Cry of the Ghost Wolf con-3

by Mark Sehesdedt

  Hweilan swallowed hard. “I know the responsibility I’ve been given.”

  “You feel its weight, don’t you?” said Gleed, his voice low and full of compassion.

  “I face Jagun Ghen. In only a matter of days, at most.”

  “You are afraid?”

  “Not … not like you think. I’m not afraid to die.” A short laugh burst out of her but there was no humor in it. “Death would almost be a relief. But I am afraid to fail.”

  “You do not stand alone, Hweilan. You are the Hand of the Hunter. You are not the whole body. Do your part. That is all anyone can ask of you.”

  Gleed looked away and chewed on his bottom lip. Hweilan had seen this many times. Her old teacher was wrestling with whether or not to tell her something. Hweilan let him make up his own mind.

  When Gleed finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, just barely short of breaking. “When you face him … when you stand against Jagun Ghen, you must do it when the moon shines full. You must. It is the only hope of the world.” He put one gnarled hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

  “And my mother’s father? You still think-”

  “You have eaten the sacred heart, Hweilan.” A shadow of fear passed over Gleed’s face. “You drank the blood and pledged yourself to the Master. Much of his power flows in your veins, in your spirit. But that … presence runs both ways. You must be very careful, Hweilan.”

  Hweilan held her teacher’s gaze. There was still something he was not telling her. She knew it. “You still think, even if I defeat Jagun Ghen, the Master will destroy me?”

  Gleed let go of her shoulder and gave her a playful slap across the arm. “I never said destroy, girl. I said the master is a hunter. Nendawen is not evil, but neither is he kind nor benevolent. The hunt is his essence. It is not what he does. It is what he is.”

  “But you still think there is something about me that he hadn’t bargained for? Something in me?”

  “I’d wager my good eye on it.”

  They sat in silence a while, then Hweilan said, “Thank you, Gleed. I have to go soon. There are others back in that old fortress who need my help. And if half of what she said is true, time is growing short. I have to end this. End him.”

  “One more thing, Hweilan. Even if Maaqua agrees to help you-and I think she will-do not trust her. You can loose a snake in your house to be rid of the rats, but once the rats are gone, you’ll still have a snake problem. And Maaqua is a mean old snake.”

  When Hweilan and Gleed emerged from the tower, Maaqua’s disciples had finished their makeshift chair for the queen and were giving it the first test. It hardly looked comfortable, but it would hold.

  “Done with your plotting?” Maaqua said. “I want to be well gone from this place before dark.”

  “And I want you well gone long before then,” said Gleed, though Hweilan heard more teasing than contempt in his voice.

  “Still not over me, are you?”

  “Being over you was fine,” said Gleed. “It was being under you that used to scare the hair off my toes.”

  Maaqua threw back her head and cackled so fiercely that her disciples nearly dropped her. Elret looked torn between shock and indignation. Buureg gave Gleed a wicked smile but turned before his queen could see it.

  “Come here, girl,” said Maaqua. “I want this old toad to hear what I have to say before I leave.”

  Hweilan walked over and stood in front of Maaqua. Elret looked at Hweilan as if she expected her to kneel, but Hweilan kept her feet.

  “I have decided to help you,” said Maaqua.

  “Help me?”

  “Be rid of that thing nesting in your old home. I won’t lie to you, girl, because I know you’re no fool. I had made up my mind to give that demon what he wants-namely, you-in hopes of buying myself enough time to know how to deal with him. This latest … experience has changed my mind.” The steel and insolence left Maaqua’s countenance, and once again she looked like nothing more than a very old and tired hobgoblin. “There is no dealing with that … thing. Your blood might placate him for a time, but that one has no allies. Or even slaves. Just … prey.”

  “No,” said Gleed, his voice grave. “Hunter and prey share a sacred relationship. They serve one another’s purpose. Jagun Ghen”-Maaqua flinched at the mention of the name-“exists only to consume.”

  “I’m not here to debate theology with you,” said Maaqua, then she returned her attention to Hweilan. “An army would do you little good, even if I could raise one. But I will aid you and your friends in what ways I can.”

  “Thank you,” said Hweilan. But she remembered Gleed’s warning.

  Now that they knew where they were going, the hobgoblins proceeded with more eagerness. Though as they walked into the deep gloom of the forest, Buureg kept his sword in hand, and Elret had a tight grip on her staff. Gleed walked just behind Maaqua’s bearers so that they could talk on the way. Despite their constant bickering, both of them seemed to take great pleasure in the conversation.

  When they reached the falls, Hweilan retrieved her drum to open the portal. A wicked glint entered the queen’s eye.

  “One more thing I haven’t yet told you, girl,” she said. Hweilan said, “Yes?”

  “When I was … spying, I did find out one more thing you might be interested in. Your friend Menduarthis … he is still alive.”

  “Alive?” said Hweilan. “You’re sure? What is he doing?”

  Maaqua scowled as if she’d bitten down on a sore tooth. “What Menduarthis ever does: be a pain in a host’s arse.”

  “But I saw him taken,” said Hweilan, “by one of Jagun Ghen’s minions. When Rhan”-her voice caught at the memory-“when he cut off my mother’s head, the thing inside her possessed Menduarthis.”

  “True enough,” said Maaqua. “But it didn’t kill the old wind wasp. He has been … taken over, I guess you would say. ‘Possessed’ is the term your Damaran priests prefer, yes? But he’s still alive. And still fighting.”

  “What is this?” Gleed said. He stamped one foot, and all the metal on his robes tinkled like tiny chimes. He jabbed Hweilan with his staff. “You told me this Menduarthis died protecting you.”

  All eyes turned to the little goblin.

  “Old meddler doesn’t know everything after all, eh?” said Maaqua, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

  Hweilan said, “He’s-”

  But Maaqua cut her off. “Menduarthis is an eladrin whose only loyalty is to himself. He spent decades studying with that Frost Bitch in Ellestharn. He became quite an adept at anything having to do with air and wind. Fits him, since he likes nothing more than the sound of his own voice. But I think he was already chafing under that leash when your little pet came along.”

  “And now Jagun Ghen has him?” said Gleed. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, Hweilan?”

  “Because she hasn’t made up her mind about him yet.”

  “What?” Gleed looked back and forth from Maaqua to Hweilan, who was scowling at the queen.

  Maaqua chuckled. “Menduarthis has been chasing this one for quite some time now, and she hasn’t yet made up her mind about whether or not she wants to be caught.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Hweilan, but she could feel blood rushing to her face.

  “Don’t I?” said Maaqua. “I wasn’t always this old and shriveled, girl. Ask Gleed. He remembers.”

  Then her eyes narrowed. “You can tell your girl was brought up in a court. She keeps her eyes straight ahead and thinks of her duty. But all the while her heart is hoping the man’ll keep after her. Or the men, in this case.”

  “What’s this?” said Gleed.

  “Darric,” said Maaqua. “That’s his name, isn’t it? She’s gone through all this-haggling with Menduarthis, slicing up my Champion, feathering my guards to tower doors, and damned near killing me-to keep me from eating that boy’s heart. So which will it be, girl? The fetching eladrin who has probably bedded
more women than you’ll ever meet, or the soft richling who has been mooning over you for years? You want my advice? Let Menduarthis teach you a few things, but don’t grow attached. He won’t. He’ll get what he wants, then grow bored. Have about with the eladrin, then go home to the richling. Soft men make better bedmates, because they’re so good at doing what you tell them.”

  Hweilan stood there gawking a moment, all eyes on her. Maaqua’s smile widened even further.

  Then Hweilan threw back her head and laughed-so long and hard that tears streamed down her face and her stomach hurt. Maaqua’s smile turned into a scowl.

  “Oh, Gleed,” said Hweilan. “You were so right about her.”

  “Eh?” said Maaqua.

  Gleed nodded. “A mean old snake.”

  But Hweilan could tell by the look in Gleed’s eyes that the old snake’s words had troubled him.

  “Tell me I’m wrong, then,” said Maaqua.

  “Maaqua,” said Hweilan, and Elret bristled at her familiar tone, “you could not be more wrong if you tried.”

  Then Hweilan opened the portal and stood back for the hobgoblins to go through first. The four disciples carried Maaqua through the river and were about to step through the falls when Maaqua raised a hand, stopping them.

  “Turn me,” she said.

  They did, sidestepping in the knee-high water so that their queen could face Hweilan and Gleed on the bank.

  “Gleed,” she said. “I suppose I owe you my thanks. You saved my life.”

  Gleed smiled and bowed. “The gods will forgive me, I hope.”

  The queen chuckled, but it had an ugly tone to it. “It is also good to know where you’ve been hiding.”

  Gleed’s smile did not falter as he said, “Come here uninvited and I’ll pull down that rock you live in and bury you so deep even your pet demons won’t be able to find you.”

  They held each other’s gazes a long moment, then the queen motioned for her servants to continue. They stepped through the falls and back into Faerun. Elret followed, glaring over her shoulder just before she stepped through.

  Buureg stepped into the water, turned, bowed to Gleed, then stepped toward the waterfall.

  “Warchief,” said Gleed, stopping him.

  Buureg stopped and looked over his shoulder at Gleed.

  “You can do better than her, you know,” said Gleed. “You love the Razor Heart, have sworn your life and blood to it. Maaqua uses your clan for her own ends. If you ever come to believe that and need help …”

  Buureg watched the little hobgoblin a long time, then gave a sharp nod, and walked through the falls, leaving Hweilan and Gleed alone.

  “Strange friends you’re making,” said Gleed.

  “You really think she’ll help?” said Hweilan.

  “As long as it suits her purposes, yes. But as I warned you: don’t trust her.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Hweilan-”

  “I know my place. What Maaqua said … she was just trying to goad me. You need not fear. Destroying that monster sitting in my home … that’s all that matters to me.”

  “And then? It’s no shame to want more in life.”

  “Is it a shame to want less?”

  Gleed snorted. “Idiot. Love and family are not less. They are everything. Destroying Jagun Ghen is the reason your heart beats blood in your veins, girl. But never forget why. The true warrior fights not because she hates what is in front of her but because she loves what she’s left behind.”

  Buureg had been true to his word. When the group returned to the Razor Heart fortress, he led Hweilan and Uncle to the cave where they had shared a meal the night before. She found Darric, Jaden, and Valsun around a fire. They had been fed and given fur blankets. All three were sound asleep, so Hweilan let them be.

  “And Mandan?” she asked when she and Buureg were back in the sunlight.

  The warchief looked away, staring into the wind. “I told you, Hand. His life is not mine to give or take. Ruuket has sworn to come to him at sundown. It is not my place to interfere.”

  “Damn it, what exactly is your place, Buureg?”

  He smiled, showing sharp yellow teeth. “Suffering the wrath of willful women.”

  Hweilan couldn’t help but smile at that. She reached down and scratched the fur between Uncle’s ears. “That’s it?”

  “That is all I can do.”

  “Then I will be there at sundown, too.”

  He looked back at her, anger in his gaze. “You would harm a grieving mate and her children?”

  “No,” said Hweilan. “But I won’t allow them to harm Mandan.”

  “You may have to choose one over the other. And if you harm Ruuket or her children, my warriors will be there to stop you.”

  Hweilan cursed and looked away. She had wasted so much time already settling things at the Razor Heart. She did not want to start up trouble again. “Can I talk to Ruuket?”

  “At sundown.”

  Hweilan sighed and let it go. One battle at a time.

  “By the way, Maaqua has called a war council,” said Buureg. “For midnight.”

  “She is going to help then?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “She said she would.”

  “Then I will be there, too.”

  After leaving Buureg-the warchief was a tough old root, but even he needed sleep-Hweilan went back up to the high places, her wolf at her heels. The combination of gunhin in her veins and her return to the Feywild had renewed her vigor. She didn’t feel the least bit tired. A restless energy filled her, fueling her determination.

  Time is running out.

  But there was one thing she still had to do. And it shamed her that she had left the duty so long.

  The way wasn’t difficult to find. Uncle sniffed at the trail now and then, and under the full light of day, she saw the blood smeared on the dirt and rocks.

  “Bastard really did drag himself the whole way down the mountain,” she said to herself, and smiled at the image of Rhan crawling and cursing.

  They weren’t far now.

  The wolf stopped on the trail ahead. He’d gone very still. Only his ears twitched forward and his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air.

  Hweilan’s bow was strapped unstrung on her back. She drew both her knives, the red one in her left hand, the silver in her right. She kneeled on the path, held the silver blade before her, and spoke the words of invitation. The runes along the blade sparkled, light running down their length, and the wind off the mountain changed directions, coming directly into Hweilan’s face. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

  There. The pungent, putrid stench of death and worse. Desecration. But she smelled something else as well. Something alive. Anger filled Hweilan, and her jaw clenched so tight she heard her teeth grind. Uncle growled and flattened his ears.

  She stood and together they ran up the path.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Argalath woke but could not remember where he was. His entire body felt scraped raw from the inside out. He struggled to take a deep breath, and the reek made him gag.

  Preparing for the pain he knew would come, Argalath forced his eyes open. Thick tapestries covered the hall’s windows, but a little light still managed to leak around the edges. And the light pierced his brain like needles. He lay on the dais in the main court. The High Warden’s seat-the old fool had never allowed anyone to call it a throne, though he had been the closest thing to a king for hundreds of miles-lay broken and shattered on the stone. The robes Argalath usually wore were crumpled beneath him. He was naked from the waist up, his skin caked in dried blood. The remains of a goat lay at the foot of the dais. It had been gutted, but most of the flesh was gone. Mice had come out of the walls to swarm over the remains.

  Feeling his belly full to bursting, Argalath knew who had eaten the goat, and with this realization, his stomach lurched. Bile and chunks of bloody goat poured out of his mouth, which only made him sicker. He heaved again and again until he brought up nothin
g but fresh blood from his own torn throat. The muscles of his torso cramped and he fell into his own sick. Laying there, wracked with pain, covered in his own filth, still Argalath smiled. Jagun Ghen must be running out of Nar if he had taken to eating goats.

  “Soon,” Argalath said, and that one word made his raw throat burn. It would be over soon. One way or another.

  For the moment, the thing inside him was dormant. The one in whom Argalath had hoped to find salvation brought only damnation. Argalath was weakened by the failed rite of the night before and the fight afterward. How long had it been since he had come out of the darkness into his own body? He could not remember.

  He was broken. He knew it. All the promises-healing of his affliction, power of his enemies, perhaps even godhood itself … lies. He had been used, and he was almost used up. The fire inside him had burned too long.

  “Master?” said a voice nearby.

  Argalath raised his head, squinting against the light.

  Beneath one of the windows stood Guric, his dead flesh sallow in the wan light. He, too, wore a coat of dried blood, and he held the remains of a goat haunch in one hand.

  “Is it time?” said Guric.

  “Time-?” said Argalath, then his voice caught in his throat. The thing inside him was stirring. Waking. That implacable will rising like fire through dry kindling. “No. Please … no-”

  Argalath screamed, his back arching with such strength that he rapped his head on the stone floor. The mice feasting on the dead goat scattered into the shadows.

  “Master?” Guric lurched forward.

  “She has returned,” said Jagun Ghen. He could not open his eyes all the way and knew this frail body was about to fail him. Subduing the eladrin and that traitor Vazhad had taken too much of his strength. It was too soon. He needed more time. “I can feel her. She has come back to this world.”

  “She will come to us?” said Guric.

  “Oh, yes,” said Jagun Ghen. “And we must be ready for her. I must be ready for her.”