Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II (38 page)

Darric could tell by the way Mandan’s posture had stiffened and he looked at the woods with widened eyes that he had heard it too—probably better than any of them.

“What?” said Jaden.

“The wolf,” said Mandan.

“Uncle,” said Hweilan.

“The wolf?” said Valsun. “What …?”

Hweilan unhitched the bone mask from where it rode on her belt. She fitted it to her face, and for just an instant, Darric thought he saw a tiny sparkle of green play along the edges of the runes burned into it. Hweilan’s eyes, seen through the bone, seemed suddenly feral.

“What?” said Darric, at the same time he heard Jaden mutter, “Oh, this can’t be good.”

She took the bow off her back, strung it, and fitted an arrow to the string. “Your men know how to use those weapons?” she said.

Darric nodded. “Yes.”

“Then look like it.”

“You mean—?”

“I mean,” she said, raising her voice just enough for everyone to hear, “get a weapon in your hand. And stay by me. This place is no good.”

With that, she turned and set off at a jog.

“No good?” said Jaden, taking off after her. “No good for what?”

Mandan hefted his club and slapped it into his other hand. “What do you think?”

What started as a jog soon fell into a run, and despite the invigorating
kanishta
root, the men in their heavy clothes and mail struggled to keep up. The sky was growing brighter all the time, but gloom still ruled under the trees, and Darric often lost sight of Hweilan. But he kept his men on the path and urged them on until catching sight of her again.

The path ran into a cliff face, its bottom strewn with house-sized boulders and choked with thick brush. The pines ran right up against it, standing amidst the boulders, their branches tickling the cliffside. To their right, brush clogged a steep slope for a few dozen paces before falling away to nothingness, and on their left, the forest continued
up the slope of the mountain. Darric caught sight of the peak between the boughs.

Darric stopped and looked around as the others gathered behind him. There was no sign of Hweilan.

Jaden bent over, hands on knees. He was breathing so hard that he accidentally spat out the gobby mess of
kanishta
root. He cursed, picked it up, and after wiping off the worst of the dirt and grit, plopped it back into his mouth.

“Where’s … our lady … friend … got off … to?” he said between gasps.

Mandan was breathing heavily as well, but he stood straight, his head held back, his nostrils flaring as he took deep drafts of the breeze off the mountain. “We have bigger problems.”

Jaden said, “What?”

“I smell—”

And then a gale hit them. Darric heard the howl of it coming down the mountain an instant before it struck, snapping branches from trees and raising a wave of pine needles off the ground that swept over them, stinging exposed skin and forcing Darric to close his eyes. His cloak caught the wind like a sail, and he had to fight to keep his feet. That’s when he heard them.

Voices in the wind—hoots and cries, and mixed with it all a gleeful cackling. Shielding his eyes with one hand, Darric squinted against the cloud of pine needles and grit. A dozen or more figures were charging up the path behind them. Ugly scraps of black-iron armor covered clothes made of hide and pelts. The bits of hair that protruded from their helmets was so coarse and thick that it seemed more like fur, and their narrow eyes drank in every bit of dim dawnlight and cast it back, like a dog’s eyes. Most of the figures held iron-shod spears more than twice the height of their wielders. Hobgoblins. Bigger and meaner than their goblin cousins, Darric knew that even with Mandan in full rage they’d stand no chance against so many.

“Run!” Mandan roared, and pushed Darric up the path.

“Move-move-move!” Darric said, and got the men moving, Mandan bringing up the rear. If they could make it to the cliff, at least they could keep their backs against the rock and fight only on one front.

The wind came back around again, slapping Darric’s cloak against his legs. He stumbled, but Mandan caught him and kept him going.

Valsun, several paces ahead, was passing between two boulders when Darric saw it—something moving up from the ground. His first thought was it was a snake, but then he saw—

“Valsun!”

But it was too late. Running full speed, Valsun’s shins struck the tight cord, and he went down. From behind the boulders, two hobgoblins leaped over the path, crossing in midair and pulling the rope in a tight loop. Valsun managed to shake one leg free before the cord tightened, but his right boot caught. The hobgoblins didn’t even spare the others a glance. They turned and ran, dragging Valsun behind them.

Enemies behind and before, Jaden stood dumbstruck.

“Move, you fool!” Darric said as he passed Jaden. He rounded the largest of the boulders where Valsun had disappeared, then he too skidded to a stop.

Valsun lay on his back against another boulder, his sword on the ground well out of reach, his two captors standing over him, the points of their swords at his throat. But in front of Darric was the biggest goblin he had ever seen—had ever heard of. He had all the typical goblin features—coarse, bristly hair, pointed ears that stood out from its head, a scarce bump of a nose between two slit eyes; he wore only rudimentary clothing—but he was easily eight feet tall, most of it muscle. Arms wide, the monster lunged.

Darric ducked and swiped with his sword. He didn’t put full force into the blow, fearing Jaden or Mandan might be
coming up behind him, and the blade only sliced a narrow gash along the back of the creature’s helmet-sized hand.

And then the hobgoblins were all around—rising from behind boulders, jumping down from thick boughs where they’d been hiding. Those charging up the path hadn’t been attacking. They’d been driving Darric and his men into the real attack, and it had worked perfectly.

The giant goblin grinned and made another quick swipe at Darric. Again Darric struck, but the monster was ready for it this time and pulled away laughing.

Behind him, Mandan roared and Darric could hear his club cutting through the air. Jaden was screaming. Darric kept the point of his blade raised at the monster as he turned sideways and risked a quick glance. Mandan stood between the two boulders where Valsun tripped. Swinging his club, he was holding back a half-dozen goblins. One of them lunged with a spear and the club struck, shattering the shaft and sending its wielder reeling back.

Beyond Mandan, Jaden lay on his belly, a cackling hobgoblin straddling his legs and beating him with a cudgel while two others tried to pry the cleaverlike sword from his grip.

That quick glance cost Darric his advantage. He felt something strike his knee hard, then pull. Turning back around, Darric planted both feet and looked down. One of the hobgoblins had come in with a long pole, a wide, blunt crook on one end, and he had Darric’s leg quite nicely hooked.

The hobgoblin pulled, and Darric stumbled. He struck at the pole with his sword, but the shaft was thick ash wood. He put a good nick in it, but nothing more. He used his free hand to grab the loop of the hook and pull. With such poor leverage, he knew he’d never pull it off, but if he could just hold it steady long enough to step out—

A tight grip closed over his sword arm. The huge goblin had his sword arm in one bony fist. The monster grinned and yanked. Darric lost his footing and went down. The hook
of the pole slid up his waist and caught in his belt. But he kept the grip on his sword. Screaming, Darric thrashed and kicked, but the monster’s grip only tightened.

“Hoy!” a voice called, and Darric looked up into the face of a hobgoblin, who had stepped forward. He held a curved sword but seemed in no rush to use it. “Drop that steel or Grunter here’ll snap your arm like twig.”

The huge goblin grunted as if to confirm his name, then gave a tug and a twist as if to drive the point home.

Darric thrashed harder. He managed to bring one foot around and drive the toe of his boot into Grunter’s knee. It was like kicking an oak.

Grunter smiled, revealing tusk-yellow teeth. “Tickles,” he said, and grunted again.

The hobgoblin with the sword shrugged and said, “Break it.”

Grunter grabbed Darric’s arm with his other fist, both tightened—

“Well done! That will be
quite
enough!”

The voice spoke elegantly accented Damaran, and the wind twisting through the field of boulders seemed to carry it. It was firm, confident, but no shout, though it carried to every ear.

The wind died, and a strange silence settled on the scene. Grunter’s grip on Darric’s arm did not lessen, but neither did it move. Darric had no doubt the brute could do just what the other had claimed—snap his arm like a twig. He risked another glance at his comrades. Valsun’s position had not improved. Jaden was weaponless, had two grinning hobgoblins on his back and one standing on each arm. Mandan still held his club in one hand. The shattered remains of one of the hookpoles dangled from his waist, and two cords of braided leather were tangled around his left arm—the other ends held tight by four hobgoblins. Darric could see their wide yellow eyes through the slits in their helmets. They were obviously torn between trying to pull Mandan over and the thought of pulling him
too
close. Just behind them, another
hobgoblin leaned against a rock, moaning and cradling his shattered forearm.

“Everyone just
calm down.
”

A figure emerged from the forest—taller than every person gathered except for Mandan and Grunter, but he moved with the grace of a dancer. A long cloak and deep cowl hid his features. He stopped just behind the nearest goblin.

The cowl faced Darric. The voice had a mocking tone that seemed altogether at odds with the present situation. “Quite enough excitement for so early in the morning, don’t you think?”

Darric goggled, no idea what to say. But he did take the opportunity to regain his feet and wrench the hookpole away. Grunter’s grip tightened slightly, causing Darric to wince. He still held his sword, but he could no longer feel the hand gripping it.

“Easy there, Grunter,” said the cloaked man. “We’re just talking. For the moment.”

“Who are you and what is the meaning of this?” Darric asked him.

“Where is she?”

Darric blinked, taken aback by the question, then said, “Where is who?”

A tense silence followed, and Darric could feel a heavy gaze from inside the cowl weighing him. “Her pet has been trailing my friends for miles,” the man said. “I know she is nearby.”

“Then you know more than I,” said Darric. “On my father’s name, I do not know where she is.”

“Seeing as how I don’t know your father, that oath holds little weight for me.”

Mandan growled and yanked on the cords tangling his left arm. Those holding it stumbled but kept their feet. Standing atop the boulder in front of Mandan, a hobgoblin loosed his bowstring, and an instant later Mandan’s club sprouted an arrow.

“Calm yourself,” said the man.

Mandan kept his place, but Darric saw his hair bristling and the muscles in his face had tensed so much that his skin looked like a tightly bound drum. If this went much further, there’d be no controlling him. Keeping Mandan in check when he was afraid was hard enough. But when he went beyond fear and into a true rage …

The cloaked man chuckled, then said, “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. Truth be told, I have no interest in any of you. But I am most eager to speak to the lady.”

“And who are you?”

“I’ll ask only once more,” the man said. “Then I’m going to tell Grunter there to snap your arm. Urdu and Oluk over there will start poking holes in the old man. The little one who makes so much noise they’ll save for later fun. Your big and bristly friend will start sprouting arrows, and then … well, and after that, do you really care?” All mockery left the man’s tone. His voice went hard and solemn, and he said, “Where is she?”

“I told you I don’t know.”

A long silence. Darric and Mandan exchanged a glance.

“Would you tell me if you did?” said the cloaked man.

Darric told the truth. “No.”

“Very well,” the man said, his voice all false regret. Then he raised it to a shout. “Razor Heart! Have your—”

“
Stop
!”

Everyone looked up.

The cliff was not an unbroken face. Ledges and cracks riddled its side where years of ice and tenacious roots had broken through the rock. A few dozen feet over them, two figures emerged on the ledge, one moving very stiffly.

The foremost was a hobgoblin, his helmet gone, blood leaking from his mouth, his left eye swollen shut. His hands were unbound, empty, and he held both out. Even from the distance, Darric could see they were trembling. Standing behind him, another figure held a fistful of the hobgoblin’s
hair in one hand and a naked blade under his throat. As she stepped into the growing light, Darric recognized the fearsome bone mask.

She called down to the cloaked man, “This fellow says he’s your second, and war chief of the Razor Heart clan. If your war chief is this easy, the rest of you shouldn’t be much of a problem. Let these four idiots go. I’ll release your chief and you can all skulk off.”