The fall of Highwatch con-1

by Mark Sehestedt

  Flowers grew amid the frost-in the dim light their petals looked silver, their leaves dark blue. Above she heard the songs of birds and cries of animals, but none she recognized.

  All this she absorbed in one glance, then pain broke her concentration.

  Cold hit her like a slap. Hard enough that she gasped. The sharp intake of breath froze the insides of her nostrils and slid like a razor down her throat. Her exhale plumed like a geyser in front of her, froze into a miniature storm of frost, and fell with a whisper on the ground. The skin on her face tightened, and she thought she could feel the blood just under her skin freeze solid. Both eyes seemed to turn to round stones of ice in her head. She squeezed them shut.

  She'd lived in snow-covered, ice-bound Narfell all her life, where winter winds howled down the mountainsides like tormented dragons. But she had never felt cold like this.

  "Bit of a chill in the air this morning, isn't there? "said Menduarthis, and when Hweilan opened her eyes a crack, she could see he was looking at her with that insolent smile. How could he be standing there bare-faced, no hat or hood, and seem so at ease?

  He rattled off a string of words in the lilting language of the uldra, and Nikle proffered a small wooden bottle.

  "Let me help you,' Menduarthis told Hweilan. He upended the bottle on his thumb and reached for her face.

  She flinched back out of reach.

  "Easy. This is halbdol. A bit scenty, but the fumes will keep your eyes from freezing in your skull.' "Why aren't you wearing any?"

  "I don't need it. Take it or not. You can walk around all squint-eyed and grow icicles off your nose if you like. Yes or no?"

  She gave him a curt nod and stepped forward. He smeared a thick coating of the black paste over each eyelid, coated the skin around her eye, and smeared a line below each eye. Then he drew a stripe down her nose and around each nostril, and coated her lips, chin, and cheeks. "Scenty" had been an understatement. The halbdol gave off wonderfully warm fumes, enabling her to open her eyes fully and breathe without pain. It had a heady scent of mint, flowers, and… something she couldn't quite place.

  "What is that made of?"

  Menduarthis chuckled. "Probably best you not know. There!"

  He stepped back and his chuckle turned into a laugh. Even Nikle and the other uldra smiled.

  "You look like a very sad skull," he said

  Hweilan scowled.

  "Forgive me," said Menduarthis. He handed the bottle back to Nikle, then bent and cleaned off his thumb in the snow. "It's quite becoming on you. The halbdol, I mean. Not the scowl." He turned on his heel and began walking away. "We must be off. Mustn't keep our lady waiting."

  Hweilan stood her ground. The uldra behind her crowded in close. Even Nikle scowled, and the others had taken tighter grips on their spears.

  When Menduarthis noticed he was walking alone, he turned and raised his eyebrows. "Problem?"

  "Where am I?" she asked.

  "You'll be in the bad graces of your hostess if you don't come along."

  "I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers."

  Menduarthis grimaced. "We shall talk while we walk, yes?"

  Hweilan spared the uldra another glance. The look in their eyes made the decision for her.

  "Very well," she said, and followed Menduarthis.

  "This isn't the Giantspires," Hweilan said as they threaded their way through the scattering of tents and fires amid the trees.

  "Very good," said Menduarthis. "You have a talent for noting the obvious."

  They passed into a part of the camp where the fires were fewer, the trees closer, and all around her the world was a mixture of snow amid dark blue shadow. The trees seemed an army of towers that disappeared into a foggy murk overhead. But amid the murk, Hweilan caught glimpses of glowing eyes. More uldra? Perhaps. But if so, they could climb like monkeys.

  "So where are we?"

  "Frightened?"

  "No,' she told Menduarthis, and was surprised to realize it was true. Everything around her looked, smelled, and sounded completely… other. Completely foreign to everything she knew. Still, something about it seemed right. Not quite comfortable exactly, but…

  "Home,' said Menduarthis.

  "What?"

  "The short answer to your question. This is home. I've lived here many years. The uldra call it ban Meidan, which in their tongue means 'our land.' "He chuckled. "Very imaginative folk, the uldra. But those people in your world who know enough to know of this place, they call it the Feywild."

  Hweilan's heart skipped a beat, and she gasped before she could catch herself.

  The Feywild.

  She'd heard bards' songs of the place, and Dorim's stories. Of all the dwarves who lived in Highwatch, Dorim was the only one to whom Hweilan had ever been close. Master craftsmen, his family crafted the bows for the Knights, and Dorim himself had crafted her father's bow. But more than a master of weaponry, Dorim fancied himself a loremaster-though Hweilan's grandmother had always called them "foolish dwarf nonsense.' But Hweilan had loved his stories-the ones he'd tell her over a fire on the coldest winter nights, his bare feet propped next to the fire, his favorite pipe dangling between his lips.

  All the lore and songs and fireside stories agreed on one thing-the Feywild was a place of peril, of beauties that would break your heart and horrors that would eat it. Some who wandered into the Feywild returned to the real world half-mad. And some never returned at all.

  She didn't know what to think. Her senses couldn't deny her present location, no matter how much her reason tried to fight it. She'd somehow stumbled into a bard's tale.

  "Where is Lendri?" she asked.

  Behind her, the uldra hissed. She turned and saw the hunters staring at her through narrowed eyes.

  "Hmm," said Menduarthis, and though his back was to her, she could hear the frown in his tone. "Best not mention that name around our little friends. Your pale pet doesn't have the best reputation 'round here."

  "Where is he? He isn't… dead?"

  "No." He cast a sly eye over his shoulder and winked at her. "But the day's not over yet."

  The darkness pressed down on them. Even with her keen eyesight, Hweilan could make out little except pale swathes of snow amid patches of shadow. They passed under a great arch of a tree root, icicles and silvery moss drooping from it like a ragged tapestry, before she saw the tundra tiger lounging atop the root, watching them.

  Menduarthis caught her wide-eyed stare and said, "You behave yourself and so will the uldra's playthings."

  She hurried under and past the root. The tiger watched them leave but did not follow.

  "Why am I here?" she asked. "Why have you brought me to this place?"

  "You'd rather we left you in the Giantspires to freeze or starve?"

  "Of course not. But why bring me here?"

  Menduarthis was silent a while. Long enough that Hweilan was beginning to think he wouldn't answer. But then he sighed and said, "I was bored."

  "You brought me here because you're bored?"

  "You were found in the company of an elf that the queen swore to kill if she ever found. A little exciting, yes? That makes you a candidate for… well, a few questions, at the very least. What happens to you next"-he turned and smiled at her, but it was the smile of a wolf finding a lamb all alone on the hillside-" depends very much on your answers." He looked around at their surroundings, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Best we not talk through this little bit of our stroll."

  "Why?" she whispered back. "You said the tigers would behave themselves."

  "There's more than tigers in these woods. Quiet now. And stay close."

  They wound their way farther down into the valley. They left the giant trees behind and entered woods that seemed more familiar to Hweilan-at least in size. Set amid the frost and snow, their bark seemed just a shade above black, and their trunks and branches leaned and twisted every which way. Even though they were seemingly still in the grip of winter, leaves fi
lled their branches. The leaves, some as large as her hand, seemed like an oak's-though the blade had far too many points and their veins looked silver, even seeming to glow if she looked at them just right. Silver moss and icicles hung from them, and undergrowth, aside from the occasional bit of the strange flowers, was sparse.

  Their path disappeared, and Menduarthis led them into the trees.

  The air became much quieter. There were no more songs of birds or cries of animals. Their footfalls crunching through the snow seemed muted, and even the uldra appeared uneasy. They gripped their spears in tight fists, and their oddly glowing eyes kept careful watch.

  A rift in the earth blocked their path. It was only four or five paces across, but so deep that Hweilan could not see its bottom. Ice-covered stone and soil fell away at her feet into shadow. Definitely too far to jump. Hweilan looked both ways, searching for a bridge. Then she saw somthing on the other side of the ravine.

  "That is the strangest tree I have ever seen," she said in an almost reverent whisper. The thing had two trunks that joined together about a third of the way up, then sprouted outward again just below the crown. It had an unsettlingly human shape. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of smaller branches, vines, and thorns sprouted from its limbs.

  At the sound of Hweilan's voice, the tree moved, the thick cluster of branches that Hweilan could only describe as a "head" turning toward them, and two eyes regarded her. They glowed like the uldras' eyes, verdant green, and the look was decidedly baleful.

  Menduarthis turned to her. He put a thin finger across his lips and whispered, "I said quiet."

  She stepped as close to him as she could without actually touching and whispered, "If this place is so dangerous and your queen wishes to see me, why has she not provided an escort?" Her words came out in a plume of frost that coated Menduarthis's shoulder.

  He smiled, but taut anger lay behind it. "What do you think I am?"

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he placed his hand over her mouth and shushed her. His skin was shockingly cool-far colder than any man's ought to be. She wondered how he could stand being outside without gloves.

  They continued on. The tree thing across the canyon followed them for a while, keeping pace and watching them from the opposite side. But the rift grew no narrower, and the thing made no effort to cross. Finally it gave up but stood there watching them as they continued. When they were almost out of sight, the thing threw back its head and let out a long, mournful sound that seemed part howl and part trumpet. It sent a chill down Hweilan's spine-and when other calls answered, in the distance, her chill grew into a full-fledged shudder. The sounds stopped them all in their tracks.

  "How many of those things are out there?" she said.

  Menduarthis turned and said, "We might just find out if you don't keep quiet. If I have to tell you again, I'm going to have Nikle gag you."

  They walked on, always downslope, and at a much faster pace.

  The rift widened the farther they went. The slope on which they trod grew steeper, the trees sparser, and more rocks began to peek through the snow. But Menduarthis seemed to know his way, and Hweilan followed his footsteps almost exactly.

  Walking near the cliff's edge, Hweilan looked down and was surprised to see something: the bottom of the canyon. Its flatness made her suspect it was a river or lake where the water flowed right up to the cliff's edge, for there were no trees or brush of any sort. Just a flawless sheet of snow, blue and sparkling in the faint light.

  "What-"

  "Best not to talk just yet,' Menduarthis interrupted, and he motioned to the path in front of them. "The walls have ears."

  Looking where Menduarthis had pointed, Hweilan saw that the woods were coming to an end, and they were nearing a wall.

  As their little company passed out of the shelter of the wood, they walked into snowfall. Large heavy flakes that seemed to whisper as they fell. They came to the wall, and Hweilan saw that it was not a wall at all, but a huge hedge, comprising many thousands of dark-green-leafed branches, each armored in an array of thorns. No frost of ice covered it, and there was movement within the branches. Furtive shapes that must have been very small to work their way through the tangle. Hweilan saw tiny pairs of eyes glowing from the shadows, but if they caught her watching, one blink and they were gone.

  "Menduarthis," Hweilan whispered, "what is in the hedge?"

  "Locals. Don't worry. They know you're with me."

  "That last local didn't seem to like you much," she said, thinking of the tree things.

  He shrugged. "Most of the locals don't. But they know I'm here at the queen's behest. No one will interfere with that. Now be quiet."

  Hweilan scowled, but the place seemed to call for quiet, almost as if the sound of snowfall was a constant shush. She turned to look at the uldra. The little hunters, all of whom seemed perfectly at ease around tundra tigers, were as wary as she'd ever seen them. They kept looking around, their eyes wide and movements skittish as birds.

  She saw no more eyes in the depths of the hedge, but she did notice that even the snowflakes would not settle upon it. Most flew away at the last instant, as if stirred by a puff of air. But a few did manage to hit an outstretched branch or leaf, whereupon the flake sizzled away into a tiny mist that fell to the ground.

  Menduarthis walked a few paces left, then back to the right, leaning in close and passing one hand over the hedge. The leaves and branches rasped and rattled as his hand passed over them.

  "What are you looking for?" she asked.

  He stopped and stood ramrod straight, heels together, head back, arms outstretched slightly. Almost exactly the same pose he'd taken that night on the mountain before Hweilan gasped and stepped back. She could feel the power building.

  Menduarthis leaned his head back, his eyes closed, but his nostrils flaring as he took in deep draughts of air.

  The ground shook. Just a trembling at first, like the feeling in the air during thunder. But then everything underfoot shuddered with such force that Hweilan fell forward into the snow. She looked up.

  Before Menduarthis, a shard of ice came up from the ground, splitting the hedge like shears through cloth. The shard was knife thin at first, but as it rose it thickened. By the time it stopped some ten feet or more above them, its base was wider than she was tall.

  Still holding his pose, Menduarthis flicked his fingers forward, and the ice shard split with a crack! that sent a gout of frigid air and frost spewing over him. He brought his palms together with a flourish, then waved them apart. The split shard molded outward into an arch, then melted away into a heavy frost, much like the snowflakes had on the leaves. When it was gone, all that remained was a tunnel through the hedge, blue-silver mist falling down the sides and swirling along the bottom.

  Hweilan pushed herself to her feet and brushed herself off. "What are you?" she said.

  Menduarthis dropped his pose and turned to her. The frost that had coated him melted before her eyes, falling away in that same strange mist that the snowflakes had. He looked down on her with the strangest expression. Curiosity? Bewilderment? A little of both, and something else. Something that bordered on affection. That made her more uncomfortable than all the rest.

  "You behave yourself, you survive your meeting with the queen, and I'll tell you all about me."

  "Survive?"

  "Too late to worry about that now," he said. He turned and walked into the tunnel. "Come along!"

  Hweilan followed. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the uldra did not. Nikle motioned at her-it seemed more of a benediction than a wave-then he and his companions turned and fled.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When they emerged from the tunnel, Hweilan and Menduarthis were in a field that sloped gently downward, filled with trees that she could not name. Their branches sprouted not needles but thick and vibrant leaves-some larger than her hand. Whether it was their true color or simply a trick of the dim light, the leaves had a bluish tint, the color of eve
ning clouds, thick with snow. Among them were waist-high bushes, their small, waxy leaves dark green and sprouting tiny flowers that seemed black against the falling snow that would soon hide them. The brush had a tangled look, but paths wound between them. The only sound was the falling of the snow and their own footsteps.

  Many side trails branched off their path. Hweilan stopped counting them after thirty. Theirs were the only prints in the snow. Occasionally their path took them beneath the boughs of the strange trees, and the ground was more frost than snow. Still, the ground sloped ever downward, as if the garden were set on a shallow hill.

  The woods ended on the lip of a steep bank. The snow was falling too fast and thick for her to see more than thirty or forty feet, but beyond the bank was a flat field of white. A lake or river, then.

  Menduarthis stopped in the shadow of the last tree. Hweilan stopped beside him and was about to ask why when she sensed it. Nothing tangible that touched her five senses. This tickled an older, more primal sense in the very core of her mind. Something was different here. The sense of the entire land being not only alive but aware. That awareness seemed focused, like the summer sunlight through the window glass of her grandmother's shrine.

  Menduarthis didn't turn but looked at her sidelong. "Are you ready?"

  "I've never met a queen before," said Hweilan, and she realized that her heart was beating twice as fast.

  "It wouldn't help you if you had. There are no queens like Kunin Qatar."

  "Is that good or bad?"

  "She is what she is," said Menduarthis. "If you're the praying sort, now is the time."

  He stepped forward and slid sidelong down the bank.

  Hweilan did the same, though as she hit the soft snow at the bottom, she wondered why. The part of Hweilan that loved the wild seemed to have gone numb out of sheer bewilderment. But the very small part of her that was still the pampered castle girl was wide-eyed awake, and she was screaming at Hweilan to run.

  She followed Menduarthis over the snow-covered ice, and the storm swallowed them. The trees behind them became indistinct, soft blue shadows watching over them from above. The last look over her shoulder showed them as little more than fading shapes in the snowfall. Then they were gone.