Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II

by Mark Sehestedt

  “Why do you care?” The question came out before she had really considered it. But hearing it, she knew it cut to the heart of the matter. What Gleed was telling her … it walked a bit too close to treachery.

  The old goblin looked away. Both eyes closed, and for a moment all sense of power left him, and he just seemed very, very old.

  “I have served the Master for …” He sighed and opened his eyes. The mantle of power seemed to settle back over him, but his voice still seemed more tired than anything. “Years on years on years. I am devoted to him, in my own way, and I do not regret my choice. But those years … I feel them. And I know what they have cost me. I know what they will cost you. You don’t. All you can see is your rage and your mission. Good. You’ll need that in the coming days. You’ll need that and more to defeat Jagun Ghen. But after … you have something I never had, girl. A chance. There’s something in you, something I suspect has made even the Master wary. He hadn’t expected it. But he knows it’s there now. Make no mistake of that. He will try to conquer it. Or tame it. But if he can’t, once you’ve proved your usefulness to him … well, he is the Hunter. Once his favorite prey is gone, he’ll need another.”

  Hweilan let that sink in. She’d been afraid a long time. But her chief fear had been of failure, that all the horrors that had killed her family and ruined her life would win. All her efforts these past days had been directed at never allowing that to happen. Nendawen and the power he offered her gave her the one thing she needed more than anything else. Hope. But Gleed’s words chipped away at that. Could Nendawen be both her hope and her doom?

  “You’re saying once Jagun Ghen is gone, Nendawen will kill me?”

  “I’m saying there are worse things than death, and if you don’t want to discover them firsthand, you had best plan.” Gleed fixed his empty eye on her, and again she was convinced that it wasn’t blind at all. “In the venom dream of Kesh Naan, you saw your ancestors, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your Vil Adanrath ancestors.”

  Hweilan knew where he was going with this. Kunin Gatar and Menduarthis had come to much the same conclusion. That one of her ancestors was … other.

  “You know something,” she said. “You know what it is—that, whatever it is, inside me. You know. ‘I can help you get away,’ you said. You wouldn’t have said that if you hadn’t figured it out. How did you figure it out?”

  Gleed smiled. It was the look he gave when he was entering the role of teacher, very pleased with himself at knowing things others didn’t.

  “You would do well to remember that I did not always live in this crumbling old tower, that my lore is deep, and that I know others beyond this place. Your mother left her people. She seldom spoke of them to you, did she?”

  “A little. She told me stories, taught me some of the traditions.”

  “But nothing intimate. In fact, I’d wager she never once spoke of her own parents, and that if you ever asked, she seemed less than pleased at the question. Would I win that wager?”

  “Yes,” Hweilan said, and her memories of those times suddenly seemed very fresh. Merah’s life in Highwatch had not been unhappy, but neither had it been easy. Her father’s mother had never been able to see beyond the “half-elf barbarian” with whom her favorite son fell in love. Hweilan had always assumed that her mother had left her people and their traditions to bring some peace in the household and to try to fit in to her new life. It had never once occurred to her that Merah might have had reason to leave the Vil Adanrath.

  “Your mother’s mother,” said Gleed, “was Thewari of the Vil Adanrath. That much I have learned. But your mother’s father … I have searched and asked everyone I know in all the former lands of the Vil Adanrath—I even went to their new home and asked enough questions to make me leave with their arrows at my back—and I cannot find the name of Merah’s father. In all the world, I can think of only two people who might be able to tell you.”

  Hweilan tried to think of who that might be. She couldn’t think of a single person, so she finally said, “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  That brought a flare of pain and anger to Hweilan, and she almost shouted that her mother was dead. But then she realized that for one such as Gleed, death might not be an insurmountable barrier. So she said, “And the other?”

  “Lendri.”

  She let that sink in, but still it made no sense. “You think Lendri’s ghost has to tell me of my grandfather, and that might … what? Help me escape from Nendawen when the time comes?”

  Gleed pursed his lips and took his time before answering. “Why Lendri has come to you … I don’t think he is being driven to tell you of your grandfather, no. I think this Lendri has a different fate. But I do think that finding the name of your mother’s father—and Lendri might well know—could be a key to a great box of secrets. I cannot give you those answers. But I will counsel you this: We all serve someone, Hweilan. You, me, Ashiin … we serve Nendawen. And Nendawen serves a greater one above him. His master may well serve someone above him. In this world and all the others, there is no such thing as complete freedom. We all serve. If the time comes when our Master’s leash no longer fits you … well, you would do well to find one that does.”

  “And you think my grandfather—”

  “I think this old goblin has given you a place to look,” he said, his voice harsh and solemn. “One you should keep to yourself. And right now, that’s all I think.” But then his voice softened. “Sometimes the teacher can hold your hand, and sometimes the teacher can only point the way. In this, I am only pointing.”

  They sat in silence awhile, Gleed staring at Hweilan and Hweilan staring but seeing more inside than out.

  When Gleed finally spoke again, Hweilan knew by the tone in his voice that the conversation was over. He laid a most reverent hand on the bow in her lap, and said, “You are ready to use this?”

  Hweilan held his gaze. “More than ready. But Ashiin said it first needs sacrifice.”

  Gleed closed both eyes slowly and nodded. “Yes. And that comes tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Feywild

  THAT NIGHT, HWEILAN WAS AFRAID TO CLOSE HER eyes. Not because of the thought of sacrifice and awakening the bow—there was trepidation there, yes, but that was tinged with more eagerness than anything. The simple fact was that, given her past experiences with Gleed, she was half afraid that she’d close her eyes and wake up naked in the woods. She promised herself that no matter what Gleed offered her to drink, she would refuse it.

  But as it turned out, Gleed would allow her nothing.

  “You will eat or drink nothing till dawn. Let your strength be my teachings, the visions of Kesh Naan, and the wiles of Ashiin.”

  She lay awake that night as long as she could, eyes half-closed, watching Gleed as he fed sweet grass and oak leaves into the fire and waved the smoke over his face, muttering as he meditated. But no matter how hard she tried to stay awake, her body was exhausted. The strength from Ashiin’s potion had long since worn away, and Hweilan seemed weaker than ever. Long before midnight, she slept.

  Gleed woke her, prodding her with his staff. The chamber lay in darkness, lit only by a somber glow of embers from the hearth.

  “Up,” said Gleed. “It’s time. Bring your weapons.”

  He led her outside. Stars still sparkled overhead, but a thick mist lay over the lake, hiding the far shore and woods. Dawn was only a glow in the east. But something was alight on the far shore, a flicker of red through the fog.

  They crossed the bridge, and Hweilan saw that the glow was a large fire burning in a ring of black stones.

  “It begins at dawn. One drink from the stream,” said Gleed, “then we prepare. And bring some water back with you.” He handed her an empty skin.

  “What begins?” said Hweilan.

  “Your final test. The hunt.”

  “What am I hunting?”

  Gleed looked away, staring into t
he fire. “You are being hunted, girl. By the Master. After, you will begin your hunt of Jagun Ghen. If you survive.”

  Those words brought others back to her mind. Words from a dream long ago that she realized had been more than just a dream—You do not need understanding. You need to choose. Understanding will come later … if you survive.

  That time had come. Fear welled out of Hweilan’s gut, making each breath an effort. She remembered her last encounter with Nendawen, how he had completely overwhelmed her. But, Hweilan reminded herself, she was stronger now—not only in body, but in heart and mind as well. She was ready. She didn’t know if she could survive Nendawen, but she knew she was ready to begin her own hunt. If she died, so be it. Today, the uncertainty would be over, one way or another.

  Hweilan walked to the stream, splashed water on her face to banish the last vestiges of sleep, filled the skin, and then took a long drink. As she came up out of the water, she saw a reflection rippling on its surface—a dark shape, its head framed by antlers.

  She gasped and sat up. But it was only the branches of a nearby tree. Still, she could not shake the feeling of being watched. She glanced back at Gleed, but he had his back to her and was busily preparing something near the fire.

  It took all her courage to turn her back on the stream and keep her pace at a leisurely walk as she went back to the fire.

  “Sit,” said Gleed.

  She sat beside him.

  “First, you must prepare the bow,” Gleed said. “Then, you must prepare yourself.”

  As the eastern sky slowly grew brighter and the stars dimmed overhead, Gleed instructed her on the proper symbols to cut into the bow. She used the same enchanted spike that Gleed had used to give Hweilan her first uwethla. Praying and speaking the sacred words, she heated it in the fire till the tip glowed red, then carved the shesteh into the bow, Gleed telling her exactly which ones to use.

  The last one surprised her. It was ashiin, the symbol for “fox.”

  She started to ask about it, but then the answer occurred to her. Ashiin had been her teacher in the hunt, had instructed her to stalk and kill as the fox. What symbol could be more fitting?

  Gleed took a white leather bag out of the folds of his vest, untied it, and upended it over the fire. A heavy silver powder spilled out. No more than a handful, but it utterly doused the fire and filled the air with an earthy, bitter scent.

  “Water,” he said, and Hweilan handed him the skin. He splashed a generous amount on the coals and ashes, then stirred them with a stick, muttering an incantation as he did so.

  He picked a cooled coal out of the fire pit and said, “Lean close.”

  She did. He used the coal to paint sacred symbols on her forehead, both cheeks, then down her nose and chin. While he did so, she twisted her hair into a tight braid. Holding the finished rope of hair in her hands, she noticed for the first time how long it was. Her last days in Highwatch, her hair had been just past her shoulders. Now, the tip of her braid touched her waist. Had she really been here that long? She looked down at her arm. She’d never had the palms of a proper court lady, but now they looked exactly like what they were—the hands of someone who spent most days in the wild, using tools of the hunt and killing. Her arms were a mass of scratches and scars, and the muscles under her skin were hard and tight. If there was anything left of the soft castle girl who had come to the Feywild, it was buried deep inside her.

  “In life we walk to death,” Gleed said, “but death is no end for those who walk in faith and courage. Look now through the ghost of fire—and do not fear death if it finds you today.”

  He lowered his hands, and the familiar sigh he gave told her that the formalities were over. It was almost time.

  “You may take any weapon you wish,” he said, “except for the bow. I will guard it. If you survive this day, it will be returned to you, strong once again.”

  Gleed reached around the fire, then handed her a large wooden bowl, filled with samil, the dark green paste that would mask her scent.

  “Don’t be shy with that,” he said.

  She took it, dipped three fingers in, then stopped. “No.”

  “No?”

  Hweilan looked at the sky. The last of the stars were fading and the last of the bats had gone home. “How long do I have?”

  “Not long,” said Gleed.

  “The Master will have his wolves?”

  “Undoubtedly. You need the samil.”

  “I have a better idea,” said Hweilan, and she ran for the tower.

  When she emerged, the last of the stars were gone, and the sky in the east was truly a pale blue. As she stepped off the bridge and onto the lakeshore, a series of howls wafted out of the east.

  Gleed’s eyes went wide. “He’s coming, girl. Coming now. What are you doing?”

  Hweilan was trembling too much to be careful, so she threw the large satchel on the ground and tore open the flap. When Gleed saw what she was after, he let out a shriek.

  “Are you mad? They’ll smell that a mile off!”

  “I’m counting on it,” said Hweilan as she pulled the stopper out of the green glass bottle. It was filled with a viscous liquid. Maaguath. Hweilan had made it herself. Spread on a blade, it would burn an open wound like fire and prevent the blood from clotting. But it smelled like something that had died in the bottom of a wine cask.

  She spread a thin line of it on the back of each of her boots, stoppered the bottle, put it in her pocket, then gathered the other things she needed. She stood, made sure both her knives were secure in their sheaths, then managed to give Gleed what she hoped was a brave smile.

  “See you soon,” she said, then ran into the woods.

  More howls broke the morning silence. They were much closer.

  Head bowed, staff across his lap, Gleed waited by the ashes of his fire. The howls had stopped, and that told Gleed they were close. When wolves truly began the hunt, they moved silent as ghosts. Much smarter than their yammering domesticated cousins.

  Gleed did not hear the Master approach, but he sensed his presence. The power of Nendawen resonated far beyond mere sight, and all of Gleed’s senses knew beyond doubt that he was no longer alone.

  Keeping his gaze down, he stood, turned, and kneeled.

  He heard a growl, so low and strong that it made the ground tremble beneath his knees. He looked up and saw Nendawen before him, spear in one hand, fresh blood dripping from the other. His eyes blazed green from the mask of bone, and four of his wolves stood around him. The nearest was the one growling. A huge monster, all black fur, even standing straight up Gleed would not have been able to look it eye to eye.

  “My Master,” said Gleed, and prostrated himself.

  “Master of Making,” said Nendawen. “My disciple is ready?”

  Eagerness came off Nendawen like a musk. Gleed knew that Hweilan’s life hung by a spider’s thread. She was the Chosen of Nendawen, but the Master would accept only the most worthy and would show her no mercy. The girl had to earn her place. But Gleed also knew that there was something in the girl that even the Master had not planned on, had not even seen.

  “Hweilan inle Merah stands ready,” said Gleed, his face still in the dirt.

  The wolves started snuffling, exhaling through their noses into the dirt, then inhaling in quick puffs of air. Gleed looked up and saw that Nendawen himself closed his eyes and took in a deep draft of air.

  “She did this?” said Nendawen.

  “I tried to make her wear the samil,” said Gleed. “She refused.”

  Nendawen opened his eyes. They blazed with pleasure. “She wants me to find her.”

  Gleed swallowed and said, “She does.”

  “So be it.”

  Nendawen raised his blood-drenched hand, pointed in the direction Hweilan had gone, and his four wolves bolted, leaving a spray of dirt and leaves in their wake.

  The Master looked down on Gleed, said, “Be ready,” then ran after his wolves.

  Gleed clos
ed his eyes and prayed, “Grant her your aid, Forest Father.”

  The largest of the wolves took the lead. He had sharp senses, but their prey’s scent was so strong that it took little effort. Wolves were not by nature forest hunters, preferring open plains or treeless hills. But these were no ordinary wolves. They had hunted prey in every environment in every world. His packmates tore through the brush behind him, their thick fur heedless of thorns and sharp branches.

  The reek was getting stronger. So thick that the leader knew if he stopped to breathe it in fully it would fill his head, drowning out all other scents. He was used to following tiny streams or rivulets of scent. This was like wading through a summer swollen stream.

  And then it split.

  The leader stopped so abruptly that the two wolves behind actually passed him before stopping, their muzzles low to the ground as they searched through the confusion of scents.

  Their prey was alone. On two legs. Her scent was overwhelming. She was alone. They knew this. But her scent had suddenly split in two different directions.

  The Master joined them. He kneeled, his weaponless hand brushing the forest floor as he searched the trail. He raised his head and inhaled, sensing their divided trail.

  He pointed after one trail. The pack leader followed it, another wolf at his heels. The master and the other wolves would follow the other trail.

  The scent was still thick, but not nearly as thick as it had been. Their prey was running now, quickly as she could.

  The wolves ran faster.

  The trail kept them to the low ground for a while, following the foot of the hill. But in a valley choked with thornbushes, the scent turned uphill, heading for higher ground where the brush and trees would thin out. Stupid of her, the leader knew. Down here in the thick woods, she might have stood a chance. Up on the heights, the wolves would be in their element.

  The leader slowed his pace, not out of weariness, but to allow his prey to gain some ground. He hoped to find her near the top, where there would be only a few trees.