Cry of the Ghost Wolf con-3

by Mark Sehesdedt

  With Ashiin’s mind touching her own, she could hear every leaf and branch rattle and scratch in the breeze. She could hear the voices of the hobgoblins and even the crackle of the fires a hundred yards away. The stench of the hobgoblins and unwashed Damarans was a constant presence, but she could sift through them to find other smells in the air-cold soil, dead underbrush, new summer growth, even the metallic scent of snow carried by the breeze off the high mountains.

  Hweilan closed her eyes and recalled the faces of family and friends.

  Her grandfather the High Warden. Her mother and father. She had not seen her father in many years, but tonight his proud, smiling face came to her very clearly. She saw Scith, who had been a second father to Hweilan. Every skill and value Hweilan’s parents had planted in her, Scith had nourished and cherished. Her Uncle Soran, the strongest, most unyielding man she had ever known. But his unbending sense of justice had never blinded him to compassion and mercy. Jagun Ghen had murdered him and used his body as a mask to come after her. Remembering that, remembering the hungry fire in Soran’s eyes, Hweilan felt no fear. Just fury and hot rage. Her heartbeat quickened, her breath came faster, and she felt blood rushing under her skin. She saw Lendri and Menduarthis, who both had helped her, fought to protect her, and who were both now twisted versions of their former selves. And Ashiin herself, slain by Nendawen so that she could be free of her body to hunt Jagun Ghen across the worlds.

  She held all their images in her mind, remembering Gleed’s words-The true warrior fights not because she hates what, is in front of her, but because she loves what she’s left behind.

  Hweilan felt them all around her. The Ebun Nakweth, the Witness Cloud-those who had left this world but still watched with their gods, giving strength to those who stayed behind to continue the fight.

  And through it all, Hweilan could sense that other presence. The gaze of green fire and the antlered hunter, watching, waiting.

  Fury, loss, regret, fear, eagerness … all of it burned in Hweilan, robbing her of the proper words to pray. She could not find them. And so she simply held all of them in her heart and mind, until the words came on their own, spoken in the ancient tongue of her people. No chant. No formal prayer. Just pure need.

  “Time is running out. Help me.”

  Some time later, she heard the three Damarans finish their rites and return to the camp. But then two left again-and by the sounds she knew who it was. One lumbered through the brush with all the grace of a bull, branches catching on his mail and grabbing at the scabbard that rode his hip. Leading him was another, whose four feet made much less noise on the carpet of leaves and who managed to wend his way through all but the smallest branches.

  Uncle led Darric to Hweilan, gave her a long look, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes, then turned and left.

  Darric stood before her, unable to see her eyes in the dark and hesitant to disturb her.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “You wish to be alone?”

  She opened her mouth to say yes, but stopped herself. Stop slapping it away, he had told her, and damn if it wasn’t good advice. Thinking on her friends and family had reminded her of that.

  “Thank you, Darric. For coming. And for your words earlier.”

  He gave a bow that on anyone else would have seemed comical. But his sincerity touched her.

  Darric cleared his throat, then said, “I fear I wasn’t entirely truthful, Hweilan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Earlier. All my talk of fighting evil and defending the faith. All true. Every word. But that isn’t why I’m here. Valsun and Mandan have known it all along, yet still they stay with me. They are better men than I will ever be. True knights.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I came for you. I’m still here … for you.”

  “Darric, I-”

  “No. Let me speak. Hweilan, I … I have been in love with you since I was a boy. Since that day you helped me in the fight.”

  “Darric, stop.”

  She didn’t want to hear any more. Not now. Still, Gleed’s words came to her mind again. Hweilan had left nothing behind that she could ever go back to. It had all been taken from her. Of course, if she did manage to destroy the one responsible … what then? But she could not allow herself to be distracted. Not now. Not when she was so close. And yet, she had no desire to hurt Darric.

  “You loved a fantasy. A hope of what I might be. But not the real me. You don’t know the real me.”

  “You’re wrong. Last year when my father told me that he had been talking with the High Warden, and that you would be coming to stay at my home in hopes of … well, you know what they were hoping. I asked everyone-anyone who had ever heard the slightest rumor of you.”

  And Hweilan had no doubt what he’d been told. Child of a half-breed barbarian who would rather spend her days hunting with the Nar than stitching with the court ladies.

  Darric snorted. “My father told me that if half the stories about you were true, it would be up to me to tame you and make you a proper lady, fit to rule a Damaran house. My weapons master-when my father was not around, mind you-told me not to tame all the fire out of you. That a little wildness in a woman was a good thing, if …”

  Darric stopped suddenly, aware that he’d said too much. Hweilan felt herself blushing and was grateful for the dark. She didn’t know whether to be furious at the gossiping court hens saying such things about her or furious that the court men had been envious at the prospect of their lord’s son taking such a wild one to his bed.

  “You should go back to camp, Darric,” she said. “Now.”

  “They were fools, Hweilan,” he said. “All of them. If they’d only met you, none of them would have talked of taming you. A man would have more success taming the wind. And the gods would damn the man who tried.”

  Hweilan’s blush returned in full force, which only fueled her anger. “You-”

  “No, listen. Please. When you first found us in the mountains, I admit I was horrified. I thought you were nothing like what I had expected. And I was right.”

  “Darric-”

  “You were more,” he said. “Damn it all, Hweilan, I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve become. But I swear to you that I’ll give my life for you. I was a fool to doubt you. You’re all I hope for and more than I deserve.”

  He stopped. She waited for more. When none came, she took a deep breath and said, “Darric, do you really want to help me?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Swear?”

  “On my life and the honor of my house.”

  Hweilan smiled, though she knew he couldn’t see it in the dark. For all his bravery, Darric was still a boy in many ways. Boys swore so easily. She had seen enough to know better.

  “Then listen …”

  The moon had long gone behind the mountains and the first hints of dawn were creeping into the sky when those in camp heard Hweilan and Darric returning. A dotard with only half his hearing in one ear could have heard them. A graceful woodsman Darric was not, but even Hweilan crashed heedless through the branches and stomped over the carpet of leaves. Both of them were shouting.

  “… all we’ve done for you!” said Darric. “You ungrateful wench! You-!”

  “I never asked for your help,” said Hweilan.

  “And we never asked for your help. Ever since we took up with you, we’ve been captured, tortured, and-”

  Hweilan reached camp first. Darric was at her heels. All eyes turned to them, and Valsun stood, ever wanting to be the peace maker, but stunned into inaction by the vehemence of their words.

  “And you’d still be there if not for me!” said Hweilan. She looked to the other Damarans. “Every last one of you.” She turned back to Darric and softened her tone. “Listen to me. If you love those men-if you’ve ever loved your people-take them and go home. Warn them about what’s coming. If I win today, then your father will need to know that Highwatch
stands empty. And if I die … you need to warn them about what’s coming.”

  Darric stepped forward and jabbed his finger in her shoulder. “I won’t turn tail and-”

  Hweilan grabbed his wrist, twisted, and turned his whole arm. Then she shoved him in the chest, sending him sprawling into the nearest campfire. Sparks and ashes flew, but his thick wool and mail saved him from a scorching. He scrambled to his feet and slapped the embers off his tabard.

  “Touch me again and I’ll break the arm next time,” she said.

  The hobgoblins laughed at this, but Mandan stepped between Darric and Hweilan, his club raised. “You try and-”

  “You’ll step back,” said Rhan, still calmly sitting by a fire and rubbing cold ashes into the cuts on his chest. The Greatsword of Impiltur lay naked on his lap. “You finish that thought and I’ll shove that club down your-”

  “Enough!” Valsun found his voice at last. “Darric, Hweilan, please! This … there is no point in fighting among ourselves.”

  “No,” said Darric, his voice cold. “We left our home to try to help yours, Hweilan, and you’ve shown us nothing but ingratitude and disdain. You dishonor us-and yourself. Valsun is right. Enough is enough.” He looked to his companions. “Gather your things. We’re leaving.”

  Valsun’s jaw dropped and Mandan whirled to look at his brother. “What?” he said. “But we … you …”

  “Have had enough,” said Darric. “She’s right. Damara must be warned. We’ve done all we can do here. Our fight lies elsewhere.”

  “But-” said Valsun.

  But Mandan cut him off. “Damn it, Brother! You love her!”

  “I thought I did,” said Darric, and he looked at Hweilan as he spoke. “You’re sure about this?”

  “I am,” said Hweilan. “Get gone.”

  Darric nodded and grabbed his pack.

  Valsun said, “My lord-”

  “Enough!” said Darric. Then softer, “Enough, my friend. We’re done here. Come.”

  He bent, picked up Valsun’s pack, and shoved it at him.

  Valsun took it, but his eyes were wide, stunned.

  Darric turned and stomped out of camp.

  “Valsun,” said Mandan. “You can’t let him do this.”

  Valsun looked to Hweilan. “We’ll talk to him.”

  “You do that,” said Hweilan, then looked at Mandan and Jaden. “All of you. Go talk to him. But walk while you talk. Now.”

  She put one hand on the dagger at her waist. Uncle padded to her side and growled.

  Vurgrim stood. “You heard. Go.”

  Trembling and looking like a faithful hound who had just been whipped by his master, Valsun followed after Darric.

  Mandan looked to Rhan, then Vurgrim, and finally down at Urlun. “Come.”

  He grabbed his own pack, slung his club over his shoulder, and followed his companions.

  Jaden slammed his short sword back into the scabbard, shouldered his pack, and gave Hweilan a hesitant smile. “Said I wasn’t walking back by myself. Looks like I’m not by myself anymore.” He gave her a slight bow. “Good luck, lady.”

  With that, he followed after Mandan.

  Urlun was still sitting, startled. He looked after them, then at the hobgoblins.

  “Time to choose, boy,” said Vurgrim.

  Urlun grabbed his axe and his pack, and ran after the Damarans.

  “And you?” Vurgrim called to Hratt. “You going to run off with your new friends?”

  Hratt was still sitting with his head back against the bole of a tree. His eyes were closed, but his hand lay curved around the hilt of the sword that lay beside him. He opened his eyes and sat up. “I serve the Razor Heart,” he said.

  The hobgoblins laughed. “And I sup with Shar!” one of them said, bringing more laughter.

  The warriors stood and began to gather their own things.

  Flet walked up to Hweilan and spoke, his voice low. “Should I take my archers after those five? We don’t want any surprises at our backs.”

  “Let them go,” said Hweilan. “You’re going to need all your arrows for what’s in front.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  They stayed in the copse until well past midday. The hobgoblins were used to sleeping in the daylight anyway, and they needed to wait to make sure the other attack parties were in place. While the warriors snored, wrapped up in their cloaks, Hweilan sat with her back to a tree, her mind racing. She could not sleep. Not with the feeling of her enemy so close.

  When at last the sun began its downward descent and the shadows in the wood lengthened, Hweilan roused Rhan.

  “It’s time.”

  Jagun Ghen sat in the middle of the pact circle. His eyes were closed, though for once the harsh sunlight on his skin gave him no pain. His brothers had carved the circle in the stone where the altar had once stood, before his brothers hacked it up and threw it off the cliff.

  The circle … how fitting. It was here that his first brother had come into the world. And it was here that he would take the next step to transcendence.

  The bleak, rocky shelf on which he sat overlooked the bulk of the ruined fortress. And the battered wall behind him had once held elegant runes and symbols, all in praise of Torm, the Loyal Fury. All gone, torn away. Soon, these people would learn the meaning of true fury.

  He could feel the growing power in the circle, like the first trickles of water seeping through the cracks in the dam. Soon, he promised himself.

  He could feel her. So close, he could almost taste her on the air.

  A shudder passed through him.

  His brothers felt it, too.

  “What is it, lord?”

  “She comes. At last.”

  Now that they were back in her country, Hweilan took the lead. Something was happening in Highwatch. The steady beat in her mind had not grown any stronger, so she knew no danger was coming at them, but she could sense a change in the world around her. It was as if Jagun Ghen were thrashing in the middle of a dark pool, and Hweilan sat at the edge, feeling the ripples. But she didn’t know what it was. And so she strung her bow, put one of the hrayeh-etched arrows to the string, and donned her bone mask.

  Hweilan led the hobgoblins along the saddle of the hill, taking the high paths. On the heights above and to their left lay the Damaran tombs where her father’s body rested. There, she found the path that snaked around the shoulder of the mountain and into the deeper woods. Throughout Narfell and the foothills, summer was well underway. The snows were melting, the pines had green buds, and the grasses were enjoying their few weeks of green. Damaran land had once been healthier than the woods where they had spent the night. But a blight had since settled in here. The pine and spruce had turned a sickly gray or brown, and many of the trees were shedding their needles. The moss on the barks had blackened and curled, giving off a foul reek when stepped on.

  Hweilan could sense the tension in the hobgoblins. Vurgrim had a permanent sneer twisting his face and baring his sharp teeth. His one good ear stood out erect and twitched at every sound.

  At the bend in the path where the trees thinned, Hweilan stopped. The sight almost overwhelmed her. From here, they had an unobstructed view of Nar-sek Qu’istrade, the distant cliff walls, and Highwatch itself-the charred husk of Kistrad clinging to its feet. The last time she stood here, thousands of Nar filled the valley and flames ran through Kistrad. Now, there was not so much as a dog roaming the streets or even a wisp of smoke from a torch. The valley where large herds of horses and sheep had once roamed over the grass was barren, save for the remains of a few ragged tents. All was still, yet Hweilan could feel a will fixed upon her. Not the same as being watched exactly, but she knew she held Jagun Ghen’s attention, just as he held hers. He wasn’t deep in the fortress, as she might have expected, but on the heights above it where the Knights had once held their most sacred rites.

  She turned and faced Vurgrim, who stared down at the landscape with his warriors. They had long known of and fe
ared this place, but none of them had ever been so close.

  “The others are in place?” she said.

  “They should be,” said Vurgrim, still not looking up, “if Maaqua kept her word.”

  Hweilan looked to Rhan, but his face was expressionless.

  “This is where we part,” she said.

  Vurgrim tore his gaze off the view and blinked at her. “Eh? What say you? We are zugruuk. We came to fight, not to walk you home.”

  His warriors mumbled their agreement, but none shouted out. Something about the fortress before them seemed to demand quiet. But even Rhan looked at her with a disapproving scowl.

  “You’ll get your fight,” said Hweilan. “But unless you do what I say, you’ll die fighting. Wouldn’t you rather enjoy a fine slaughter, then go back home as heroes?”

  Vurgrim scowled, looked to his warriors, then said. “I’m listening.”

  “That demon down there can sense me coming. Anyone going with me will have a big target painted on them.”

  Vurgrim snorted. “We don’t fear that.”

  “I know you won’t flinch when there’s killing to do. But we are going into a trap. Let me spring the trap, then-”

  “We trap the trapper,” said Flet. He smiled. “I like it.”

  Hweilan checked the position of the sun again. Just above the western peaks. Down in the valleys and the lower regions of the fortress, shadows were already lengthening.

  She looked to Flet. “It’s time. Do it.”

  Flet reached into one of his quivers and withdrew a long bundle, an arrow wrapped in tight lambskin. He broke the knots of string with his teeth and unwrapped it. It was like no arrow Hweilan had ever seen. The fletching was not feathers but the membrane from a bat’s wing, and they curved a full hand span down the length of the shaft. The arrow had no head, but instead a small jewel had been fixed there, and it sparkled with a light all its own.

  “Eh? What’s that?” said Vurgrim, scowling. “What else is going on?”