With a jolt, she realized something else. That thing had not come alone. The first time he’d found her, Creel had been with him. Creel had taken Highwatch. Had killed her family.
And Kadrigul had been beside Soran too. Kadrigul who served Argalath.
Hweilan had heard the whispered tales that Guric’s chief counselor was more than spellscarred. Though the man himself had always denied it, more than a few had said the man was a demonbinder, that he sacrificed to the ancient devil-gods of the Nar.
Jagun Ghen.
“Damn,” said Hweilan. It all made sense.
Highwatch had fallen and her family had been murdered. And all because of some conflict that went back thousands of years.
Sitting there surrounded by mountains, weighed down by her thoughts, Hweilan felt very small.
And terrified. She’d lived a sheltered life at Highwatch. The world was much bigger, harder, and meaner than she had ever imagined. Every person she’d ever loved was dead. Murdered.
That didn’t make the terror go away. A little pit of it still churned in her stomach. But it shrank as something else grew inside her. Something stronger.
Anger. Fury.
It cleared her thoughts.
She was alive. Through all the horror, the fear, and the uncertainty of the past days, one fact remained, pure and cold in the growing predawn light: she was alive. Her breath came cold and plumed before her. The halbdol was beginning to lose its potency, and she could feel the first pangs of chill against her skin, but it was a good feeling. She was hungry, tired … but those feelings seemed to strip her to her purest essence. She was alive. She still had her breath, her blood, and her freedom. If anyone or anything wanted those things, they would have to take them. Hweilan was tired, yes. Tired of running. Tired of being hunted.
She remembered a lesson Scith had given her in her eighth year. Her first time in the wild without her family. Only her, Scith, and a few guards. But she and Scith had roamed away from the others for much of the day, Scith teaching her the ways of the wild. His first lesson, the one on which all others had built, came to her now.
“There are two types of beings in the world, Hweilan, neither better than the other, and both depending on one another, blood and breath, for survival: the hunter and the hunted.”
Hweilan was tired of being the hunted. Whatever the days ahead brought, she would be hunted no more. Time to stop running. Time to stop being hunted. Time to hunt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE SUN WAS CLIMBING INTO THE SKY WHEN HWEILAN returned to their shelter. Menduarthis was pacing outside, and Lendri crouched just outside the entrance. When Menduarthis saw her approaching, the tension left his shoulders.
“We were getting worried,” he said.
Hweilan took a deep breath, then said, “I’ll go.”
Menduarthis looked at her, looked at Lendri, then back at her. “Go? Go where? What are you—?”
“To Nendawen,” she said.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I want to find the people who killed my family. I want to kill them. If this Nendawen can help me do that …”
Menduarthis opened his mouth to reply, but Lendri spoke first.
“Hweilan, it isn’t …” He stood and gazed off northward to the pass between two of the peaks. “Not like that. Nendawen isn’t one to be bargained with. He wants Jagun Ghen, and that is that. Your family—”
“Was killed by Jagun Ghen,” said Hweilan. “Or by those who serve him, at least.”
Lendri scowled and Menduarthis rolled his eyes as Hweilan laid out her reasoning to them. Lendri’s eyes sharpened, but she could see his attention focused inward. Menduarthis’s eyes widened in dawning horror.
“Am I the only one here who hasn’t lost all sense?” said Menduarthis. He pointed at Lendri. “Just because he made some deal with a barbarian demigod doesn’t obligate you to help him. He wants to honor his people’s ways by jumping face first into the fire? Let him. But don’t jump in with him.”
“They’re my people too,” said Hweilan.
“Oh, for—”
“They killed my family! Do you remember what you told me? “The world isn’t a nice place,’ you said. “Fools say it’s unforgiving, but that’s why they’re fools. The world doesn’t forgive because it doesn’t blame. And the world doesn’t blame because it doesn’t care.’ You were right, you bastard. The world doesn’t care. But there are people in the world who do. I loved my family. They loved me. And they’re dead now. Murdered. And those who did it are sitting in my home. My home! And if Jagun Ghen is responsible, I swear to my family’s gods that I’m going to make him regret the day he—”
An arrow hit Menduarthis in the chest. He still wore his armor, and the shaft bounced off, but it struck with enough force that it knocked him to the ground.
They looked up. An archer stood on the southern rise that they had come down earlier. He was already reaching for another arrow. Below him, two tundra tigers were descending the slope, each carrying a rider. Other figures—some small, their odd hats giving them away as uldra, others taller, their long hair blowing in the morning breeze—crested the rise and fanned around the archer.
“Ujaiyen,” said Menduarthis. “How …?”
Lendri grabbed Hweilan and pulled her behind him. “Run!”
They had no real chance. Their weapons were down to Hweilan’s two knives and a bow she could not use. The Ujaiyen had the element of surprise, superior numbers, and Hweilan, Menduarthis, and Lendri were still hungry and haggard from their escape. Still, desperation lent them strength and speed, and they were halfway up the northern slope when the tigers’ roars washed over them.
Hweilain’s knees buckled, and she hit the ground. Lendri grabbed her elbow and yanked her to her feet.
“Move,” he said. His eyes shone with a cold fury, and his teeth had lengthened to points.
The tigers flanked them, passed them, then stopped on the rise above them as the Ujaiyen on foot closed from below. The tigers’ riders lowered long spears.
Menduarthis flicked an intricate pattern with the fingers of his right hand, then thrust both fists forward. A wind swept across the slope, driving frost and grit across the riders, blinding them. He finished with a flourish of arms and hands, and snow and sharp bits of hail wove into the wind, striking their pursuers below.
“Keep going!” he shouted to Hweilan.
They made it over the rise and kept going. The next valley was choked with evergreens and winter-bare underbrush. Behind her, she heard the roar of a tiger, a shout from Menduarthis, and the roar of more wind.
Lendri fell back to put himself between Hweilan and their pursuers. She spared a glance back and saw Menduarthis coming over the rise. An arrow shot through his cloak, and another bounced off his armor.
“Keep moving!” he shouted. “Don’t wait for me!”
Lendri looked at Hweilan, said, “Get to the trees,” then charged back over the hill.
“Where are you going?” she called, but he ignored her.
Menduarthis grabbed her and pulled her after him. “He can take care of himself. Move!”
A tundra tiger roared, and mixed with it Hweilan heard the angry growl and bark of a wolf.
“Lendri!” she screamed.
But Menduarthis held her tight. “He’s buying us time. He’ll be along. Now move!”
She turned and ran, Menduarthis a few steps ahead of her. The slope was steep and covered with ice and snow. She could hear footsteps behind her, gaining, but she didn’t dare look back. Near the bottom, a rock under the snow turned beneath her boot, and she fell, hitting the ground hard.
It saved her. She felt something pass over her, and when she looked up, she saw that one of the riders had tossed a net. It had just missed her, and instead caught Menduarthis around the legs.
The rider snarled and reined the tiger back, tightening the noose threaded around the net. It pulled Menduarthis down in a tangle of his own cloak.
Hweilan let go of her father’s bow, grabbed the nearest rock, and lobbed it at the rider as hard as she could. Her thick gloves affected her aim, and the rock hit the tiger instead. It stopped and turned its yellow eyes on her. As did its rider. He let go of the rope holding the net, lowered his spear, and with his knees turned his tiger toward her. The tiger’s ears flattened, and it lowered its head as it charged.
A spear struck it in the soft flesh between its jaw and shoulder. The tiger screamed and thrashed, throwing its rider.
Hweilan grabbed her bow and looked up. Lendri was coming down the slope, a small knife in one hand. Blood covered his face and chest, and as near as she could tell, none of it was his own. He must have killed one of the Ujaiyen and taken his weapons.
“Go!” he shouted.
More Ujaiyen—uldra and elves, all on foot—were streaming down the hill behind him. Except for the archer, who stood on the crest, bow bent, arrow to cheek, the point of his arrow aimed at Hweilan. He loosed. His aim was flawless, but the distance was enough that Hweilan had time to dive out of the way, scramble to her feet, and run. She heard the arrow strike the rocks a few paces away.
Menduarthis had disentangled himself from the net and was on his feet again. Together they made it into the trees.
Hweilan slowed. “Where is Lendri?”
Menduarthis pushed her onward. “If he’s alive, he’ll find us. If not, there’s nothing you can do for—”
Menduarthis screamed and shot into the air. A thick tendril of vine, covered in wicked-looking thorns, had snaked around his torso and yanked him into the air. Hweilan looked up and saw two uldra, their faces split by wicked grins, crouched in the thick green boughs of a pine.
And then the net fell over her.
Three uldra and an elf reached through the net, taking Hweilan’s weapons, then hung her from the next tree. More vines encased Menduarthis, pinning his arms to his sides. Even his fingers, bloody and ripped by the thorns, were bound in smaller tendrils.
Hweilan dared hope that Lendri might come to their aid, but when the rest of the hunting party arrived, they were dragging Lendri in another net.
An eladrin who wore his black hair in dozens of tight braids, all pulled back and bound with a green cord, stood in their midst and looked up at Menduarthis.
“Nikle’s plan worked,” he said, and bowed to one of the uldra. It was the first one Hweilan had met her first night in the feywild. The little creature’s eyes sparkled at the praise. “Just like deer. Spook them and they run right into the trap. I said you were far too smart to fall for that. I am most pleased to see how wrong I was. Most pleased.”
Menduarthis cursed him in his own language, and Hweilan could tell by his voice that the thorns were cutting through more than his clothes.
“Most impolite, considering your current predicament,” said the eladrin.
“How in the unholy hells did you get through the mound?” said Menduarthis.
The eladrin chuckled. “The one you destroyed? Oh, we didn’t. We had to come through the crystals. But really, Menduarthis, are you so smitten with this little wench that you’ve forgotten how to think? We came through the crystals, yes, but how hard is it to teleport once we are here? Quite a mess you made of the place, I will say. Still, it wasn’t hard to pick up your trail.”
“I really didn’t think you’d come here,” said Menduarthis, and he managed an insolent grin through his mask of pain. “I thought you too much a coward.”
The eladrin went very still and paled. Finally, he said, “Whatever devil you let into our realm, Menduarthis, it failed. Kunin Gatar was hurt, yes, but your little ruse only fueled her anger. She has plans for you three. For you, Lendri … she’s going to cut off a new appendage every day, then grow it back. That will be your food for the next year. Eating yourself.” He shuddered. “Still, bloody monster like you might enjoy that. You, Menduarthis? She’s still contemplating your fate, though I dare say it is going to make you pray to take Lendri’s place. And you.”
He walked over to Hweilan, looked down on her, and poked at her with the toe of his boot.
“I confess I’ve forgotten your name.”
She glared up at him. “Hweilan.”
He grimaced. “Not worth remembering. You girl … well, perhaps our queen still has a warm place in her heart for young girls. I have orders to find a low-hanging branch, nail you to it, palms and wrists, and leave you to the mercy of whatever foul power haunts these lands.”
Lendri snarled and thrashed in his net, but two of the uldra laid into him with whips fashioned from the thorn-covered vines. Blood splattered, freezing on the ground as it hit, and he quieted.
“Well,” said the eladrin, “let us do our duty. Sooner done, sooner we are gone.”
One of the uldra said something in his own language. A single syllable, but Hweilan heard the fear tinging it. He pointed, and the eladrin looked up. Hweilan followed his gaze.
Ravens filled the nearest trees. They had not been there before, Hweilan was sure of it. Dozens of ravens looked down on the hunters and their catch. Thick wings flapped, and even as Hweilan watched, more landed. And more. Dozens at first. But then they grew to a hundred or more. In the bits of sky she could see between the branches, she saw more circling overhead, some close enough to be seen for the huge ravens they were, but others only distant specks. There were hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands.
The eladrin opened his mouth to speak, but even as he did so, a howl broke the silence. Then another and another and another. From every direction.
The Ujaiyen called out in alarm. Dusky shapes were making their way through the surrounding wood, and here and there, yellow eyes watched from the shadows.
Menduarthis laughed. “I’d watch the ‘foul power’ insults if I were you, Losir. And if you have any sense at all, you’ll let us go. Someone much more powerful and much meaner than Kunin Gatar has a claim on that girl. And you’re pissing on his threshold.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
MENDUARTHIS SPEAKS THE TRUTH—FOR ONCE,” said Lendri. “Hweilan is Chosen of Nendawen. Harm her, and by dawn all that will be left of you and all your hunters are your bones.”
Losir looked around at his men. They did not look away, but Hweilan could see the fear in their eyes.
“If we go back without you,” said Losir, “Kunin Gatar will put your fate on us.” “Then run,” said Menduarthis. “Get as far away as you can from the queen. You’ll be surprised how good it feels.”
The two uldra holding him snarled at his insult and pulled the vines tighter, shoving the thorns deeper into his arms.
Menduarthis cried out, then said, “Though not so much right now, I will admit.”
“I am not like you,” said Losir. “Faithless. The lord of this place claims the girl? Fine. I will leave her here unharmed and hope that the queen is in a forgiving mood. But you two are returning to face her judgment.”
“No!” Hweilan screamed. But Losir ignored her.
Hweilan thrashed and kicked in her bindings. One of the uldra stepped forward and brought his thorned whip across her. Her thick clothing protected her from the worst of it, but a long tendril raked down her cheek, barely missing her eye.
Every raven in the trees cried out, their caws loud as thunder, and the wolves’ howls changed to low growls that shook the ground.
They quieted.
“I wouldn’t do that again,” said Menduarthis.
Losir nodded and spoke to the uldra in his own language. The little creature coiled his whip and stepped away.
“Let us go!” Hweilan screamed.
Losir glanced at the ravens, then looked down at Hweilan. “Calm yourself, and I will free you before we leave.”
Hweilan screamed and kicked at him, but he bounced away, light as a dancer.
“As you wish,” said Losir. He called out to his troop, and they began to file away, every eye turned warily up to the trees or watching the thick brush. The two uldra let Mendua
rthis down from the tree and fitted his bindings to drag him behind them.
“Losir!” Lendri called. “Leave the girl her weapons. The knives and bow. They are hers, and she is Nendawen’s. Steal from her, and you steal from him.”
Losir stopped, considered, then waved to an elf and issued an order.
The elf stepped forward and dropped both knives and the bow on the ground several paces away.
Losir looked back at her, “This Nendawen claims you? Let him untie you.”
And with that, he walked away, his troop following, dragging Lendri and Menduarthis between them.
In moments, Hweilan was alone under the eyes of the hungry ravens.
She screamed.
“Hweilan!” Menduarthis called from the woods. “Stop. This doesn’t help us. I got away from Kunin Gatar once. I can do it again.” Hweilan heard the lie in his voice. “You take care of yourself now, little flower.”
Hweilan let out a final scream, then stopped. She had no idea how long she’d been at it, but her throat was raw. Taking deep breaths, she realized how absolutely silent it was.
She looked up. The ravens were gone. The skies were clear again, and there was no sign of a wolf in the brush.
Have to think, she told herself.
She was still bound in the net, but the net’s leash was not tied to anything. Scooting like a caterpillar, she worked her way over to her weapons. She worked three fingers out of the net, managed to grab the knife Lendri had given her, and set to work.
It was a painstaking process, and more than once she dropped the knife or sliced into her jacket. But bit by bit she managed to slice through the net, and before too long she had freed one arm. After that, it was easy, and she freed herself in moments.
She stood and sloughed off the remains of the net.
Looking around, the Ujaiyen and her friends gone, she realized she had absolutely no idea what to do.
She could not forsake Lendri and Menduarthis. Not after all they’d done for her. She knew if she did so, the disappointed faces of Scith and her family would haunt her dreams forever. But what could she do with only two knives and a bow she could not bend?
Chosen of Nendawen Book 001 - The Fall of Highwatch Page 30
