Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II (42 page)

“Bastard!” Hweilan screamed, and launched herself at him. The brute was at least three times her weight and two feet taller, but Ashiin had taught her well. She knew right where to hit him, planting her heel directly beneath the spot where his ribs joined his chest. He folded in half and went down.

Although he was fighting for breath, he still made it to his feet the same time Hweilan did.

“Stop this! Stop this right
now!
”

Maaqua stepped between them, her staff raised, sparks still leaking from its length. Hweilan noted the sparks were the same color as the shaft of light that had struck her arrow.

“You stopped my arrow, y—!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Menduarthis sit up and raise one arm. Air swirled around him, fanning his hair outward and coalescing around his outstretched hand. It formed into a concentrated mass of force that shot out and struck the hobgoblin queen, sending her tumbling through the dirt.

Hweilan sidestepped and turned to face him.

One glance, and she knew it wasn’t Menduarthis. The tendons of his neck stood out taut, and his skin stretched over the tight muscles of his face. The ever-mischievous glint in his eyes had gone out, replaced by an empty hunger. And the familiar pounding in Hweilan’s mind was strong as ever. The demon was still here.

She reached for an arrow at the same time that Rhan roared and charged, black sword held high.

Another funnel of concentrated air struck the hobgoblin champion. It didn’t send him flying as it had Maaqua, but it did knock him off his feet and backward.

Hweilan pulled the fletching to her cheek and aimed. The runes on her bow flared, and she realized she had to kill Menduarthis. She had to—

She loosed, but another wave of air struck the arrow, and it hit the dirt a yard to Menduarthis’s left. Hweilan knew she’d have to get closer.

“Listen, Maaqua!” the thing said, turning its attention to her. “We know where you are. Bring us the girl, and we’ll let you live.”

Hweilan charged, fitting another arrow to her bow.

The thing raised a hand and spoke a word of power. Wind and dust funneled upward in a thunderous roar, and there was an ear-shattering
clap
as air rushed in to fill empty space.
The dirt was settling, showing dozens of hobgoblin warriors approaching and confirming what Hweilan’s mind already knew: Menduarthis—and the demon inside him—was gone.

Hweilan stood over her mother’s severed head. It had landed so that the open eyes stared up at the sky. Her mother was dead.

Moreover, she had been dead for a very long time. Had Hweilan taken just a moment to think, she would have realized that. She’d seen her mother’s spirit, with her father, a golden light around them. That thing might have stolen Merah’s body for a time, but the heart and mind of her mother had long since joined her loved ones.

Tears fell down Hweilan’s cheeks and she let loose a string of curses in every language she knew. She’d faltered. She’d failed.

“Hweilan?”

She looked up. Darric stood a few paces away, looking at her like a little boy who’d just stumbled upon a hungry wolf in the woods. Mandan stood just behind him, club in hand, doing his best to keep one eye on Hweilan and the other on the dozens of warriors watching the situation unfold.

“I should have killed it when I had the chance,” she said. “If I’d loosed at it instead of Rhan …”

“But … it had your mother,” said Darric. “Anyone would’ve—”

“That wasn’t my mother.”

Saying it aloud drove the point home. Killing her family … Hweilan had thought that was the worst thing her enemies could do to her. She’d been wrong. This was worse. This was desecration, sacrilege, blasphemy … no word fit. She had no word for it in any language she knew. But what it made her feel, that was easy. Rage. Fury.

What she’d been doing these past days—hunting Jagun Ghen’s minions—it had been stupid. If you want to kill ten thousand ants, you kill the queen. You kill the one laying
the eggs, not the ones gathering the food. She had to take care of Jagun Ghen. After that … the rest would be easy.

“Hweilan,” said Darric, “anyone here would have done the same.”

“Stop talking,” said Hweilan.

“Enough of this!”

It was Maaqua, approaching them, limping and leaning heavily on her staff, one hand clutched to her chest. She looked as if she’d just had the worst day of her life, but she was very much alive, and the glint in her eye made it seem as if she was ready to skin a tiger with her bare hands.

“What are you fools waiting for?” she said. “My mind is made up. Seize them.”

Mark Sehestedt
used to live in New Mexico, but he doesn’t anymore. He moved to Washington State, but he doesn’t live there any more either. He now lives in Midcoast Maine and has no plans to leave. He has never lived in Delaware.