The fall of Highwatch con-1

by Mark Sehestedt

"She knows we're here," Menduarthis whispered.

  The doors flew open toward them, pushed by a gust of frigid wind. The branches of the trees caught them, like the hands of eager attendants.

  The wind swirled around the room in a furious vortex. Beyond the open doorway, all Hweilan could see was impenetrable white, like the heart of a blizzard.

  She tried to back away, but the air seemed to solidify and push them both forward. Hweilan forced her legs to move, fearing that if she didn't the gale would simply bowl her over and shove her along like a dry leaf across a snowfield. They staggered through the doors, and in the great rush of wind, Hweilan thought she could hear a cold, feminine laughter.

  The doors slammed shut behind them, and the fierceness of the wind began to abate. The whiteness surrounding them flowed and swirled in a hundred streams, condensing more and more tightly, until they joined into a single cyclone

  In an instant, it stopped. Snow and frost fell to the ground with a million tiny rattles.

  Hweilan found herself in a wide room, with walls made of towering columns of ice in every shade of blue. They gave off a faint light.

  Before them, no more than five paces away, Queen Kunin Gatar stood in the midst of the last of the snowfall. Hweilan gasped at the sight of her.

  She'd expected a woman of her mother's age at the least, perhaps even her grandmother's. But the woman looking down upon her seemed scarcely past girlhood, her pale skin flawless, her hair swept back off her high forehead. Tight braids so black that the light reflecting off them shone blue were tucked behind high, pointed ears, and a hundred tiny diamonds-or perhaps they were bits of ice-sparkled in her hair. The queen's eyes were a blue so pale that the color simply seemed to fade into the whiteness beyond-and like Menduarthis's, they had no pupils. The fabric of her gown was gossamer fine, and the long strands of cloth dangling from her bodice and sleeves rippled and flowed in the eddying air currents of the room.

  "Well met," said Kunin Gatar. Her voice was light but had a hoarse edge, like new snow blown over hard frost.

  "W-well met, my lady."

  "My lady?" the corner of the queen's mouth curled up in a sardonic grin. "Not yet. But we shall see."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The scouts have returned, my lord," said Argalath. "The Gap is passable. Not easy, mind you, but passable. Our forces should depart within four days, as planned."

  "They will be ready," said Guric.

  Guric looked up at the archway in front of him. Dwarvish runes ran from the floor, over the curve of the arch, and down again. The splintered remains of the oak door still littered the floor inside the archway. Guric could count on one hand the number of times he'd been down in the parts of the fortress where the dwarves made their homes-and he had never been down this deep.

  "But," Guric continued, "we're not leaving Highwatch before I see Valia alive again. You must complete the rite."

  "My lord," said Argalath, "it is possible that the girl might be returned to us within four days." A moment's silence, then, "But she might not."

  "You heard me, counselor. I won't leave Highwatch until this is done."

  "Forgive me, my lord, but you must. To solidify your rule here, those houses sympathetic to Vandalar must be subdued before they have the chance to rally. And you must show your strength to the king. To allow our enemies to array against us-"

  "I didn't do this to be king," said Guric, and he had to press down the urge to shove Argalath into the stone wall, again and again until he heard bones crack. "I did this for her. Without her, none of the rest matters."

  "Valia will be restored to you. But unless we secure your rule here, you may find yourself branded an outlaw by summer. What kind of life will you be able to give her then?"

  "I don't care how much faith you place in your acolytes. Jatara has already failed us. I won't leave Valia's fate in the hands of those savages."

  "Of course not, my lord. You must lead your army into Damara, but I will stay here to finish the rite. Once Valia is alive-"

  "That was not the plan!" Guric stopped walking and faced Argalath.

  His plan had been simple in its brilliance. Secure Highwatch, then lead his forces through the Gap to Damara. Ride up to a city or fort with an army at his back, then come forward under flag of truce to discuss terms, with Argalath and his guard as escorts. When the city's delegation came out under flag of truce, Argalath would use his spellscar to kill all but one of them. The conniving fops would simply topple dead from their horses. Guric would then smile and inform the lone survivor that if the city surrendered and swore loyalty to him, everyone would be spared. But any who resisted would be instantly killed, just like these poor fellows.

  Absurd, of course. Argalath's spellscar actually held very little power. Using it, he could move objects with his mind. But only very small objects. Anything much larger than a flagon pained him. Put wine in the flagon and it could leave him bedridden and blind for days. But he had discovered something about the human body. A blood vessel below the brain was far, far smaller than a flagon-and much more flexible. Squeeze it shut, and a man would fall senseless in moments. Keep it closed and he would soon be quite dead. A simple trick. It took very little power. But power carefully applied could prove deadly. Still, using it against even a half-dozen people at once tired him greatly. The threat of using it against an entire populace… impossible. Argalath would be hard-pressed to use it against twenty people at once, and never at a great distance. Afterward, he might well be blind for days, and scarcely able to move. But the good people of Damara did not know that. Reality and perception were two different things. As long as their ruse remained a secret-and none knew beyond Guric and Argalath's bodyguards-it gave his counselor a dreaded reputation. One they hoped to use to subdue Guric's enemies with very little bloodshed.

  Guric wouldn't begin with the great castles or larger cities, of course, which were likely to have several wizards among their defenders. He'd take the smaller, outlying places at first. Those forts that surrendered would be left in peace-provided that their soldiers joined Guric's army. Those who refused… well, Argalath had other gifts besides his spellscar, and their strategy assured that the first forts they attacked could be taken with Guric's army if necessary.

  The conquered would first serve him out of fear, but soon out of love. He would rule with justice and a fair hand. He would free them from the oppressive incompetence of Yarin Frostmantle and make Damara the jewel of the north, Valia by his side.

  But without Argalath, it would be bloody battle after bloody battle. Guric would not be seen as a proud liberator. He'd be loathed more than Frostmantle. And if the Damarans did manage to rally quickly-not likely, but not impossible-his plan might fail altogether. If it failed, Guric could probably still lick the proper boot heels, and if fortune favored him he might come out as the new Duke of Highwatch. But Guric was done licking boots to get what he wanted.

  "Our plan is secure, my lord," said Argalath. "Though I fear we must make one small change."

  "What change?"

  Enough of Argalath's face showed within his hood that Guric saw his smile. "Follow me, my lord."

  They passed through an archway, decorated with dwarven runes. Beyond, the halls became rougher, their walls only minimally worked stone, save for the occasional rune etched into a wall or burned into a wood beam. But Guric and Argalath had left even those behind some time ago, passing through tunnels of round stone where Guric had to walk hunched over, holding the torch well away from him. No matter how he held it, the oily fumes seemed to gather around his head, as they walked into a natural cave, carved by time and water rather than hands. It was narrow, but high enough that Guric could walk upright again, and sometimes the roof rose out of reach of the torchlight. The air felt close and damp.

  The tunnel spread into a large chamber, points of stone dripping water from a high ceiling, and warped mounds of age-old rock, wet with condensation, reflecting Guric's torchlight into a thousand motes of li
ght. A path snaked its away among the rocks, and when Guric looked down he saw that it was not gravel on which he trod, but the dust from precious stones-rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, and bloodstone. They were walking on the treasure of a dozen lords.

  The path ended at a stone arch set amid the opposite wall. Hundreds of runes and images decorated the cut stones of the arch support, and on either side were two statues, each twice his own height. Their bodies were stout, their hands large. Guric thought they might have once been dwarves, but their features had been defaced, the stone hacked away, and newer runes painted in a dark substance covered them. Guric could read none of them, but he recognized the style of these new runes from some of Argalath's rites in which he had taken part.

  "What was this place?" said Guric.

  "A temple of sorts, I gather." Argalath turned, and the smile he gave Guric sent a chill down his spine. He motioned for Guric to go inside. "We have found better uses for it."

  Beyond the archway, all was darkness. Guric held his torch in front as he ducked into the tunnel. The ceiling was several feet above his head, but something about the feel of the darkness made Guric instinctively hunch over.

  Jewels of every color sparkled along the walls and ceiling. Gold, silver, and other precious metals had been inlaid into the stone, highlighting sculptures of dwarf heroes. But on the floor, rats squealed and scurried away from the torchlight, bugs crunched under Guric's boots, and with every step he waded through a thickening stench. He could hear Argalath following, but he kept his eyes forward, afraid that at any moment a cloud of bats might surge out of the darkness or the stream of rats might decide to brave the torchlight.

  "Not much farther, my lord," said Argalath.

  Guric ground his teeth. How many times had the man said that already?

  "Gods, Argalath, what is that reek? It smells like-"

  The light washed over a demon, standing in the middle of the tunnel, and Guric started. The thing stepped forward, and Guric saw that it was not a demon after all, but one of Argalath's special Nar. The man's head was shaved in a fashion uncommon to the Nar: completely bald save for a topknot, in which were knotted bones and teeth. His face had all the expression of a death mask. Bare from the waist up, his torso and arms were covered with inks and scars of leering eyes and tongues slathering around sharp teeth. The red and green inks had looked very much like scales in the torchlight, which was why Guric had first taken him for a demon.

  The Nar bowed and said, "Ka bar khorluk."

  Shielding his eyes from the torch, Argalath stopped beside Guric and said, "Ka bar khor," followed by a long string of words that Guric could not follow.

  The Nar answered, then turned away, the darkness swallowing him.

  "All is ready, my lord," said Argalath.

  They walked on, and within a dozen steps Guric could see light ahead. Low and purplish, like the dying light of evening. Another scent mixed among the stench. Smoke that smelled of spices.

  The tunnel turned to the right, and beyond, Guric's torch was no longer necessary. The tunnel ended and opened into a vast stone chamber, lit by coals burning in braziers so large that he could have bathed in one. The coals piled high within them glowed sickly purple and gave off a scent that seemed sweet but still tickled the back of Guric's throat, threatening to make him gag.

  But the light they cast, though it seemed weak-so much so that even Argalath did not flinch-went very far, lighting up a chamber in which a hundred people could have milled with room to spare. Carvings and symbols decorated every wall, and the five columns of natural stone that joined the floor to the ceiling at least fifty feet above them had been left unmarred, though fine bits of gold wire had been wound around them in intricate, interlocking patterns so that they seemed to have been dressed in metal lace.

  On the far side of the room was an altar half the size of Guric's council table. Two dwarf-sized statues flanked it, and one three times the height of a man looked down from behind, but all three had been hacked, defaced, and smeared with soot and a darker, wetter substance.

  The Nar guard that had startled Guric stood just inside the room with four others that might have been brothers to the first. So alike were they in dress, build, and the designs etched into their skin that Guric would not have been able to tell one from the other.

  Beyond the Nar, the stone floor sloped down into a sort of bowl, and Guric gasped at the sight. It was a charnel house. Bodies had been torn and spread apart. All of them human. Broken bones, shredded skin, flesh, and offal lay everywhere. Rats and other vermin crawled over the remains.

  But other corpses, whole corpses, stood among them, looking at Guric.

  "Behold your new army," said Argalath.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Queen stepped toward Hweilan. The rustle of her robes reminded Hweilan of the sound of Deadwinter wind in the eaves outside her window at Highwatch. Looking into the eyes of the queen, Hweilan felt a presence rattling around in her mind, any barriers she might have had against it long since ripped away and discarded.

  Kunin Gatar stopped, leaned in close and Hweilan heard a deep intake of breath. The queen pulled away, her head back and eyes closed, her nostrils flaring as she took in Hweilan's scent. The presence in her mind did not leave but seemed to settle in. Quiet. Lurking, watching like a predator in tall grass.

  "Hweilan, is it?" said the queen.

  "It is… uh, Queen." The last word ended in the tone of a question.

  Kunin Gatar gave her a tight smile, showing no teeth. "Address me with only the truth," she said. "We are not so caught up in titles as you mortals. Your petty lords… they drape themselves in titles like face paint on a whore, hoping it will make her a lady. I know who I am. What you name me says more about you than me."

  Kunin Gatar turned and walked away, and Hweilan saw that a throne now sat in the middle of the room. Had it been there before? She could not remember. It was like no chair she had ever seen, all jagged angles and sharp protrusions, save for the seat, back, and armrests, which were smooth as polished glass.

  While the queen's back was turned, Hweilan took the opportunity to risk a glance at Menduarthis. He stood several feet behind her, watching and waiting. He gave her nothing but a small raise of an eyebrow.

  The queen sat and said, "Would you sit?"

  Hweilan turned and saw that a chair of sorts now rested behind her. She was quite certain it had not been there a moment ago. It looked very much like an arm rising from the floor, made completely of ice, the hand bent back flat so that the palm formed a sort of seat, the fingers curling up into a backrest.

  "N-no. Thank you," said Hweilan. She could imagine those icy fingers closing into a fist all too easily.

  "As you wish," said the queen. She regarded Hweilan a moment, glanced at Menduarthis, then continued. "You are Hweilan, daughter of Ardan of the Damarans and Merah of the Vil Adanrath. Yes?"

  "Yes." Hweilan could not recall telling anyone the names of her parents. Had they beaten it out of Lendri?

  "I know of Highwatch," said the queen. "A pile of stone set on the mountains' last grasp. Nar used to winter there like cockroaches scuttling away from the light. Then came the Damarans, hoping to rape riches from the rock. Your fathers sat in their houses of stone and scattered favor to any too weak or stupid to seize it for themselves. And for this, they fancy themselves lords. You mortals know little of true power."

  Hweilan said nothing. The queen's words poked at the fire of her anger, but mostly because Hweilan, as a girl, had often thought the very things Kunin Gatar had just spoken. Hearing them come from her, Hweilan felt shame and anger.

  "I care not for the Damarans," the queen continued, and Hweilan saw a girlish glee in Kunin Gatar's eyes. "Like flies in the Melting days, they will serve their purpose, then die. And not even the stones will remember them. I will remain, and I will remember them as no more than an occasional itch I was forced to scratch."

  The queen gripped the arms of her throne
with a sudden fierceness, and Hweilan thought she heard cracks running through the ice.

  "But these"-the queen's lips twisted into a snarl-" Vil Adanrath they name themselves. That itch is long since scratched, save for one. So I would hear it from your own lovely lips, little Hweilan. Why are you running with that kus itaan sut?"

  "You mean Lendri?"

  Gale force wind shook the chamber, knocking Hweilan onto her hands and knees. Frost and ice stung her exposed skin, and through the howling air she heard the queen's voice, seeming to come from all directions at once.

  "I mean that murdering traitor! That-" the queen's words fell into a stream of words in a language Hweilan did not know.

  The wind abated as the queen's tirade died away, and when Hweilan ventured to look up, Kunin Gatar was standing again, her throne gone. Hweilan looked behind her as she pushed herself to her feet. Menduarthis was standing in the same place, covered with frost. But it didn't seem to bother him. He rolled his eyes and brushed it off his face.

  "Answer me, girl," said the queen, and when Hweilan turned, Kunin Gatar stood only inches away, cold radiating off her like heat from a forge. Hweilan hadn't heard her approach.

  "H-he found me," said Hweilan.

  The queen did not move. Her gaze did not falter. Did not soften. So Hweilan ventured on. The words tumbled out of her.

  "Highwatch… is gone. Fallen. By treachery, I think. I escaped." A sob shook her. But one look at the queen, and she did not even consider stopping. "I ran. Lendri found me. Promised to help me."

  Hweilan searched for more words to say. But there were none. The presence in her mind held her in its grip, and she found she could do nothing but look into the eyes of the queen.

  "Hear me, Hweilan," said the queen. "You would do well not to trust the words of that one. He holds them only as long as they seem comfortable to him."

  With that, the queen turned away. Her throne was back, and she sat again.

  "I… I don't know what you mean," said Hweilan.