Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II (29 page)

Head bowed, staff across his lap, Gleed waited by the ashes of his fire. The howls had stopped, and that told Gleed they were close. When wolves truly began the hunt, they moved silent as ghosts. Much smarter than their yammering domesticated cousins.

Gleed did not hear the Master approach, but he sensed his presence. The power of Nendawen resonated far beyond mere sight, and all of Gleed’s senses knew beyond doubt that he was no longer alone.

Keeping his gaze down, he stood, turned, and kneeled.

He heard a growl, so low and strong that it made the ground tremble beneath his knees. He looked up and saw Nendawen before him, spear in one hand, fresh blood dripping from the other. His eyes blazed green from the mask of bone, and four of his wolves stood around him. The nearest
was the one growling. A huge monster, all black fur, even standing straight up Gleed would not have been able to look it eye to eye.

“My Master,” said Gleed, and prostrated himself.

“Master of Making,” said Nendawen. “My disciple is ready?”

Eagerness came off Nendawen like a musk. Gleed knew that Hweilan’s life hung by a spider’s thread. She was the Chosen of Nendawen, but the Master would accept only the most worthy and would show her no mercy. The girl had to earn her place. But Gleed also knew that there was something in the girl that even the Master had not planned on, had not even seen.

“Hweilan inle Merah stands ready,” said Gleed, his face still in the dirt.

The wolves started snuffling, exhaling through their noses into the dirt, then inhaling in quick puffs of air. Gleed looked up and saw that Nendawen himself closed his eyes and took in a deep draft of air.

“She did this?” said Nendawen.

“I tried to make her wear the
samil,
” said Gleed. “She refused.”

Nendawen opened his eyes. They blazed with pleasure. “She
wants
me to find her.”

Gleed swallowed and said, “She does.”

“So be it.”

Nendawen raised his blood-drenched hand, pointed in the direction Hweilan had gone, and his four wolves bolted, leaving a spray of dirt and leaves in their wake.

The Master looked down on Gleed, said, “Be ready,” then ran after his wolves.

Gleed closed his eyes and prayed, “Grant her your aid, Forest Father.”

The largest of the wolves took the lead. He had sharp senses, but their prey’s scent was so strong that it took little
effort. Wolves were not by nature forest hunters, preferring open plains or treeless hills. But these were no ordinary wolves. They had hunted prey in every environment in every world. His packmates tore through the brush behind him, their thick fur heedless of thorns and sharp branches.

The reek was getting stronger. So thick that the leader knew if he stopped to breathe it in fully it would fill his head, drowning out all other scents. He was used to following tiny streams or rivulets of scent. This was like wading through a summer swollen stream.

And then it split.

The leader stopped so abruptly that the two wolves behind actually passed him before stopping, their muzzles low to the ground as they searched through the confusion of scents.

Their prey was alone. On two legs. Her scent was overwhelming. She was alone. They knew this. But her scent had suddenly split in two different directions.

The Master joined them. He kneeled, his weaponless hand brushing the forest floor as he searched the trail. He raised his head and inhaled, sensing their divided trail.

He pointed after one trail. The pack leader followed it, another wolf at his heels. The master and the other wolves would follow the other trail.

The scent was still thick, but not nearly as thick as it had been. Their prey was running now, quickly as she could.

The wolves ran faster.

The trail kept them to the low ground for a while, following the foot of the hill. But in a valley choked with thornbushes, the scent turned uphill, heading for higher ground where the brush and trees would thin out. Stupid of her, the leader knew. Down here in the thick woods, she might have stood a chance. Up on the heights, the wolves would be in their element.

The leader slowed his pace, not out of weariness, but to allow his prey to gain some ground. He hoped to find her near the top, where there would be only a few trees.

But halfway up the hill, the trail turned again, running along the lee of the hill, then plunging down again, back into the thick woods of the valley. The leader growled in anger and anticipation, then increased his pace, his companion following him stride for stride.

Their prey’s scent grew thicker with every step, and by the time they were in the valley again, breaking through brush and weaving through the tree shadow, the smell was almost overwhelming. They were close. Almost upon her.

The leader stopped and raised his head, his ears pivoting forward to take in every sound. His companion did the same. They kept their heads still as the trees around them, but their eyes flicked back and forth, searching the scene before them for the slightest hint of movement. The leader knew by the scent—now tinged with the unmistakable aroma of fear—that their prey was close. And their prey knew it too. She had stopped and gone to ground. She was probably watching them even now, her heart fearful and hammering like a rabbit’s.

His companion let out a small bark and surged forward. The leader followed, his gaze raking through the forest ahead.

There!

Movement in the thick shadows in the hollow ground under a tree root.

Even though his companion had seen it and moved first, so great was the leader’s eagerness that he passed the other wolf. Approaching the tree, he slowed just enough to gather strength in his hind legs, then sprang. His front paws hit the soft soil, sending an explosion of soil and leaves as his open jaws plunged into the hollow.

The shape in the darkness before him sprang aside—too fast
and far
too small for a human. The smell was so overpowering in the close quarters that the leader’s eyes filled with tears, so he saw his prey before him in a blur as it bounded past him—

—and into the jaws of his companion.

One swift shake of the wolf’s head, and the prey’s back snapped.

But it was only a rabbit. Its gray fur had been smeared with some thick liquid.

The leader understood at last how the girl’s trail had split. He threw back his head and howled, the sound of their defeat filling the morning air. He knew the Master would hear and understand.

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

H
WEILAN HEARD THE HOWL AND KNEW HER FIRST
ruse had been found out. No matter. It had separated her hunters, giving her a slight advantage, but more importantly it had bought her time, and that’s what she needed. She had to make it to the falls in time to prepare her trap. She could hear the roar of the falls before her as she ran down the trail, but she couldn’t yet smell the water spray. A ways to go still. She ran faster.

Hweilan had taken every one of Ashiin’s lessons to heart. The woman was the most skilled hunter and remorseless killer Hweilan had ever known. But her ways were not the only ways of the hunt, and in her childhood Hweilan had been taught the battle skills of Damaran knights, Nar warriors, and every way of the hunt Scith had known. One method in particular had been favored by members of the Var tribe to kill large numbers of swiftstags with only a few warriors. Ashiin had never taught Hweilan anything close to it, which meant that there was a very good chance that the Master and his wolves would know nothing of it. But swiftstags were prey, prone to a herd mentality, and never the smartest of beasts. Wolves were the most cunning hunters of any animal. For her plan to work, she had to change one vital element. She would not be able to frighten the wolves into her trap. She doubted if Nendawen’s hunters felt fear. But the urge to kill? That was
the rhythm of their heart. If she couldn’t drive them, she could lure them.

Which meant she needed bait.

Hweilan had taken a length of rope from her supplies in the tower. She prayed it would be enough.

The prey’s scent was close. It mingled with the moist air of the forest so near the falls, but the water scent did nothing to lessen the reek of whatever the girl had spread on herself.

The Master ran with them most of the way down the valley, but as the mist from the falls filled the tree air, making it seem as if they ran through a forested cloud, the Master slowed, allowing his wolves to outpace him.

The wolves had not heard the howls of their pack leader since his signal of his defeat, but they knew he and his mate would be coming to rejoin the hunt. And so the wolves ran faster, eager to prove their prowess by finding their prey first.

Footing became more uncertain with every step, the thick carpet of leaves slick with dew, the ground beneath muddy. But the ground had leveled out somewhat. Still not flat, but no longer on the steep incline that it had been. The wolves ran faster.

They heard her before they saw her.

It was no wolf’s howl, but a most impressive imitation. It had none of the beauty of true wolfsong, but what the girl lacked in splendor she made up for in fury. A true warrior’s challenge.

Through the mist they saw her, a dark shape, crouched and ready, steel in one hand, a branch in the other.

Bloodlust overpowering them, the wolves charged, black lips pulled back over their teeth.

Almost there—

The girl threw the branch. A good aim, but the lead wolf dodged aside, and the wood clattered harmlessly into the sodden ground. It slowed him just enough that his companion
gained on him, and they ran for their prey side by side, so close that they brushed each other’s fur.

They leaped for her together.

The girl did not leap to the side or fall to the ground as the lead wolf thought she might. Had she done so, her steel raised, she might have drawn first blood as they passed over.

Instead, she leaped back.

In the air, jaws opening to strike, the wolf couldn’t help but be impressed. The girl was light on her feet and amazingly strong for a human. Her jump backward took her a long way. But he knew it would be her death. She would come down, and the wolves would come down on top of her.

But then something stopped her in midair, for just an instant. Her backward motion stopped, and she went down, straight as a stone. In that last moment before she disappeared into the mist, the lead wolf saw the rope around her waist, the other end pulled taut before her, secured to the cliff wall—

Which was now behind them.

The wolves fell into the mist. They just had time to realize what was happening and take a breath before they struck the river.