Cry of the Ghost Wolf con-3

by Mark Sehesdedt

  The seven men and four women following her were too far back. Hweilan slowed to a comfortable trot, letting them gain on her. Then she caught a blur of movement behind the low wall off to her right, and another in the open arch beyond. Two doors directly across from her stood wide open. Hweilan saw nothing there, but her hunter’s sense told her something was waiting.

  She stopped in the middle of the field near the well. Its stone rim was only a few feet high, but it would be enough if any of her pursuers had bows. She blew the kishkoman once more to let Uncle know exactly where she was, then tucked it back into her shirt. There was no reply from the wolf this time.

  Her pursuers dashed into the garden. Seeing Hweilan, they fanned out and blocked the doorway behind them. Two of the men and one of the women had bows.

  Keeping her eyes on them, Hweilan took a step back, hoping it would spur their next move.

  Four more men emerged from the archway. Two carried a net between them and the other two had clubs. Another archer rose from behind the wall in front of them. His eyes were watery and jittered back and forth like a bird’s.

  Then Hweilan heard the clank of armor, and a moment later more figures emerged from the passage to the storerooms. Three were massive brutes in dirty mail. Their helmets hid their faces, but by the tint of the skin on their bare arms, Hweilan guessed they were half-orcs. The men behind them also carried a net.

  “Your running is done, girl,” said the woman with the bow. She spoke in perfect Damaran.

  But it was the archer beside her that held Hweilan’s attention. Of all the faces around her, his was the only one not set in an eager smile, hesitant fear, or the insolent sneer of a tavern brawler. His face had no more emotion than a statue, but his eyes didn’t miss a movement from Hweilan or anyone else. Most of those approaching her were brawlers, thugs, or those hungry enough for power to sell their souls. This man was a killer. Hweilan knew he took no pleasure in it, nor felt any remorse. It was a means to an end, no different than scratching an itch. Hweilan was glad she had kept one arrow.

  “Why the nets?” Hweilan called out. The nearest of them was only fifteen paces away.

  “You’re wanted alive,” said the woman. “Something special in mind for you. A great honor, I’m told. It’s best if you come nicely.”

  Holding her bow and the shaft of the arrow in her right hand, Hweilan pointed at the woman. Loud and clear, she said in Goblin, “That one first.”

  One of the half-orcs cried out a warning, and then an arrow slammed into the woman’s temple.

  In that instant, when everyone turned to see where the arrow had come from, Hweilan raised her bow, drew the arrow as she aimed, and loosed. By the time the sharp stone killer had turned his attention back to her, the arrow was only inches from his face. Then the arrow tore through his eye.

  The garden filled with screams even before the two archers’ bodies hit the ground. Flet’s soldiers were the first over the eastern wall. His boasting proved true. Not one of them missed. By the time the Razor Heart archers were reaching for more arrows, Vurgrim, the zugruuk, and Rhan had scaled the wall.

  The fight was over in moments. The last few defenders tried to flee, but the Razor Heart cut them down.

  As the warriors were looting the bodies, Vurgrim looked to Hweilan and said, “What now?”

  She looked up at the fortress looming over them. “Up there.”

  “Your demon lord? He’s up that way?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s close. I can feel him.”

  “Then you lead the way.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hweilan led the warriors up into the highest reaches of the fortress, where passages had been carved out of the mountain itself and watchtowers rose beside sheer cliff walls. They met no resistance. The sounds of fighting drifted up to them from the lower regions, and more fires had sprung up in Kistrad, staining the red evening sky with black smoke.

  Passing through a large courtyard, Flet asked Hweilan, “Where’s your wolf?”

  “Don’t worry about him,” she replied. She had an arrow fitted on her bowstring, and five more of the unused sacred arrows in her quiver. She could still feel many more baazuled nearby. But they didn’t really matter. It was their master she wanted.

  “And the ravens?”

  They, too, had left. Now and then Hweilan still heard them crying far below, but the skies above were empty.

  “Forget about ravens and wolves,” Rhan told Flet. The Razor Heart champion held the greatsword in one hand. It was still wet with blood from their last fight, but small tongues of purple light were running down the blade. “The enemy is close.”

  Hweilan pressed on. She passed an iron-bound door and took a staircase next to the wall. The presence of her enemy was so strong now that climbing them was like trying to swim upriver against an unrelenting current.

  At last the stairs ended at another large courtyard that circled a tower. A second series of steps led up to the tower door. Daylight was fading fast, and the doorway seemed to hold only shadows. But then, as Hweilan put her boot on the final step, the shadows moved. She raised her bow.

  A figure, swathed in thick robes and a deep hood, lurched onto the porch.

  “You … have … come.”

  Each word came out a rasp. Hweilan was shocked at the frail voice, for the power washing off of the figure burned her mind. It was Argalath-or what was left of him. As he steadied himself, he spread both his arms, almost as if offering an embrace, and the tattered robes fell open, revealing peeling skin and bits of flesh going to rot.

  She stepped into the courtyard and walked into the center, giving the hobgoblins room to come up but still leaving plenty of ground between her and her enemy.

  “I am … most pleased,” he said. “Waited … so long.”

  Two more baazuled emerged from behind him to stand on either side. One had the glowing symbol on his forehead, but the other was undead, his eyes black and lifeless.

  She drew back the bow. Something was wrong. This was too easy.

  The hobgoblins quickly spread out. Vurgrim and his zugruuk took position behind Hweilan, and Flet and the archers fanned out behind them all.

  More baazuled appeared. Some still wore the armor they’d had in life, all had weapons in hand.

  “You don’t … have arrows … enough,” said Argalath, “for us all. Come … with me now. And your … friends … shall live.”

  “Flet?” Hweilan called out, though she kept her eyes fixed on the baazuled.

  “Eh?”

  “Maaqua give you any more special arrows?”

  “A few.”

  The baazuled on Argalath’s left chuckled. “You think your pretty lights will hurt us?”

  Hweilan had no idea if the baazuled could understand the Goblin tongue, but she thought if they didn’t, it might buy a moment. She called out, “Take out the five on the right!”

  She pulled the arrow to her cheek, aimed for Argalath, and loosed. He tried to move out of the way, but in his weakened state it turned into a fall and he pulled one of the baazuled with him. The arrow struck the other baazuled in the chest, and he fell on top of his master.

  The courtyard erupted in screams and the clash of weapons. Flet and his archers loosed arrow after arrow at their onrushing enemies. The first few sparked as they flew, causing the baazuled to erupt in flame. But that didn’t stop them. As the zugruuk warriors rushed forward with swords and axes, the burning baazuled grabbed their attackers and the magic-fueled flames spread among the hobgoblins.

  All this happened in a rush, and Hweilan saw it unfold out of the corner of her eye. For no sooner had Argalath fallen, than Hweilan fitted another arrow and charged.

  The surviving baazuled saw her coming and set out to meet her. Two iron braziers stood at the foot of the stairs, one on each end. No fires burned there, and both held nothing more than cold ash, but the baazuled grabbed one to use as a shield.

  Hweilan stopped to steady her aim, fixin
g the arrow’s point in the monster’s gut. He saw her intention and lowered the brazier over his belly as he ran. She raised her arm, and he raised his makeshift shield. Less than ten paces away now. Hweilan knew if she missed, she wouldn’t have time to fit another arrow before he was on her.

  A lifeless hobgoblin, his chest torn open, flew through the air and hit the ground in front of the baazuled, who leaped over the body with scarcely a glance.

  And then a raven hit the baazuled in the face, raking its claws across his eyes. The thing screamed, not so much in pain as in frustration, and struck at the bird. Black feathers flew and the bird went down, but three more took its place. Dozens of them had joined the battle, not calling out but striking silently, their black eyes reflecting the flames of the burning combatants.

  A raven latched onto the baazuled’s shoulder, claws digging deep as it jabbed at the man’s face with its beak. The baazuled wrenched it away, taking a good deal of his own flesh and skin with it. His gaze lit on another huge bird descending on him, and he used the brazier to bat it away.

  This distraction gave Hweilan the opening she needed. She loosed the bowstring. The baazuled was still looking up at his raven attackers when the arrow hit him under the chin. It pierced all the way into his skull and threw him back with such force that he flew over the dead hobgoblin and slid across the courtyard to strike the bottom-most step.

  Hweilan’s hand went to her quiver. She had four of the sacred arrows left. The presence of so many of the enemy was overwhelming, and she had no sense of which was the closest. Meanwhile, Argalath was struggling out from under the baazuled that had fallen on him.

  She notched an arrow to the bowstring and ran for the stairs.

  “Watch out!”

  Something struck Hweilan from behind, throwing her off balance. But Ashiin’s training served her well. She fell into a roll, came to her feet, and whirled with the bow pulled taut and the arrow set in the direction of whoever had struck her.

  It was Vurgrim, and he stood between her and a baazuled. The thing held the remnants of a broadsword in one hand, but the last third of the blade had broken off into a jagged point. The entire length of the weapon and most of the baazuled’s arm dripped blood.

  Hweilan shouted, “Vurgrim, down!”

  She couldn’t loose the arrow for fear of hitting the hobgoblin. But he ignored her, raising his own spiked shield between himself and the baazuled and pulled back his sword arm to strike.

  The baazuled swiped at him crosswise with the broken sword. Vurgrim ducked it easily and struck with his own blade. This baazuled had no armor and the sharp steel sliced open his belly. But even as his entrails spilled out, the baazuled lunged and grabbed the hobgoblin, pulling him close.

  Vurgrim screamed but could not get away. Too close for his sword to be effective, he plunged the spike of his shield into his foe. Again and again he stabbed, his boots kicking at the monster’s shins.

  The baazuled opened its mouth wide and found the closest bit of flesh not covered by armor-Vurgrim’s throat.

  Seeing the opening, Hweilan adjusted her aim and loosed her arrow. The baazuled snapped his head back, ripping open Vurgrim’s throat. Hweilan’s arrows flew through the gush of blood and struck the baazuled just under the ear. He went down, pulling the dying Vurgrim on top of him.

  Hweilan was reaching for another arrow even as she turned. “Sorry, Vurgrim,” she said to herself.

  To one side of the stairs, Rhan was holding another one of the baazuled at bay. Purple lightning played along the length of the Greatsword of Impiltur. The monster had several broken arrow shafts protruding from its body and two still intact sticking out from its back. Its left arm was gone at the elbow, but still it tried to get at the huge hobgoblin, avoiding one strike of Rhan’s massive black sword, then lunging forward. It was obviously what Rhan had intended, for he kept the momentum of the blow and whirled, bringing the sword around again. His foe was well within range this time, and the blade sliced through the baazuled just above the waist. Rhan had cut him in half with one blow.

  Hweilan passed them as she ran up the stairs. She hoped Rhan had the sense not to turn his back on the thing. She had no doubt that the monster would use its one good arm to crawl after the nearest meal.

  Argalath had found his feet again. His robe had tangled in the arrow protruding out of the baazuled that was not simply a corpse again. Hweilan stopped, kneeled, and pulled an arrow to her cheek.

  Rather than risk touching the arrow, Argalath shrugged out of his robes and let them fall. He stood in the dying daylight, and Hweilan saw the wreck of his body. He was naked above the waist. The blue of his spellscar looked a sickly gray, and a large portion of skin had slaked off his back, leaving raw flesh. The reek of pestilence struck Hweilan even through the stench of blood and burning flesh.

  He must have sensed her presence, for he turned to look down at her. His eyes blazed bright.

  Hweilan loosed the arrow. It hit him in the middle of his chest, and even over the sounds of battle and cries of the ravens, Hweilan heard bones shatter. The force of the arrow’s flight threw him backward out of sight. Hweilan grabbed another arrow, laid it across the bow, and climbed the stairs.

  She stopped at the top. Most of Argalath’s body had fallen back into the shadows, making the green flow from the arrow’s symbols shine all the brighter.

  She had done it. Argalath, the Nar demonbinder, the one who had started this slaughter, lay only a few paces away, dead as the stone around him. Hweilan let out a disbelieving laugh-

  – and then it struck her that she didn’t believe it. Not only had this been too easy, but her sense of Jagun’s power hadn’t lessened in the slightest. It was growing stronger …

  Hweilan heard the shriek of the gale an instant before it struck.

  She had never experienced a cyclone before, but she had heard the Nar tell of the “demon winds” that sometimes swept through the grasslands.

  The gust threw Hweilan into the side of the tower. She saw baazuled and hobgoblins, both living and dead, swept into the air. Some crashed back to the ground again, but more than a few hurtled over the parapet wall. One of the burning baazuled tumbled end over end through the air and disappeared around the far side.

  But then the wind focused-no longer striking the entire tower, but swirling around it in tight currents.

  And then Hweilan knew.

  A figure descended out of the sky. He still wore the remnants of his once-fine clothes and armor, and his long hair swirled like a maddened halo around his face. He landed in the middle of the courtyard and swept out both his hands, sending living and dead to smash against the walls.

  “Menduarthis,” whispered Hweilan. But no sooner had she uttered it than she knew the lie of it. The symbol the baazuled had carved onto his forehead at the Razor Heart fortress glowed with a hellish light. When she had last seen him, one of Jagun Ghen’s ilk had possessed him. No longer.

  “Hand of the Hunter,” he called to her as the last of the winds died. “So good of you to come. At last.”

  The one standing before her was not Menduarthis, nor even some demon dragged into this world. It was the one who had destroyed all Hweilan held dear, the reason she had come through death and worse, the reason her parents were dead, the thing for which she had prepared and trained and struggled.

  Hweilan stood, raised her bow, and said, “Jagun Ghen.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jagun Ghenlooked up at her and smiled. Seeing the enemy before her at last, but looking at her through the gaze of Menduarthis … it filled Hweilan with an unreasoning rage. She pulled the arrow to her cheek and aimed.

  Jagun Ghen smiled wider and proffered both hands. It was such a Menduarthis-like expression that Hweilan found her arm trembling.

  “Put down your weapon,” said Jagun Ghen. “It cannot serve you. Not here.”

  Hweilan whispered, “Forgive me,” and let go the bowstring. The runes along the arrow’s shaft blazed as it f
lew.

  Jagun Ghen swatted one hand, and the air around him whipped out, striking the arrow, shattering it, and sending the pieces clattering over the courtyard.

  “Only one arrow left,” he said.

  Hweilan grabbed the bow and aimed again. Two of the surviving baazuled walked to join their master. One was burned beyond recognition. The galeforce winds had killed the flames, but his body still smoked as he walked-a blackened, bloody husk, his teeth the only lightness. Other baazuled stood up.

  The few hobgoblins left alive-Hweilan saw Flet stirring-were watching the confrontation, but the worst of the fight had gone out of them. One of them got to his feet and bounded down the stairs. Ravens circled overhead, but none dared attack.

  “Our time is short, girl,” said Jagun Ghen. “You can come quietly, or we can make you come. But come you will.”

  Hweilan kept her aim fixed on Jagun Ghen, but she began a slow, careful walk down the steps. Perhaps if she could get close enough …

  “The last time you faced one of us in the body of one you loved, you hesitated. Another struck in your place. I am pleased to see that you have learned courage since. Or perhaps you did not care much for this one after all? I will be sure he knows of it when I am done with him.”

  From the corner of her eye, Hweilan saw Rhan. He lay against the fortress where the wind had thrown him, but he still had the Greatsword of Impiltur in his hand. If she could take out Jagun Ghen, and if Flet had another special arrow or two … they might stand a chance. Hweilan’s foot came off the bottom step, and she kept going, her aim still fixed on Jagun Ghen. If she could just get a little closer …

  “Done with him?” she said. “Like you were done with Argalath?”

  “The halfbreed was a broken fool when I found him-”

  “When he found you, you mean,” said Hweilan, slowly placing a foot forward. She didn’t miss the small drop of the corner of Menduarthis’s mouth. She had surprised Jagun Ghen.