The fall of Highwatch con-1

by Mark Sehestedt

  The men exchanged nervous glances, and every one of them either looked at Kadrigul's naked blade-or pointedly did not look. One of the torch bearers said, "Sooner in, sooner out," and plunged in after Soran. The others followed, and Kadrigul came after.

  He prodded the rearmost man with the point of his sword and said loud for all of them, "Catch up with Soran."

  The trail was easy enough to follow. Most places inside the structure were still open to the sky, and snow lay thick on the ground.

  "Ai, lakhot!" one of the men ahead said. The others stopped and stood in a tight group. The path was just wide enough for all of them to gather. Kadrigul saw why. The light from their torches hit the great shards of ice and refracted back in dozens of colors. In the thicker parts of the ice-and this close, Kadrigul was no longer certain it even was ice-the light seemed to catch, spark, and glimmer in tiny motes at times very deep within the shards, and at other times just below the surface.

  "What is it?" said another.

  "It doesn't matter," said Kadrigul. "Move along. Quickly!"

  The men looked at one another. The one who had called out was trembling with fear. He placed a hand on the hilt of his knife.

  "Soran!" Kadrigul called.

  That got them moving again, though all of them had hands on weapons now.

  Paths veered off in every direction between the shards. Three times out of four, they veered left at one of these branches. The trail remained clear, but they still hadn't caught up to Soran.

  Night fell outside, and as darkness pressed in, the glow from their three torches seemed all the brighter, refracting off snow and shards in a dozen shades of blue, green, and red. Gold, silver, and bright white flared in the depths of the shards. At least two of the men muttered frightened prayers.

  The Creel with the torch leading the way stopped again. He turned to look past his companions to Kadrigul. There was no insolence or rebellion in his face. Just fear. "Shouldn't we have come to the other side by now?"

  Kadrigul remembered seeing the structure from the hillside above and how Soran had circled it on horseback in a short time. The man was right. They should have come out by now. Even the few forks in the path had not bent them around enough to walk in a circle. Something was wrong.

  "Keep going," he told them.

  The man who had spoken looked to the other Creel. The others all seemed to look to the man nearest Kadrigul, the one holding the other torch. He swallowed and stood straight. "No, my lord. We go no further. This is madness."

  Kadrigul swept his sword out and forward in an arc aimed for the man's belly, but he was ready for it and jumped back. Kadrigul's blade glanced off the wall in a small shower of blue sparks.

  All the Creel had swords drawn now. They fanned across the path three across, with the two torchbearers behind.

  "Please lord!" their leader called out. "Not this! I beg you. We mean no disrespect. But this… this is madness. This is no place for men. Can you not feel it?"

  The wind had picked up. Not strong, but a good steady breeze. As it cut its way through the shards, the entire structure whistled, and damned if Kadrigul couldn't hear a music in it-a soft, sad song, almost a lament, that sang of cold and ice and the darkness between the stars.

  "We go on," Kadrigul said.

  "Please, lord…"

  The man in front of him, the only one holding his sword with a steady hand, dropped his eyes and said, "Please."

  Kadrigul heard a swiiisht, like someone swinging a green twig through the air, then one of the torchbearers fell backward screaming. His torch went down fire first into the snow and snuffed out in a small cloud of hissing steam.

  The other Creel screamed and leaped away. Kadrigul saw something long, thin, and dark wrapped around him, snaking across one shoulder near his neck then under the opposite arm. Curved thorns, some half as long as a man's finger, sprouted from it, shredding the Creel's thick clothes and biting into the flesh beneath.

  Kadrigul's gaze followed the line of the vine through the snow beyond. Just where the light from the last torch and glowing shards ended, Kadrigul saw a small figure, no taller than a halfling, but scantily dressed in strips of fur and leather. One of the hunters that had attacked them in the hills. It held the vine in gloved fists and watched them through eyes that glowed with a feral light. A long cap festooned with bones and feathers dangled from one shoulder. The creature saw Kadrigul watching him, then hissed, dropped the vine, and fled back into the dark. But rather than going slack, the vine tightened.

  The Creel screamed in agony, his cries drowning out those of his terrified companions, as he was dragged away into the dark, leaving a trail of bloody snow behind him. There was no way such a little creature as that hunter could pull away a full-grown man. Something else was in the dark.

  The roar of a tiger hit them, so loud that Kadrigul felt his teeth rattle.

  Still screaming, the Creel scattered, two heading off together down a side path, one going down another, and the remaining torchbearer bounding past Kadrigul. He let him go. The more distractions the better.

  But the man had taken the light with him.

  Kadrigul was alone in the dark.

  Kadrigul had lived most of his life in the far north, in lands where summer came colder than most winters in southern lands. In winter, night could last for months. To stay alive, to thrive in lands that would kill even the hardiest of Nar, his people had learned to survive the cold and hunt the dark.

  Once his eyes adjusted, he found that he could see quite well. In this high country, the stars seemed very close, and their stark light reflected off the snow and the great shards that thrust up from the ground like fallen watchtowers. It was the shadows between that gave him pause.

  He followed the trail of the two Creel, but he took his time, not rushing around corners or past a crossing where anything could be hiding behind the shards. The screams of the men had continued for a long time as they ran. The ones in front of him soon grew weak with distance. But Kadrigul distinctly heard one from behind him cut off abruptly. The tiger did not roar again; he had no idea where it was.

  Kadrigul rounded a corner and saw that the snow in front of him was scattered all the way across the path and stained dark. Steam rose from it. Blood. He could smell it. Pushed up against the bottom of one of the shards was a wet, grayish pile that, by the smell, Kadrigul knew were entrails. But no body.

  One set of tracks continued beyond. Two other pathways led off to either side, but there were no tracks. The snow was pure and untouched.

  Kadrigul heard a skittering overhead and looked up. He saw a dark shape against the sky, a quick glimpse of two glowing eyes, and then they shot out of sight.

  He leaped over the blood-no sense in picking up its scent-and took the left path, his feet trudging through the unbroken snow.

  He took the first path to the left he found, then two more to the right, hoping to throw off pursuit but still moving away from where the first Creel had been taken.

  Kadrigul sheathed his sword and went to the shard leaning at the greatest angle. He went to the back of it and tried to climb. No luck. It was dry as bone, but slick. He could make it no more than a few feet off the ground before sliding back down.

  A tiger roared. Kadrigul froze. It was some distance away, but still loud enough that he could feel the shard vibrating under his hands. It was the deep, bone-rattling roar that tigers used to stun their enemies. It roared again, but this time the roar ended in a fierce growl. The tiger had caught whatever it was after. Time to move.

  Kadrigul forsook the path and began to weave through the shards themselves, but he soon regretted his decision. In places, the bases of the shards ran together at odd angles, making it hard to find proper footing. In open ground between them, the snow was often knee deep. Either way, he'd be at a disadvantage if it came to a fight.

  As soon as he found a path again, he took it.

  He heard the tiger again. Not roaring or growling this time. It wa
s a great scream of anguish, high-pitched and almost pitiful. But it was still behind him. He moved on.

  Kadrigul soon came to a wide part in the path, where the great shards all leaned away, forming a fence in the shape of a long V. The moon had not yet risen over the mountains, but the stars shone down, their light reflecting off the snow and shards so brightly that Kadrigul cast a long blue shadow at his feet.

  Ahead, the path took a sharp turn to the right. He was halfway there when a small figure stepped out from between the shards, blocking his path. One of the little hunters. The creature's eyes glowed with a frosty light.

  Kadrigul stopped a half-dozen paces from the creature. Even in the starlight, he could see its skin had a bluish tint, and the ears protruding from the rim of the cap were far too sharp. The creature spread both hands outward, almost as if proffering himself, and Kadrigul saw that something was wrapped around him, from his fingertips all the way to his shoulders.

  The creature smiled, showing sharp teeth, and flicked both wrists. A length of vine fell and coiled in the snow at his feet, and as it hit the ground, soft tendrils along its length stiffened into sharp thorns. The same whiplike weapon that had taken the first Creel.

  Kadrigul turned. Another of the creatures was blocking the path behind him-this one holding a spear that was twice his own height. He heard rustling above and looked. More of the creatures were perched on the shards above, like birds on a ship's rigging, looking down on him with their glowing eyes. He counted four on one side and three on the other. Nine in all.

  "So be it," Kadrigul said, and drew his sword.

  The creature who had first blocked his path began swinging the thorn-covered vines, one in each hand, twirling them in intricate patterns to each side and over his head, cutting the air and sending up clouds of snow as they hissed over the ground. Kadrigul had no shield, so he held his empty scabbard in his off hand, ready to block the vines.

  The creature advanced, twirling the vines faster and faster, still smiling his feral grin. So far, the others seemed content to watch.

  The creature leaped forward and one vine shot out in a vertical swipe. Kadrigul danced to the side, the vine missing him by a foot or more, but the other was already coming across at his midsection.

  He hit it with his scabbard, and the vine whipped around it, cutting through Kadrigul's coat, shredding it but missing the skin beneath. With the vine tangled around his scabbard, Kadrigul struck the length of it with his sword, hoping to sever it.

  His blade, which he sharpened to a razor's edge every night, nicked a long strip of bark off the vine, then bounced away.

  The creature yanked on the vine, trying to pull the scabbard from Kadrigul's hand, but he used the added force to his own advantage, stepping in to the pull, within striking range, and bringing his sword around in a long swipe aimed for the creature's throat.

  The creature dropped so quickly that the tassel of his cap flew up and Kadrigul's sword sliced it off. The creature snarled and backed away out of reach of the blade. His vine was still tangled around Kadrigul's scabbard, but he let out enough slack to pull away. Kadrigul twirled the scabbard in an attempt to dislodge the vine, but the thorns held their grip.

  The onlookers hissed, whether in delight or consternation Kadrigul could not tell. They slapped the great shards with bare feet and hands, all in unison, and began a whispering chant. The wind picked up, howling through the structure and setting a mournful tune to counter the creatures' song.

  Kadrigul's opponent brought his arm back in a swift yank, hoping to dislodge the scabbard from Kadrigul's grip. Kadrigul let him take it, but he directed the pull, throwing the scabbard at the creature's head, using his own momentum against him. It struck the creature full in the face, causing him to stumble back.

  Kadrigul was on him, forsaking good form for brute strength, aiming the point of his sword for the creature's midsection.

  But the creature twisted away from the blade, the edge of Kadrigul's sword scraping his side, and brought the other vine around in a diagonal strike. Kadrigul had to fall into a crouch and roll to keep from being caught, but the thorns still raked along the back of one shoulder, tearing through clothes and skin as they passed.

  He came back to his feet, bloodied. The creature had a wicked cut along his side, and the thorns from his own weapon had pulled a great deal of skin off the left side of his face where the vine-covered scabbard had hit him. Kadrigul could feel blood soaking his side, and his left shoulder burned as if a thousand ants were biting their way through his veins. Poison.

  "Niista! Niista!" The onlookers chanted.

  Kadrigul shot a quick glance over his shoulder. The creature behind him held his spear ready, but so far he was still guarding the way, not joining in the fight.

  He had to end this quick.

  With one vine still tangled around Kadrigul's scabbard, the creature let it go and set his remaining weapon twirling over his head. He advanced, not charging, but step by careful step, a dance in time with the onlookers' chant. He struck diagonally, three quick swipes, spraying snow. Kadrigul backpedaled, taking him near the spearman.

  The onlookers were standing now, perched on the great shards and stamping their feet. More had come. At least twice as many as had been there before. Perhaps more.

  The vine came across in a horizontal swipe, Kadrigul dropped beneath, but this time rather than rolling to the side, he rolled back, under the spear, and brought his sword around in a backhand strike. It struck the spearman's knee, cutting all the way through one leg and halfway through the next. The spearman hit the snow and let out a long, keening wail.

  Kadrigul came up, buried the point of his sword in the spearman's midsection, and snatched the haft of his weapon with the other. The onlookers screamed, and the creature with the vines charged. Kadrigul stood and threw the spear at the creature with the vine. The little hunter jumped to the side, his charge spoiled, and the spear flew past him.

  Kadrigul took up a guard position, holding his sword in both hands, as the creature charged again.

  Strike and swipe and thrust. Again and again the two combatants struck at each other, drawing more blood, ripping more skin and clothes, but doing no permanent damage.

  The creature backed into the spear and seemed to stumble. Kadrigul struck, but it was a feint. The creature righted himself, hissed through bared teeth, and brought his weapon around, swift as an adder, aiming for Kadrigul's head.

  Kadrigul had to give up his attack and bring the blade up to block the vine. It whipped around the blade, and the creature pulled, yanking the sword from Kadrigul's grip. Vine and sword flew away into the snow.

  Kadrigul stood before him, blood leaking from a dozen cuts.

  The creature reached behind his back, and his hand emerged holding what looked like an antler, one long spike sharpened to a glistening point.

  "Niista! Niista!" the onlookers called.

  Kadrigul kept his gaze fixed on the antler.

  That was his mistake.

  The creature leaped into the air-surprisingly high for one so small-and kicked Kadrigul in the chest. He'd been hit much harder before, but it caught him off guard, and he fell back in the snow. The creature landed on top of him, straddling Kadrigul's stomach, his weapon held high.

  "Niista!"

  The creature over Kadrigul screamed, tensed the arm holding his weapon Kadrigul pushed up, easily dislodging the creature's light weight. He seized the creature's head in both hands, gripped like a falling man grasping that last ledge, and twisted. The creature's head went around with a sharp snap! of breaking bone and torn muscle.

  The onlookers went silent at once. The only sound was that of the howling wind.

  Kadrigul threw off the dead weight, jumped for his sword, grabbed it, and ran, the sound of dozens of pursuers right behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Someone else has claim to her.

  Time to grow up, Hweilan inle Merah. The blood runs thin in you, perhaps, but i
t runs true. Time to hunt.

  — Jagun Ghen A dozen voices vied for Hweilan's attention. A hundred. Some she knew. Many she did not. Some were altogether strange, more beast than human. Others spoke in tongues she had never heard, but she felt a kinship to these. Like a wolf pup raised by hounds, who hears howling in the distance, she longed to reach out to them.

  But others-many others-filled her with a cold terror, awakening in her every instinct to flee.

  Death comes from that way. Be sure of it.

  You're something else, too. Something… more.

  Time to choose.

  — Jagun Ghen-

  None shouted. None needed to. Hweilan couldn't move, couldn't reply, couldn't shout for them to quiet. Couldn't even cover her ears to block out the voices.

  You do listen, then. But do you understand?

  Someone else has claim…

  … something else…

  — Jagun Ghen-

  … if you survive.

  Someone else…

  … consumer…

  — Jagun Ghen-

  … despoiler…

  I require one who is of this world.

  Time to choose.

  … the Hand of the Hunter.

  She saw the great waterfall again. The animals fleeing an approaching darkness. The black wolf. Heard and felt the cackling malice in the dark. The pool, deep and dark, comforting like sleep. The woman covered in living blood.

  Something getting closer. She couldn't see it or hear it. But she could sense it, like a blind man can feel the heat of fire.

  She heard the bells of Highwatch. For years they had called the people to shelter, the warriors to arms, and the Knights of Ondrahar to battle. But that night, they were the death knell of Hweilan the High Warden's granddaughter, and they were the herald of Hweilan the…

  What?

  Time to grow up, Hweilan.

  Time to choose.

  Time to hunt.

  Time to-

  "Wake up, Hweilan."

  She opened her eyes and saw a haggard-looking Menduarthis leaning over her.

  Hweilan pushed him away and sat up. She was upon a pallet of many furs, with more on top of her. The bed was set on a large shelf in an alcove. Beyond was a room that seemed equal parts living quarters, kitchen, and dining area. A table covered in the cured skin of some animal dominated the middle of the room, and four chairs sat around it, one to each side. A large goblet in the midst of the table bubbled over with what looked to be a vaporous frost, but it gave off a strong blue light, much like the little falls in Ellestharn. In the hearth on the other side of the table, a fire burned under a large kettle. Long drapes, set in the colors of snow and sky, hid what she assumed was a door, and opposite that were two windows, both oval, both shuttered. The ceiling stretched low, and Hweilan noticed it was uneven. It seemed to undulate, almost like low waves. In fact, the entire room seemed not to have been built or even cut so much as shaped.