"You're ready to cross that bridge?" Menduarthis said. "Once you do, there's no coming back."
"I'm not leaving without my father's bow. It's all I have left of him."
"You have your blood. If you rouse the queen's ire, she'll take that as well."
"Not without a fight."
Menduarthis watched her in silence. She returned his gaze without flinching.
"How far are you prepared to go?" he asked.
"As far as necessary."
"Have you ever killed anyone before, Hweilan? I mean a person-not a beast, not something intended for your table."
She remembered her first day on the run. The Creel chasing her down. The fear and anger in the man's voice-Face me! Come out and If she tried, she could still feel the shock going up her arms as she plunged her knife into the man's throat. She had killed him. No doubt.
But that had been different. The man had been hurting her, and she'd struck out. This would be different. This would be going after what she wanted and being faced with the stark reality of killing whoever got in her way.
"Are you a killer, Hweilan?" Menduarthis asked.
"Not… not like this," she said. "But I have to start some time."
Menduarthis donned the armor he had worn the first time she'd seen him then donned a blue cloak over it. Had his wild, black hair not spoiled the image, he would have looked every inch the prince.
He disappeared into the hallway again and returned with a large bundle. Fresh clothes for Hweilan. Not the leather and animal hides Lendri had provided for her, but fine clothing of an excellent cut. The material felt soft as fine linen over her skin, but it was thick as tent cloth and, he assured her, would keep her warm. Loose trousers and tunic, a jerkin that fell past her hips, all a dark gray that would fade into shadows, snow, and stone. Over that a sort of sleeveless robe with a deep cowl, rimmed in fur, all black, as were the belt, gloves, and boots he gave her. And over that a thick cloak made from the white fur of some animal. He even had the grace to turn his back while she changed.
"How do I look?" she asked when all was done.
"You don't look like you," he said, "and that's the important thing. Keep the hood up, and you'll pass a casual glance for one of the eladrin. Just pretend everyone is beneath you. Also very eladrin."
He turned and rummaged through a chest of black wood set against the wall. Peeking over his shoulder, Hweilan could see only more clothes, but when he stood and extended his hands, a long knife in a scabbard rested across both his palms.
"In case we run into trouble before… well, before."
She took it from him and drew the blade. It was single-edged, the point ending in a slight curve. The blade alone was as long as her forearm, and the silver steel was etched in curving designs that seemed to evoke wind and clouds.
"It's beautiful," she said. "Thank you."
"Keep it under the cloak," he said. "No sense in asking for trouble." He reached inside his own jacket and pulled out a small phial. "One more thing."
"Halbdol?"
"You're still in Kunin Gatar's realm, and it's still very cold. You'll want it. Trust me."
"Why don't you need it?"
"A long tale. For another day."
She closed her eyes, and Menduarthis applied a thick coat all around her eyes, painting a sort of mask. But her hair kept falling in the way. Her eyes still closed, she felt him brushing the hair back behind her ear, very gently with the backs of his fingers. His touch lingered a bit too long, and she pulled away.
"Let me do something about my hair," she said. Feeling her face flush, she turned away.
"Here," said Menduarthis. "Try this."
She turned back around. He was holding out a long silk scarf, a dark red, like heart's blood.
"It's lovely," she said. As she took it, the scent of a feminine perfume wafted out from it-fading, but still there. She gave him a wicked smile. "Something tells me I'm not the first lady to enjoy your hospitality."
He grinned back. "So you are enjoying me, then?"
Hweilan took the scarf, swept her hair back off her head, and bound the cloth atop her head.
She held out her hand for the phial. "I can do the rest."
"As you wish," said Menduarthis.
Rather than another death mask, Hweilan smeared the halbdol on one finger and covered most of her face, neck and ears.
"Most fearsome," said Menduarthis. "Let's do this."
He walked over to an open space on the floor between the shuttered windows and motioned toward the floor with one fist. With a rush of air, a door flew up from the floor and banged against the wall.
Remembering the night she'd first met Menduarthis, and being reminded of his powers now, Hweilan asked, "You're a sorcerer?"
"Nothing so droll," he said. "Let's get today over with, then we can get to know each other properly."
Hweilan felt herself blushing again and was grateful for the black paste covering her face.
They stepped outside, into a gust of frigid air and snow. The cold hit like a slap, and Hweilan cried out.
"Hmm," said Menduarthis. "Good thing you painted yourself with the halbdol after all. Looks as if Kunin Gatar's in a mood today."
They stood on the broad ledge of a cliff. How far it ascended over the ledge and fell below, she couldn't tell, for the snow hid everything beyond a few dozen feet. She saw another round door and shuttered window peeking through the snow. Whether they were other dwellings or more of Menduarthis's, it didn't much matter now. Hweilan knew she'd either be dead or gone from this place before the day was done.
Menduarthis led her down more steps-none with rails, and she walked as close as she could to the rock wall-along more paths along cliffside ledges, and across stone bridges where the wind seemed determined to push her over the edge. She clutched at the insides of her cloak to keep it near her body, not just for warmth, for she feared if the wind caught it, it would fill like a sail and throw her into depths where she might fall forever.
Only the halbdol kept her face and eyes from freezing, but her breath came out in great clouds that froze into snow only inches from her face before being swept away by the gale.
Hweilan saw no other living creatures, but she could sense things watching them from the storm. Sometimes with only simple curiosity. But once, as they passed underneath an overhang of black rock, she could feel malice washing over her, like a foul stench, and Menduarthis called over the shriek of the wind, "Best stay close here!"
She didn't ask why, and the feeling soon passed.
They continued on, rounding a bend in the mountain and walking into the face of the wind. Every step brought them closer to the palace. They were walking into the heart of the storm.
By the time they reached the frozen river, the light was beginning its slow fade to evening, and the new snow was up to Hweilan's knees. With no snowshoes, they had to wade through it. But Menduarthis had spoken truly about the clothes he'd given her: even walking into the wind, Hweilan wasn't cold.
Menduarthis kept near the base of the cliff, for out on the snow-covered ice, uldra were racing down the river in sleds affixed with large sails. They moved incredibly fast, and although Hweilan caught only glimpses of them through the snow, she thought by the snatches of laughter she heard that most of the sailors were children.
As they neared the section of the cliff, on the other side of which lay the main gate, two uldra passed them riding on the back of a great swiftstag. Menduarthis spoke to them in their language-Hweilan tense and looking elsewhere the whole time-then they rode off. She watched them go until the great beast was lost to the storm.
"I thought they rode tigers," Hweilan said to Menduarthis.
"Only the Ujaiyen," he said, "the queen's scouts. Other uldra ride swiftstags, wolves, rams. I've heard rumors there's one old fellow a ways upriver who has tamed a bear. But on the rivers and fields, they love their sailsleds. Not much good up in the mountains and woods, though."
Another
sailsled raced by, just a swift shadow passed through the swirling snow. The sound of laughter lingered after the sled was lost to sight.
"Who said there are no benefits to a queen's wrath?" said Menduarthis
He led Hweilan to the cliffside. Under the snow, Hweilan could feel her boots cracking on something that felt like dry branches-many of them too thick to break and simply threatening to trip her.
She knelt in the snow and rummaged under it until her glove brushed up against one of the branches. She grabbed it and pulled it out. It wasn't a branch. It was a bone. A leg bone by the looks of it. She was no expert on such things, but its narrow length looked very much like a human leg bone. She tossed it aside, then found another. Definitely a rib. When her other hand brushed up against something more round, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, fearing what it was. Her fears proved true. Her hand emerged from the snow with the upper half of a human skull.
She looked up at Menduarthis. "What is this?"
He pointed up. "We're here."
Hweilan looked up. The falling snow obscured everything above a few dozen feet. But she could just make out where the wall of the cliff began to lean out a little.
"We're where?" she asked.
"You said you wanted your things back."
"Roakh lives here?" Hweilan looked back down at the skull in her hand and remembered her meeting with Roakh in the palace. Memory of the old nightmare came to her again, of ravens on the battlefield, their dead, black eyes eager for hers.
"For the moment," said Menduarthis, and it took Hweilan a moment to catch his meaning.
She reached behind her back and drew the knife that Menduarthis had given her. "I'm ready," she said.
Menduarthis extended his hand. "Very well," he said. "Come here."
Hweilan walked to him, the knife held loosely at her side, and stopped just shy of his hand.
"Don't you trust me?" said Menduarthis.
"I'm here, am I not?"
"That's not what I meant. Roakh's up there." He pointed to the cliff wall above them. "I can get us there, but not like this. You must suffer my embrace for a few moments."
Hweilan scowled. "Suffer your-?"
Menduarthis lunged, adder-quick, taking her in a tight embrace, his arms pinning her own. She stiffened as she felt his cool skin press against her cheek, but he only held her tighter. Then the breath of his whisper in her ear. "No one likes a coward. Trust me."
Before she could react, she felt a great rush of air-not the storm, this gale was narrow, concentrated, and under the control of strong will. She almost panicked and tried to fight her way free, but she remembered exactly how Menduarthis had captured her in the first place, and she decided to trust him. Just this once. She could always use the knife once he let her go.
The wind swirled around them, so fast and fierce that it felt almost solid. Menduarthis held her very tight, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe.
The air hit them, a physical blow that knocked them off their feet.
No, Hweilan realized. It was lifting them. They had lurched, but not down. The cyclone was lifting them up, faster and faster each moment.
Hweilan felt a scream building in her chest, and just when she could contain it no more, the cyclone was gone, the wind simply dissipating. Still in Menduarthis's tight embrace, Hweilan fell. Not far, but enough to clamp her teeth together.
They hit a snow-covered ledge of rock and rolled. When they stopped, Hweilan was on her back, Menduarthis on top of her.
He pulled the upper half of his body up and looked down on her. He had a dark smear of halbdol across one cheek where he had rubbed against her. "Do you trust me now?"
She pushed him away with her free hand. "A lot less than I did a moment ago."
They got up. Hweilan found herself on a curving lip of rock several feet wide. Up here, the wind from the storm was stronger, and less snow had gathered. The litter of bones was much more evident. Four skulls-one of which still had bits of flesh and hair clinging to the scalp-and countless random bones strewn about. Even in the wind, the ledge reeked.
Set amid the cliffside was a round window, closed by a thick shutter. It hadn't been crafted by planks of wood, but seemed rather to have been grown or molded, almost like the parchmentlike outer wall of a wasp's nest.
"Follow my lead," said Menduarthis. He walked over to the shutter and raised a fist.
The shutter flew outward, barely missing Menduarthis and revealing the upper half of Roakh, standing on a lower floor just inside the window. Snowflakes sprinkled him, laying against his gray skin and black hair in stark contrast.
"Govuled, Menduarthis," he said. "I thought I heard-" His gaze found Hweilan. She felt it, almost like a physical touch, those black eyes, void of all warmth and emotion save one. Hunger. "What have we here? Brought me a gift, have you?"
Roakh's eyes flicked to the naked blade in Hweilan's hand. His eager gaze was just turning to a scowl when Menduarthis said, "I have.
"And what is the precious gift's name?"
"Boot."
"Boot?" Roakh looked up at Menduarthis — and Menduarthis kicked him in the face.
Roakh fell backward into the room, and Menduarthis jumped in after him. Hweilan's eyes, accustomed to the glare of the snowstorm-fading as it was to evening, it was still bright compared to the gloom beyond the window-could not see the two men, but she could hear Roakh's surprised croak, followed by the sound of more blows landing.
Inside her gloves, Hweilan's palms felt hot and slick. She tightened her grip on the knife and approached the window. Closer up, she could see bits of the room beyond. A hallway not much wider than the window continued a short distance into a larger room beyond. Still no sign of Menduarthis or Roakh, but she could hear frenzied movement inside.
"Hweilan!" Menduarthis called. "Do come in. It's rude to linger outside windows. Someone watching might think we were up to something."
She jumped inside. Keeping her back to the window, she walked forward, the knife held in front of her. She could feel her arms and legs trembling like plucked harp strings, and her breath seemed very loud in her ears.
The room beyond was a wreck. Round walls and a domed ceiling, it seemed-much like Menduarthis's dwelling had-to be more of a cave molded from the rock of the mountain. Shelves lined the wall to her left, each crammed full with bits of clothing, old boots, weapons, jewelry, brass lamps, scrolls, books and pieces of books, and many things Hweilan couldn't identify. Piles of similar items lay around the room, on tabletops, on the floor, and more bundles of sackcloth or net hung from the ceiling, every one packed full.
Menduarthis, a thin trickle of blood dripping down his chin, stood in front of the far door. Roakh, his mouth a mess of blood and broken teeth, one side of his face already swelling, stood pressed against the far wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Treachery!" Roakh screamed, and it came out more of a croak than a cry. "You know what happens to traitors here. Kunin Gatar will flay you for this."
"Perhaps," said Menduarthis. "But not today. Today, you will give us what we want."
"I'll tell you where he is," said Roakh. "Just… don't hurt me anymore."
"Where who is?" said Menduarthis.
"Lendri. Please! He's… he's still alive. The queen ordered him taken to the Thorns. She wants him to die where Miel Edellon died."
Menduarthis pursed his lips and nodded, taking this in. "Very nice," he said. "But that's not why we're here, old crow."
Roakh's eyes widened. "What… do you want?"
"Hweilan here has come for her things," said Menduarthis. "Her father's bow."
Hweilan nodded. "I want it."
Menduarthis smiled down on Roakh, and a shiver went down Hweilan's spine. It was the first time she had seen such an expression from him: pure, undisguised, joyful malice. "I think you know what I have come for, old crow."
Roakh pushed himself away from the wall and into a crouch, his limbs trembling with fury and pain. He
glared at Menduarthis a long moment, then said, "Why?"
Menduarthis shrugged. "Why not?"
Roakh leaped at Hweilan. His form blurred and twisted to wings, feathers, and long, sharp claws, aiming for Hweilan's face.
Menduarthis flicked his wrist and thrust an open palm at Roakh. Wind roared through chamber, blowing scrolls off shelves, ripping pages from books, and setting the dangling nets and bundles to swaying. But one directed current of air struck Roakh full force and smashed him into an upper shelf. Hweilan winced at the sound of cracking wood and bone, then Roakh, shocked back into his elflike form again, hit a table below, smashing it beneath him and scattering jewels and coins all over the floor.
"Best not try that again," said Menduarthis. "Hollow bird bones break so easily."
Roakh lay writhing atop the smashed table, clutching at his right side and moaning.
"You broke my arm, you-" The rest of Roakh's rant faded into a long string of words in another language that Hweilan was quite sure were curses.
"Give the lady her bow," said Menduarthis as he walked over to stand over Roakh. He bent down and began to stuff his pockets with jewels and coins. "Be good, and I'll leave you tied and gagged in one of your nets. Continue being… difficult, and-well, have you ever seen an old wineskin filled with too much wine? Imagine what would happen if the air in your wretched frame did the same thing."
Menduarthis stood and twirled his fingers in an intricate pattern, and Hweilan felt a breeze waft through the room. Roakh gasped No, not a gasp. Air was rushing into his lungs, very much against his will. He clamped his jaws shut, then pressed his unbroken hand across his nose. His eyes widened with fear, and tears leaked down the sides of his face.
"I can shove it in through your ears," said Menduarthis, "though we won't be able to continue our conversation once all the little bones in there get shoved down your throat. So give"-he kicked Roakh in the ribs once, a rib cracking under the blow-" the girl"-another kick, and Roakh dropped the hold on his nose-"what"-another kick, this one aimed at Roakh's knee-"she wants!"
"Ah!" Roakh screamed. "Stop! Stop, please! I'll do it."
The fall of Highwatch con-1 Page 22
