spoke once before,” said Gleed, “of your friend Lendri, of his ghost coming to you—and your family in the Witness Cloud. Have you seen them since?”

“No,” said Hweilan.

“Tell me again what he said—as exactly as you can remember.”

“The first time—the night you brought me to the tower and I tried to run away—he seemed angry, accusing, blaming me for his death—and my family’s. But the day in the Witness Cloud, he seemed …” She searched for the right word in any of the languages she knew, could not find one, so simply chose those closest. “Sad. And desperate. He said he would not return, no matter who called him.”

“You’re certain? Those were his words?”

“Yes.”

“This Lendri … he was an exile?”

“So he said.”

“Do you know why?”

“No,” said Hweilan. “He never told me.”

“Hm. Well, whatever it was, until that sin is atoned, his ghost cannot rest, I think. Why he comes to you, now …” Gleed shrugged. “I can only guess. I am not Vil Adanrath and I am no priest, but I will tell you this. The Witnesses are always here.” He waved her hand and looked around to emphasize her point. “The ancestors watch, even now. The veil separating us from them is thin. At times of need or great import, that veil is lifted so their presence might encourage
us and their wisdom guide us. Why you see Lendri, why Dedunan has not allowed him rest … it seems that this Lendri is not done with you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do either. But I do believe that your friend cannot rest, and his one hope of rest seems to lie in you.”

Hweilan considered this, but the more she thought, the more baffled she felt. The only thing she knew of Lendri’s exile was that it had something to do with the oaths he had sworn to one of her forefathers—one he held so sacred that he had sought her and helped her at the cost of his own life.

“You cared for him?” Gleed asked.

Hweilan needed little time to consider before answering this honestly. “I barely knew him. But when I needed him, he was there—even if the reasons were his own. And he died trying to save me. I am indebted to him.”

Gleed nodded. She thought he seemed pleased, but also that he was still holding something. “Remember that in the days ahead,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You remember what we discussed last night?”

For a moment Hweilan was annoyed that he had disregarded her question, but then his question sank in. Fighting the demon, having her back broken, healed, and then regaining her father’s bow … it had driven last night’s conversation from her mind.
I can help you get away
, Gleed had said.

“That’s why we’re in here,” she said, looking around at the glowing symbols. “A place safe from prying ears and eyes.”

“Yes,” said Gleed. “What I am about to tell you, you must tell
no one
else. Not the Master—
especially
not Ashiin—and if you so much as mutter it in your sleep, you’ll kill us both. You—”

“Gleed, stop.” Hweilan was surprised at the vehemence in her voice, but she pressed on despite the old goblin’s angry
scowl. “I know what you said. But I don’t care. I don’t want to get away. I am the Hand. I’m going to kill Jagun Ghen.”

Gleed snorted. “Stupid girl. You couldn’t ‘kill’ him if you tried. Not even the Master—”

“Send him to the Abyss, then,” she said. “Bind him, banish him … I don’t care what name you put on it. I’m going to deal with him, once and for all, or die trying. I don’t
want
to get away.”

“I know. You think I’d have gone to the pain of teaching you if I didn’t want Jagun Ghen gone? But what about after?”

She looked down at the bow, and again her father’s face came to mind. “After that … well, I’ll decide then.”

Gleed gave her a sharp poke with the end of his staff. “No, you won’t! Stupid girl. Wait till then, and it’ll be too late! Have you learned nothing from Ashiin? If you want to win, you must plan. You must plot. You must
prepare.
”

“Why do you care?” The question came out before she had really considered it. But hearing it, she knew it cut to the heart of the matter. What Gleed was telling her … it walked a bit too close to treachery.

The old goblin looked away. Both eyes closed, and for a moment all sense of power left him, and he just seemed very, very old.

“I have served the Master for …” He sighed and opened his eyes. The mantle of power seemed to settle back over him, but his voice still seemed more tired than anything. “Years on years on years. I am devoted to him, in my own way, and I do not regret my choice. But those years … I feel them. And I know what they have cost me. I know what they will cost you. You don’t. All you can see is your rage and your mission. Good. You’ll need that in the coming days. You’ll need that and more to defeat Jagun Ghen. But after … you have something I never had, girl. A chance. There’s something in you, something I suspect has made even the Master wary. He hadn’t expected it. But he knows it’s there now. Make no mistake of that. He will try to
conquer it. Or tame it. But if he can’t, once you’ve proved your usefulness to him … well, he is the Hunter. Once his favorite prey is gone, he’ll need another.”

Hweilan let that sink in. She’d been afraid a long time. But her chief fear had been of failure, that all the horrors that had killed her family and ruined her life would win. All her efforts these past days had been directed at
never
allowing that to happen. Nendawen and the power he offered her gave her the one thing she needed more than anything else. Hope. But Gleed’s words chipped away at that. Could Nendawen be both her hope and her doom?

“You’re saying once Jagun Ghen is gone, Nendawen will kill me?”

“I’m saying there are worse things than death, and if you don’t want to discover them firsthand, you had best plan.” Gleed fixed his empty eye on her, and again she was convinced that it wasn’t blind at all. “In the venom dream of Kesh Naan, you saw your ancestors, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Your Vil Adanrath ancestors.”