Hweilan's grip tightened around her knife, but her hand was shaking. Something about the tone in Menduarthis's voice-she felt as if Kelemvor had just placed her in his scale, and her next words would decide which way she swung.
She licked her lips and said, "H-Hweilan. My name is Hweilan."
Menduarthis straightened, closed his eyes, and breathed in deep through his nose. "Ah… Hweilan," he said, pronouncing it very carefully, savoring each syllable. "A flower indeed. And I even like the thorns." He bowed. "Well met. My hunters tell me that a band of frantic Nar ride not a half-mile from here, and one of the Frost Folk leads them. Friends of yours?"
"No! They attacked us."
"And what do you know of the thing that rides with them? Big brute with black eyes."
"I know it attacked us."
"And the ravens? A whole murder of them coming to your rescue?"
She shuddered at the memory. "I don't know."
Menduarthis held her gaze. "Don't know or won't tell?"
"Ravens hit the man. I ran. We ran. Lendri and me. We thought we'd lost them, and then you arrived."
"And here we are, yes?"
Hweilan shrugged.
"Back to the matter at hand, then," said Menduarthis. "You were about to hand over your weapons."
Hweilan looked to Lendri. The elf kept his jaw clenched, but he gave her a careful nod.
"No," she said.
"No?" said Menduarthis.
"I'll surrender the knife," she said. "But the bow belonged to my father. It's all I have left of him. I'll give my life before I give the bow."
"Hm." Menduarthis peeled off his gloves with his teeth, then tucked them into his belt. "Dear Father is dead, I take it?"
Hweilan's scowl deepened.
"Don't take offense," said Menduarthis, his tone light and mocking again. "My father is dead too. At least I think he is. But I assure you, Hweilan, I am no thief. I don't even want to keep your little steel thorn there, though I do appreciate the offer. I simply don't want you causing any trouble on the way. The Ujaiyen's tigers can be a bit… ill-tempered."
"On the way to where?"
"To where we're taking you."
She waited for more explanation. It didn't come, and she knew it wouldn't. "I promise I won't cause any trouble," she said.
"Well, I do appreciate that. But we hardly know each other. How do I know I can trust you?"
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"What makes you think you have a choice?" He waved his fingers at the hunters surrounding them. "Unless you have more ravens up your sleeve… well, I'm afraid I have the advantage, yes?"
"I don't have any arrows," said Hweilan. "I can't even bend the thing enough to string it-much less use it!"
"Then why hang on to it?"
"Because it was my father's!"
"Anything else of his you'd like to hang on to?"
"J-just the bow."
"Hm." Menduarthis folded his hands in front of his face and hummed while he considered it. He looked around at the little hunters, then back to Hweilan and said, "No."
"Why?"
"Because," he said, and his voice went hard and cold again, "although you do seem like a most trustworthy little flower, right now, you need to understand who is in command here. Me. Hand over the bow."
"No. You'll have to kill me first."
"Will I?" Menduarthis laughed and looked to Lendri. "Is she really that foolish?"
Lendri said nothing.
"Oh, yes," said Menduarthis. "Can't speak." He let out an exaggerated sigh-Hweilan noticed that his breath still didn't steam, even in the cold. He raised his voice and said, "The elf can answer this question. Nobody kill him."
Lendri fixed him with a cold glare, then looked around at the hunters.
"Ah, yes," said Menduarthis. "They don't speak the language. Can't understand what I just said. You are paying attention! I guess you'd better keep quiet after all." He turned back to Hweilan. "Last chance. Give me the bow and knife, or I take them."
"No."
He clucked his tongue inside his cheek. "You like magic, Hweilan?"
"Not really."
"Hm. Pity." Menduarthis planted both his heels together, stood very straight, and waved both hands in an intricate pattern. "You probably aren't going to like this, then."
Menduarthis's hands shot forward, and with them came a wind with the force of a dozen winter gales-but focused in one thick stream that flowed around him. His cape billowed out like a pennant. Storm and darkness hit Hweilan, then swallowed her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Howls haunted Hweilan's dreams. Pain tinged these howls. Remorse. Fear.
Everything around her was cold. Cold and hard. Mountains covered with snow and ice that had not melted in a thousand generations of men. Jagged, broken peaks that bit through gray clouds lined by moonlight. At the mountains' feet, forests of pine older than the kingdoms of men filled valleys-some so deep that they never saw sun or moonlight.
Cold as it was, still the land felt alive. Not merely filled with living things-though that was true; thousands of animals and birds singing, playing, sleeping, waking, hunting and being hunted… dying; even flowers bloomed amid the frost-the land itself and the air around it possessed… a…
Livingness. A steady pulse ran through everything. A breathing. Almost like a song, though one not so much heard with the ears as felt in the blood.
But that blood ran cold.
Her eyes opened, the memory of the dream already fading. She couldn't see. Shadows masked everything.
She tried to sit up, but something held her back. For an instant, she panicked, but then she found she'd been wrapped-more snug than tight-in blankets, then lain upon a thick fur and wrapped again, some of the outer fur blanket folded over her head like a hood.
Wriggling like a caterpillar escaping its cocoon, Hweilan managed to free her arms, sit up, and pull the blanket off her face.
She was surrounded by bones.
She was in a sort of domed tent, made from bent poles of wood-some so green that leaves and verdant moss still clung to them. A small fire in the center of the room cast everything in orange light. Hanging from the tent frame were dozens and dozens of bones. Leg bones, ribs, sections of backbone strung through braided thread like the macabre necklace of a giant. But worst were the skulls. Swiftstags, some with antlers and some without. Tundra tigers, their daggerlike teeth painted in swirls of red and yellow. Many smaller animals-badgers, squirrels, voles-and many birds. And here and there were even a few human skulls, some bare and yellowed with age, painted in many curved and branched patterns, and others still brown and glistening fresh.
The last thing she remembered was Menduarthis on the mountain, then a great gust of wind, hitting her like a felled tree. Her body still ached from the impact, but it was a dull ache. Either a healer had seen to her, or she had slept for many days while her body healed. Perhaps both.
Her stomach felt empty and her throat dry enough to make her believe she had slept for a day at least.
Feeling her body and looking down inside the blankets, she saw that her own clothes were gone. She had been washed and now wore a sort of shift. It felt soft and warm as doeskin but looked fibrous. Someone had washed and clothed her. Hweilan shivered.
She looked down at her right hand. The bandages were gone, and the skin almost healed. The new skin had a too-smooth sheen, but the scabs were gone. The letters were still there, though, a puffy scar: KAN. "Death." She wiggled her fingers, then clenched her hand in a tight fist. The new skin felt tender, but there was no pain.
The flap of the tent opened, admitting a breath of frigid air and one of the little hunters. He ducked inside, pulled the door shut, and his eyes widened at seeing her awake.
They locked gazes for a long moment, then he placed one hand to his chest and said, "Nikle."
In the light of the fire, Hweilan got her first good look at one of these strange hunters.
Her first
impression of a halfling had not been far off, at least in height. But there the resemblance ended. He was very thin, and his skin had the tint of a cloudless winter sky. And so much skin showing for such cold weather! It made Hweilan shiver even in her blankets. The little hunter wore a sleeveless tunic of some cured animal hide, belted at the waist. Its fur fringe hung just above his bare knees. He wore no boots, gloves, or coat. Just a very strange hat. It, too, was made from some sort of animal skin, fur around the edge of the cap, tied around a rim of dark wood, or perhaps horn. On the left side, a single antler spike protruded from the rim, and bits of leather lacing tied it to the long cap, so that the hat rose to sort of a curved cone over his head. A tiny skull-from a squirrel or small badger perhaps-dangled from a tassel attached to the top of the hat. The ears protruding from under the rim of the hat were very pointed-sharper and taller than even Lendri's-and the green eyes had the look of elfkind. By the warm light of the fire, they did not quite glow, but they seemed very bright, like flawless emeralds.
Hweilan shook her head. "Nikle?"
The hunter nodded and motioned to her with one hand. "Nu thrastulet?"
The door opened again, letting in more cold air, and Menduarthis entered.
"He's telling you his name," said Menduarthis, "and asking for yours." He rattled off something in the same language she'd heard them speak on the mountainside. Nikle smiled and shuffled out of the way.
Menduarthis shut the flap and sat across the fire from her.
"He knows your name already," he said. "But the uldrainsist on propriety and good manners to a guest."
Hweilan looked to Nikle, who was watching them both. If he understood Menduarthis's words or sensed his flippant tone, the little hunter gave no sign.
"Uldra?" Hweilan asked.
Menduarthis waved one hand at the little hunter. "Nikle here. He's an uldra."
Hweilan took in her first good look at Menduarthis. She'd only been able to get a few details on the dark mountainside. He wore no armor now-trousers and shirt of a simple cut, an unbuttoned coat that fell to his knees, and boots laced up to his knees. Nothing unusual in his manner of dress, but his physical appearance was something else. His skin was not simply pale. It was bone white. Which made his hair seem all the darker-the blackest black she had ever seen. It scarcely reflected the firelight. He wore it long, well past his shoulders, and it didn't look as if a brush had visited it in many days. Her first thought was that his eyes were silver, but upon closer inspection she saw that they were very light blue flecked with many darker shades, and he had no pupils.
"You are eladrin?" she said.
Menduarthis gave her a sly smile. "Among other things."
"What does that mean?"
Menduarthis chuckled, but he had a dangerous glint in his eye. "And what are you? Hmm?"
"Human," said Hweilan. "Though I have elf blood through my mother."
Menduarthis sat up straight, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back, almost as if in meditation. A breeze came from somewhere behind her, tossing her hair in her face and causing the fire to lie low. But when she turned, there was no gap or tear in the walls. Just the wooden tent frame and wall of animal skin.
When she turned back around, Menduarthis had not moved, but he breathed in deep through his nostrils.
"Ah,' he said, and looked down at her. "Human with some elf blood, she says. True enough. True enough. But what else runs in your veins? Hmm?"
"You never answered my question."
"I didn't come to answer your questions, girl. I came to fetch you. You have an audience. With the queen."
"Queen? There are no queens in the Giantspires."
"Oh, you are a sharp one. Now, get dressed or I'll have to take you in your blankets, and that is hardly a way to make a good first impression."
"Where are my clothes?"
He leaned back, opened the door just enough to reach one hand out, then brought it back inside holding a thick bundle of cloth tied crossways with a cord.
"Your clothes, I'm afraid, are gone." He glanced at Nikle. "Those rags you had on were not suitable for an audience with the queen."
"They were no worse than what you're wearing."
Menduarthis chuckled. "Yes, but I'm a loyal subject. You? Well, you were found running with that sivat, so I suggest you wear what you're told and mind your manners. At the moment, you're a guest, but you can join your little elf friend if you aren't careful."
"Where is Lendri?"
"Taken care of."
Hweilan took the bundle and undid the knot of cord. Opening it, she found fine linen smallclothes, a shirt of the same fibrous material as the shift she was wearing, a leather belt, and trousers and a coat that seemed to be made of swiftstag skin. Soft rabbit fur lined the coat. Nothing fancy, but all very well made.
Nikle rattled off something in his own language, and Menduarthis responded in kind. The little hunter poked his head outside, spoke to someone out there, then reached out and came back in holding a large sack. Menduarthis was watching her intently, an amused glint in his eye.
"What is it?" said Hweilan.
"Nikle has a gift for you," said Menduarthis.
She looked at the sack. As Nikle moved back to sit beside the fire, she could hear something rattling inside. "What kind of gift?"
Menduarthis said something to Nikle. The little hunter smiled and emptied the sack beside Hweilan.
Five skulls rattled out. Dark brown and glistening wet, bits of tissue and blood still clinging to them. The stench of death caught in the warm air of the fire and filled the tent, making Hweilan's stomach clench.
Nikle spread his hands over the gift and said something.
Menduarthis translated. "Nikle wishes to tell you that those Nar who hunted you will trouble you no more. Whatever grievance they had against you died with them. Though in truth, I do believe that your elf friend killed two of them, and a good many more got away-including that Frost Folk brute and that… whatever it was."
She looked down at the grisly pile. "What am I supposed to do with them?"
Menduarthis threw back his head and laughed. "Nikle here would be happy to treat and paint them for you. You can use them to adorn your… well, wherever you might end up. But that is for another day."
He said something to Nikle, and the little hunter began tossing the skulls back in the sack.
"I'll give you a moment to dress," said Menduarthis. "A quick moment. We must be off. Not wise to keep the queen waiting."
Menduarthis waved to Nikle, and they turned to leave.
"Where are my things?" said Hweilan. "My bone whistle? My father's bow?"
"I told you," Menduarthis said over his shoulder, "you had to give those up. Don't worry. They're in safe keeping. But until we're sure you aren't going to cause any trouble, I'll just keep them safe."
"I am not going anywhere without them."
"I could make you come."
"And I could make that very difficult for you."
Menduarthis stared at her a long time, those pupilless eyes seeming to weigh her. Finally, the left side of his mouth curled up in a grin. "You could, I think. Hmm. Well, as much as I might enjoy that, our time is short. Shall we compromise?"
"What?"
He reached inside a pocket sewn on the inside of his coat and pulled out her kishkoman. "I give you back your kishkoman, and you come along with no trouble."
"How… how do you know what that is?"
"Let's just say it isn't the first I've seen."
He tossed it to her, and she caught it.
"Know this," said Menduarthis. "Blow it all you like. No one here will answer. You'll only annoy the locals, and I don't recommend that. Try anything with the pointy end, and you'll never see dear Mother's kishkoman again. Get dressed."
Menduarthis crawled back outside and held the door open for Nikle. The air that rushed inside was absolutely frigid. Nikle turned and faced her, gave a small bow, then walked out. The door shut after him.
Hweilan crawled out of the blankets. Even with the fire nearby, the air inside the tent was cold, and she shivered.
She was halfway finished donning the smallclothes when the door flew open, and Menduarthis leaned inside. Hweilan shrieked and grabbed the blankets to cover herself.
"I almost forgot this,' he said, and threw in a pair of fur-lined boots, gloves, hat, and a fur cloak. The door slammed shut. "Hurry, girl!"
Knowing what nights in the mountains could feel like, Hweilan put the shift back on over her smallclothes and tucked it into the trousers. Every little bit of clothing would help.
Once she was fully dressed, she hung the kishkoman round her neck and stuffed it between her smallclothes and shift.
Give me the bow and knife or I take them. Menduarthis had said that right before he'd done… whatever he'd done. And he'd taken the bow and knife. Damn him.
Hweilan's fear subsided as her anger returned. She'd been chased and threatened, and Menduarthis had taken away her weapons with ease. She'd have to find a less direct way of beating him if his magic could summon the winds like that.
Hweilan crouched and threw the door open. Menduarthis stood a few paces away, scuffing the toes of his boots through the snow. Nikle and a few other uldra chattered among themselves. Beyond them Hweilan stepped outside and got her first good look around. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes went wide. There were dome tents all around-some clustered around large firepits where cauldrons bubbled, others alone between the roots of trees.
And such trees. Hweilan craned her head upward. Pines of some sort, branches powdered in snow and trunks coated with frost, their lowest branches far overhead. The bases of the trees were larger than the topmost towers of Highwatch, and several had roots that broke up through the soil and twisted in arches that under which she could have walked upright.
She could only assume it was daytime, for soft gray light filtered down from the pines, but she could not see the sky through their branches. Most of the light came from the campfires.
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