Hand of the Hunter con-2

by Mark Sehestedt

  "But that isn't what's really bothering you, is it?" said Hweilan, completely unconcerned. She took another bite of roast ram, swallowed, then continued, "Brother there speaks well and dresses like a proper knight, so I'm guessing our good Duke Vittamar raised him in his own household. An orphan then? Because if he's blood to you, Darric, it's only half-blood, and the other half isn't human."

  Mandan sat up and was half into a lunge over the fire when the growl hit them. For the briefest instant only, Darric feared it was Mandan himself and that the rage was upon him. But Mandan had frozen still as a dead branch. The growl filled their little branch-covered dell, and it hit the gut like a drumbeat, low and strong.

  And then Darric saw the wolf. He'd come down into the hollow by another entrance and stood just behind Jaden's left shoulder. His black lips were pulled back over his fangs, his ears lay flat against his head, and every bit of fur around his head and neck stood on end. Jaden's eyes were wider and brighter than new-minted coins, and his chin was trembling.

  "You should sit down," said Hweilan, her voice utterly calm, even relaxed.

  "Aye," said Jaden, just daring the slightest nod. "Do sit down. Good idea."

  Mandan gave the wolf a long, careful look, then scowled at Hweilan and sat.

  The ground-shaking growl stopped, and the wolf covered its fangs. His ears rose, twitched, and he settled on his haunches to watch Mandan through narrowed eyes.

  Jaden and Valsun let out a sigh, and Darric realized that he too had been holding his breath.

  Hweilan took a long swallow from her waterskin, tied it shut, then looked right at Mandan. There was no apology or sympathy in her gaze, but no anger either. Darric felt very, very grateful for that.

  Before the mood could sour again, Darric started talking. "Northern Soravia borders on the Great Glacier. A wild country. But still there are people who eke out a living there. Hunters, herdsmen, woodcutters… rugged folk. Some years ago, something began slaughtering their herds. And then woodsmen disappeared. A monster of some sort, said the locals. My father sent men to hunt down the beast. They heard tales of a great bear, a huge savage man, or something in between. They followed the trail of rumors into the villages near the mountains. There, they found a young woman, whom locals said had been ravished by the beast. She bore a child. She and the villagers were about to kill it-cast it on a pyre-but my father would not permit it. He said that no matter the crimes of the father, innocent blood would not be spilled in his land. In the tendays that followed, his men found a half-mad savage in the mountains, whom they said could turn into a great bear. They killed him. But my family raised the child. Mandan. His fury burns as hot as his joy, and he sometimes speaks before he thinks, but I have never known a finer man."

  "True words," said Valsun.

  In other realms, Darric knew such a thing would never have happened. Madness they would call it. But Damarans honored deeds more than heritage, and Darric's father-despite his faults-was Damaran to the core. He had raised Mandan in the faith and never once blamed the boy for his father's sins. And Mandan had never disappointed them.

  Hweilan said, "For a craven dotard, your father sounds like a good man."

  Darric blushed. "I do not regret my actions-coming here-but my words to my father are a shame to me. Do not make light of them."

  "Your turn," said Mandan, his voice tight with barely controlled fury.

  Hweilan nodded, considered a moment, then said, "Even fleas have fleas."

  Mandan blinked, completely taken aback. "What?"

  "You accused me of witchcraft. I can see why someone who has never known the world beyond the faith of Torm might think that. But you are wrong. I am no witch and no demonbinder."

  "And what in the Nine Hells do fleas have to do with that?" said Mandan.

  "Aye, good question," said Jaden, then shrank back at the look Mandan gave him.

  "Swiftstags feed on the grass," said Hweilan. "Wolves feed on the swiftstags. Fleas feed on the wolves. But there are things smaller still that feed on the fleas. And probably even smaller things that feed on the smaller things. And when the wolves die, they feed the grass. Such is the way of all things. To live is to feed on life and, in time, to die and pass that life on to another. Life, death… the Balance."

  "You've gone over to Silvanus then?" said Mandan. "That's what this is? I've met a druid or two in my time, and you're-"

  "No," said Hweilan. "Fleas on fleas."

  "What?"

  "Calm yourself and listen. The world is a bigger place than your simple answers, because you have never asked the big questions."

  Mandan shook his head in frustration.

  "Please," said Darric, "explain."

  And so Hweilan told them of her mother's people, of their exile in this world from a war in another. And as midday began to turn to afternoon, she told of the beings they served. Not gods, for they themselves served the gods.

  "Exarchs," said Valsun, his voice fallen to a fascinated whisper. He had always loved theology and philosophy-so much so that Darric had often thought the man would've made a fine priest. "Or primordials perhaps."

  Hweilan shrugged. "Neither. More and less. They are… primal. They served the gods-especially the one you call Silvanus-in their own way. And here"-she gave Mandan a pointed looked-"you will understand what fleas on fleas has to do with this. As I said, to live, to eat, to die and in turn feed others… that is the way of all things. That is the way of Silvanus. But what happens if one eats and eats and eats, and then refuses to die? When one lives only to consume? When one eats too much, grows too much…"

  "Disease," said Valsun.

  "Yes. To eat, to consume and devour only for the sake of devouring… it is disease and death. Any creature that does that only brings about its own doom-but perhaps not before killing everything around it. That is Jagun Ghen."

  And as afternoon turned toward evening, Hweilan told them the history of her people and their war against Jagun Ghen. Much of it she told very much as Lendri had once told it to her, sitting in that cave with Menduarthis. But she had learned-and seen and lived-so much more since then, and she put it into her own words. After a while, even Mandan's deep scowl softened, and he listened with rapt attention.

  She told them that Jagun Ghen had escaped into this world, and she told them what would happen unless he was stopped. And then as the darkness began to fold over their little camp, pressed back only by the light of their little fire, her story turned more personal. There was much she kept to herself, but she gave them the essentials-how a spellscarred Nar demonbinder had been trying to call forth some dark power and ended up opening the door for something far worse than he could have ever prepared for. Jagun Ghen had possessed him and used him to bring forth others of his kind.

  "These demons are not of this world," she told them. "So bringing them here is no easy task. It would be like dragging an eagle to the bottom of the sea-and having to find a way to keep the eagle alive. It took Jagun Ghen and his new host years to prepare, to find the proper Lore, and to put his plans in motion. But once he had everything he needed…"

  Firelight danced on all their faces. Hweilan set more wood on the fire and stirred it.

  Darric broke the silence. "Highwatch. Your people, your family… they-"

  "They were the sacrifice, yes. Their blood brought Jagun Ghen into the world more fully-and allowed him to begin to bring forth others like him. You met one of them last night. You saw what only one of them can do, while its power is not yet fully grown."

  "I'm sorry, Hweilan," said Darric. Valsun and Jaden echoed his sentiments.

  The anger had gone out of Mandan but he still looked solemn. "I grieve for your people," he said. "I never met your grandfather or family, but all spoke of them with honor. I pray to bring justice to their killers. But that still does not explain what I saw today, or how you learned to kill that thing last night. And your scars-"

  Darric broke in, "Mandan-"

  "No, Darric! Highwatch
fell less than four months ago. But look at her scars. Look! None but the one on her hand are new. And as for your friend here"-Mandan did not turn but pointed with his thumb at the wolf behind him-"explain that."

  "The wolf?" said Valsun.

  "Just a wolf?" said Mandan, still staring at Hweilan. "Then tell us: why doesn't he breathe?"

  Darric blinked and sat up straight. And he saw it too. Hweilan and the men-their breath steamed in the evening cold. But not the wolf. And now that Darric watched, he saw that its sides did not move.

  " 'Uncle' is not alive," said Mandan. "And I for one have never heard of any servant of Silvanus who makes a companion of the undead."

  Jaden, who had finally relaxed in the wolf's presence during Hweilan's tale, paled, and he very carefully scooted away from the wolf, closer to Valsun.

  "The wolf is undead then?" said Valsun. He had his own medallion in his hand and was looking sidelong at the wolf.

  "Not like you're thinking," said Hweilan.

  "What does that mean?" said Mandan.

  "It means as I said before: You aren't asking the big questions. Uncle is no longer alive as you and me, but he and I are not evil. Had we wanted to kill you, I could have left you for dead last night-or killed you in your sleep. Or I could kill you all right now."

  Darric heard the absolute assurance in her voice. She had no weapon close by other than the knife she had used to prepare their food. But she had no doubt of her own words.

  "And the rest?" Darric asked. His voice was gentle but firm. "Forgive me, Hweilan, but Mandan's questions are just. How did you learn so much in so little time? And the scars…"

  She told them of her escape from Highwatch and how she came to the realm of Nendawen, how he had chosen her as his Hand to hunt and purge Jagun Ghen and his servants from this world. Much she left out, partly because she knew they would not understand, but mostly because many of the wounds-those in her heart-were still too fresh to speak of, and she would not share such intimacies with strangers.

  "Time…" She shrugged. "It passes differently there, I think. I don't know how long I was there. Months… years perhaps? I don't know. I learned. I learned how to deal with Jagun Ghen and his ilk. And now I'm back. And I'm going to hunt down every last one of them."

  A heavy silence settled over them. Mandan was staring into the fire, and Darric recognized the look on his brother's face. He was wrestling with some inner conundrum, turning it over and over in his mind, worrying over it. Valsun was looking upward, almost wistfully, and Darric knew the man well enough to gauge his thoughts. All this talk of Silvanus and Nendawen, the Feywild and a generations-long war with some sort of evil demigod-Valsun was figuring a way to work it into his own understanding of the world. And Jaden was simply looking from face to face, reminding Darric of nothing so much as a henhouse rooster wondering which grub to peck.

  "You'll never make it back to Damara," Hweilan said at last. "Four men headed west through the Gap, with nothing to pay your tribute to the local tribes. Some of the kinder tribes might make you fight one another to the death and invite the survivor to join them. How'd you like life as a hobgoblin, Mandan?" She gave them a wicked smile.

  "We aren't going west," said Darric. "We came here to help survivors of Highwatch."

  "And who'll help us?" said Jaden.

  No one answered.

  Hweilan's eyes had locked on Darric. "That's your decision then?"

  Darric looked to his men. Mandan just scowled and shook his head.

  "I swore my sword to you, my lord," said Valsun. "Nothing's changed that."

  They looked to Jaden. "Well, sure as the Hells are hot I'm not walking back west through the Gap by myself, am I?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Darric woke to the sound of ravens cawing. He opened his eyes. It was still full dark. The embers of their fire cast the faintest glow into their little hovel. Mandan was already sitting up, the other two men stirring… and Hweilan nowhere in sight. After talking most of the afternoon and well into the evening, she had stoked the fire, wrapped herself in her cloak, and been the first to sleep. But she and all her belongings were gone.

  "What's that racket?" said Valsun, sitting up and blinking.

  Jaden stretched but stayed in his blankets. "Sounds like the ravens who shared our supper."

  "Ravens aren't night birds," said Mandan. "Something's riled them."

  The branches around the nearest entrance rattled, but before any of them could so much as reach for a weapon, Hweilan came back inside.

  "We're leaving," she said. She was wearing a full pack, a knife sheathed at her belt, another tucked into one boot, and her bow in hand.

  "What's wrong?" Jaden asked.

  "Company on the way," she said. "Stoke the fire and throw on the rest of the wood, then get moving." With that, she turned and was gone.

  "Why burn the wood?" Jaden asked as he climbed into his cloak and began gathering his few possessions.

  "The fire," said Darric as he threw on the wood and stirred the coals back to life. "It might distract whoever is coming long enough for us to get away."

  "Who is coming?" said Jaden.

  "You're in the Giantspires, son," said Valsun as he followed Hweilan. "Whoever it is, it can't be good."

  Darric and the others followed.

  Hweilan led them up the same saddle of the mountain to where Darric and Mandan had found her that afternoon. Only they went in the dark, no light but that of the stars and moon, and a hard wind coming down off the mountain that made the already frigid air deadly. They had just made the level height where Hweilan had found Darric and Mandan when Jaden fell and did not get up again.

  Hweilan kept going, headed for the crevice in the cliff.

  Darric tried to pull Jaden to his feet, but to no avail. The man sat there, huddled inside his cloak and shivering.

  "Up, Jaden. Now."

  "Let me die here," he said. "I'll go back to the fire. Better a quick death in battle than freezing to death."

  "He's right, my lord," said Valsun, who had turned back to help. He too was huddled in his cloak and shivering. "We need a defensible shelter. No use running if the cold kills us."

  Darric could no longer feel his face, and his feet and hands felt hard and brittle. His layers of clothing had kept out the worst of the cold so far, but he could feel it seeping in already, and they'd only been outdoors a short while. He knew his men were right.

  Jaden looked up to where Hweilan was already disappearing inside the crack in the cliff. "I miss the wizard," he said. "Could always count on him for a fire."

  Mandan looked to Darric. "What do we do?"

  Darric thought only a moment, then called out, "Hweilan! Hweilan, stop!"

  She rushed back to them, her movements stiff, the whites of her eyes shining with fury, even in the dark.

  "Are you mad? Why not just blow a horn if you want to tell everyone within a mile where we are?"

  Darric held her gaze. How could she not be freezing?

  "This won't work. We need a defensible shelter out of the wind-and a small fire at the least."

  "You want to die?" she said. "You go back to the fire and-"

  "And if we don't, the cold will kill us anyway."

  She cursed under her breath, turned-and stopped. Darric knew she was giving serious consideration to leaving them. Then she shook herself, tucked the bow under one arm, and began rummaging inside the large pouch on her hip.

  "What's she doing?" said Jaden.

  Hweilan tossed something into his lap. "Don't eat it," she said. "Just chew and swallow the juice."

  She gave each of the others a small dark lump, longer than it was wide and slightly pliable.

  "What is it?" said Valsun.

  "Kanishta root," she said. "Start chewing, then keep up. You fall behind and you're on your own."

  Jaden was the first to plop the root in his mouth and start chewing. His jaw worked a few times, he froze a moment, then began coughing.

&
nbsp; "Agh! That's foul beyond… beyond…" Another chew, a swallow, then very eager chewing. "Oh, that's heavenly. I take it back. Stuff and stiff the wizard, this is magical."

  He hopped to his feet as the others began chewing. Darric almost gagged. It tasted like roasted garden soil. No, worse. ItAnd then the warmth hit him. His entire head flushed, filling with heat, as if someone had emptied a bucket of steaming water over his head, for it spread all the way down, making even the tips of his toes and fingers tingle.

  "Better?" said Hweilan. "Then move. Now."

  The men hurried off after Hweilan, who had already disappeared through the crack in the cliffside.

  It proved to be more than a cave entrance. Beyond was a tunnel, leading up through the rock, albeit not very far. Through a very tight squeeze-Mandan barely managed it-they emerged on a higher level of the mountain saddle. The wind hit them full force, but with the kanishta root's juices flowing through them, the cold no longer had much bite. Still, on the ice-slick path, it made for very treacherous going, and the men often slipped, slid, and fell as they rushed to keep up with Hweilan. But keep up they did. Darric discovered that the kanishta root not only filled his body with warmth, but with vigor-at first with such a rush that his hands shook. But Hweilan set a brutal pace, leading them ever higher into the mountains, and Darric found himself using every bit of energy the root gave him.

  The eastern sky was lightening when their path finally leveled out somewhat. It was still hard going, but Darric no longer felt as if they were climbing more than walking. The mountain's peak rose on their left, its snow-covered heights gleaming in the moonlight. But Darric soon lost sight of it as their path plunged into a tree-choked ravine.

  Hweilan slowed, and by the way she constantly looked around, Darric could see she was agitated.

  He caught up to her and whispered, "What is it?"

  "Listen."

  Everyone stopped. At first Darric could hear nothing beyond the sound of the men's labored breathing. Then he caught it, just on the very edge of his hearing-a plaintive yip-yip.

  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.