The fall of Highwatch con-1

by Mark Sehestedt

  "I know him," said Menduarthis, "better than you, most likely. He's earned a little mockery from me. And I know all about his people. Your people, too, you Vil Adanrath. An impressive lot of savages, I'll grant you. And that's saying something, considering the company I keep. Lendri could be the most impressive savage of the lot when he set his mind to it. But I'll tell you this. In the entire time I knew him, Lendri only mentioned Nendawen a few times. But every time Lendri spoke of Nendawen-every time, Hweilan-he sounded fearful as a scarecrow dancing round a bonfire. I'll say it plain: Lendri is using you."

  "Using me?" She looked at Menduarthis. He was an admitted liar, but she could see no sign of it in him now. "Using me how?"

  "I'm not sure. But I do know that the lands sacred to Nendawen were less than a tenday's walk from where we found you. If Lendri is taking you to this Nendawen-someone that terrifies him, and gives even Kunin Gatar serious pause-it can't be good."

  "I could use powerful friends right now." Hweilan said it barely above a whisper, more to herself than him, but he heard it.

  "I'm sure. But are you sure this Nendawen is a friend? Kunin Gatar…"

  She watched him, waiting for him to finish, but he simply looked away and took another drink.

  "What?"

  "You heard her."

  "'She isn't mine to kill,' "said Hweilan, and then she and Menduarthis said at the same time, "Someone else has a claim on her.'"

  They sat in silence for a while, listening to the fire crackle in the hearth.

  "You think…" Hweilan said at last. "You think this Nendawen has a… a claim on me? What does that even mean?"

  "I don't know," said Menduarthis. "But I know someone who does."

  "The queen?"

  "Lendri."

  Hweilan's eyes went wide, and she stared at Menduarthis. He wasn't joking, wasn't playing with her mind. At least not that she could see.

  "You still haven't answered the one question I most need answered," she said. "What does the queen intend to do to me?"

  "At the moment, nothing. She told me to get you out of her sight and left it at that. I think she'd be quite content if I took you back where we found you and left you to freeze or starve. But the more tormenting Lendri riles her up, the more time she has to think about it…" He pursed his lips and stared into his empty glass. "You want my advice? Let me take you out of here. Tonight. Right now. Take you far away from the queen, far away from Lendri."

  "To where?"

  "Wherever you want."

  She sat, watching him, looking for the slightest hint of insincerity or double meaning. She saw none. But that didn't mean it wasn't there.

  "Why are you helping me?" she said.

  "Truth be told?" He chuckled. "I'm bored."

  "You're bored."

  "As a river stone. I've been here too long. People like you and me, Hweilan… we're like the wind, never happy unless we're passing on. Put the breeze in a bottle and it's just dead air. I'm starting to feel dead. The queen gives me a long leash, to be sure. But a hound on a long leash is still leashed, and mine has been chafing a long time now."

  "Then why haven't you left?"

  "I'm sworn to the queen. Her hound, remember."

  "The queen would release you from your oath? You, her faithful hound?"

  He leaned over the table again, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Well," he said, "I did say far away from the queen. And, I might add, fast. If we're going to go, best we go quickly. Her arm is strong, but her reach isn't infinite. Besides, I know a few tricks." He shrugged. "And the uldra like me. If she ordered the Ujaiyen after me, they'd scamper off. But I don't think they'd look very hard."

  "Ujaiyen?"

  "Kunin Gatar's scouts and hunters. Mostly uldra and their tiger mounts. A few eladrin besides. Bunch of simpering, high-nosed frill shirts. They'd be glad to be rid of me."

  "So why now?" said Hweilan "Why… me? Why break your oath to help me? I can't believe it's just boredom."

  "You're the best chance I have," he said.

  "What does that mean?"

  "I told you. I think our dear queen is just a little bit afraid of you. At least right now. Give her time to get over it… well, as I said, best go soon. And now would be best." He gave her the mischievous boy smile again. "Before I change my mind."

  Hweilan put her elbows on the table and stared into the glowing vapor fuming out of the goblet. She made a show of considering it, but in truth her mind was already made up. A fool's plan, perhaps. But that might be the only type of plan that stood a chance of working.

  "One thing," said Hweilan.

  "Only one? You're easy."

  "I'm not leaving without my father's bow."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Kadrigul stopped, his chest heaving, his breath pluming out from him in a spray of frost. Cold as it was, sweat drenched him, and his heart was beating like war drums.

  No sounds of pursuit.

  Had he lost them?

  After the duel, he had run back the way he came, then begun zigzagging every which way. Taking paths at random. Leaving the paths and squeezing his way between the great shards. Fearing at any moment to feel one of the thorn-covered vines tightening around his throat.

  The little creatures had pursued him, the sounds of their footfalls like a small stampede. But they hadn't called out. Not in fury at seeing their companions killed, or even to signal one another. They ran in silence. Like animals. That was the worst.

  But he'd lost them. So it seemed.

  Kadrigul's left shoulder was still bloodied and sore from the fight, but none of the cuts were deep. He slowed to a careful walk, his eyes searching every shadow. The snow before him was unmarred, and none of the creatures' glowing eyes watched him from the dark.

  He was hopelessly lost. Fleeing the creatures, he felt sure he'd run at least half a mile. But from the outside, the entire structure had seemed half that size at most. Much as he hated to admit it, he regretted not heeding the Creel's warnings. Sometimes cowards feared for a reason.

  The path widened, but unlike the wide area where he'd fought the creature, the spires did not lean outward, open to the sky. They leaned inward, forming a haphazard roof, and as the path began a gentle slope downward, Kadrigul felt as if he were walking down a hallway.

  The path ended at a strange archway. It was tall and wide enough for an entire column of cavalry to have ridden through, but here the great shards looked almost like thorn-covered trees, twisting and turning into the archway.

  Beyond was an open area, a sort of hollow in the midst of the structure, only slightly larger than the main hall of Highwatch. More arches covered other paths across the way. In the midst of the open ground was a pool of sorts, but rather than water or ice, it seemed to boil over with a sort of frosty vapor that gave off a bluish glow-bright enough that it muted the light from the stars above.

  At the edge of the pool, right where the glowing vapors evaporated, a tundra tiger lay in a frozen pool of its own blood. Its limbs twitched feebly, and it let out a horrible mewling sound. Its bottom jaw had been broken and ripped open. In fact, it had been damned near ripped off. Only a few bits of bloody skin still held it to the head.

  Kadrigul walked up to it. The tiger's eye rolled to watch him, but its claws did no more than twitch. Closer up, Kadrigul could see where its back had been broken just above its back legs. The pain had to be so great that Kadrigul couldn't understand how the beast was still conscious.

  Before he could change his mind, Kadrigul brought his blade around and down, plunging the sharp point deep into the tiger's throat. He twisted and yanked down, opening a deep gash, then removed the steel. Blood streamed out, and the tiger was dead in moments.

  Kadrigul stepped back and knelt to clean the blood from his sword in the snow.

  "You have killed my favorite pet," said a voice behind him.

  Kadrigul stood and whirled, his blade held before him. A tall figure stepped out of one of the passageways. He was dr
essed all in black, loose-fitting clothing and a long cloak of ermine. A crown of twisted leather held long, black hair back from pale skin. His features were lean and sharp, and pointed ears emerged from the locks of hair. An elf or eladrin. At this distance, Kadrigul couldn't tell for sure.

  Another stood behind him, so alike in appearance and manner that the two might have been brothers.

  "Thrana was my best hunting cat," said the first.

  "Where is your friend?" said the second. "The big one?"

  Kadrigul said nothing.

  Four of the little blue-skinned creatures emerged from the passage behind them. Between them, they dragged one of the Creel, tangled in at least four of the thorned vines and bleeding from dozens of cuts and scrapes. His eyes were wide and seemed to stare into nothing, but he was still alive. His entire body trembled, and by the smell, Kadrigul could tell he'd soiled himself.

  "I'll ask you once more," said the second elf. "Where is the big one?"

  Kadrigul wished he knew.

  "Take him," said the elf.

  The four creatures dropped their hold on the vines and charged. They held no weapons that Kadrigul could see.

  Kadrigul brought his sword back to strike.

  The elf pointed at the blade, shouted, "Saet tua!" and the sword flew out of Kadrigul's grip as if snatched by an invisible giant. It struck one of the great shards and bounced off.

  Then the creatures were on him, bearing him to the ground and tearing with tooth and claw. Like rats.

  The thick hide of Kadrigul's coat and the tough fabric of his clothes were no help against the creatures' sharp teeth. They shredded through them and into the flesh beneath. Their fingernails were tough as claws and raked at his face and the skin of his ungloved hand. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to protect them from their ravages.

  Then he heard shouting. From the elves, he thought.

  And part of the biting, clawing weight left him. The creatures cried out, and more weight was gone.

  Kadrigul dared to open his eyes.

  Soran stood over him, grabbing the creatures one by one and throwing them. Even as Kadrigul watched, he grabbed another. The creature snarled and bit into Soran's wrist, but it didn't save him. Soran whirled and hurled the creature. It flew through the air and smashed into the nearest archway with a bone-crunching smash.

  The remaining creature leaped off Kadrigul and at Soran.

  Soran's fist caught him in midair. The creature hit the snow and did not move again. But Soran did. He brought his boot down on the creature's skull, smashing it.

  The elves spread out. One held a long, silver sword in one hand. Green light rippled along its curved edge. The other was waving his hands in an intricate pattern and chanting an incantation.

  Soran went for them, approaching relentlessly like a rising tide.

  The first elf twirled his hand in a final flourish, then balled his fist and struck the air in front of him.

  Hundreds of shards of white light erupted around Soran, whirling and striking him again and again like a cloud of fiery wasps. Skin, flesh, and bits of gray hair were torn from Soran's face. He growled, but he did not slow his approach.

  The other elf stepped between his fellow and Soran. He screamed something in his own language, then charged, running Soran through with half the length of his blade. Soran coughed up a great gout of black blood-the elf smiled in grim satisfaction-and then Soran grabbed the elf's sword arm. Even from the distance, Kadrigul could hear the bone crumbling like shale as Soran squeezed. The elf shrieked. Soran reached forward with his other hand, grabbed the elf's throat, and ripped. The elf fell soundlessly to the ground.

  The remaining elf turned to run, but Soran was too close now. He leaped over the dead elf, the sword still protruding from him, and bore the sole survivor to the ground.

  "No, Soran!" Kadrigul called. "We need him alive!"

  Sitting on the elf's back, Soran looked over his shoulder, growled, "Very well," then turned and dislocated both the elf's arms.

  The elf screamed and writhed, and Soran got off him. Brutal as it was, it was effective. They needed the elf alive-at least for now-but they couldn't have him casting any more spells.

  Kadrigul's limbs ached from the bites and claw marks he'd endured. He retrieved his sword from the far side of the pool, and when he returned, Soran was removing the last of the vines from the Creel.

  The man seemed to have come back to his senses somewhat. He was looking back and forth from Soran to Kadrigul. But the sword still protruding from Soran's stomach seemed to have him very disconcerted.

  Soran looked very much like the corpse Kadrigul knew him to be. His skin was dry and gray as shale. The wounds he'd endured from the elf's spell would have sent any normal man to the ground, screaming in agony. Soran's didn't even bleed. The thorns from the vines had shredded most of the skin from his fingers and palms, but he didn't seem to care.

  "Ah, gods," said the Creel. He pointedly looked away from Soran and up at Kadrigul. "Th-thank you. Oh, thank you."

  "Don't thank me," said Kadrigul.

  Soran threw away the last vine and buried his teeth in the man's throat. The Creel kicked and screamed. But not for long. Soran savaged the man's throat like a tiger on a deer. Blood sprayed. The sight of it, Kadrigul could take. But the sound of Soran gulping it down like a deprived drunkard turned his stomach.

  Kadrigul turned away. He walked over to the elf, lying on his back near his dead companion. Both his arms hung at crooked angles, and the elf was weeping with the pain.

  Behind him, Kadrigul heard breaking bone and tearing flesh. The elf cried out and shut his eyes. Kadrigul wasn't sure if it was from terror or pain. Probably both.

  When Soran joined them, he had the Creel's heart in one bloody fist and was still chewing from where he'd bitten a large chunk. Most of the wounds on his face and hands were gone. With his other hand, he removed the sword from his midsection, spraying the prone elf with dark, stinking blood, then threw the blade away.

  "I feel much better," said Soran. He took another bite from the heart, chewed, and swallowed.

  The elf cried out something in his own language.

  Wincing at the pain from his many cuts, Kadrigul knelt beside him and said, "Now. You are going to tell us where the girl is."

  The patrol had still not returned. Jijoku, whose task it was to remain by the portal and watch, had expected them long ago. After the capture of the exile and the girl, the Ujaiyen had suspected there might be more lurking in the valleys. The Nar never came close to their hills. Where two mortals did come, there were sure to be more. No one came that close to their lands unless they were up to something. So the Ujaiyen had continued their hunt.

  But they should have been back by now.

  The storm's fury had begun shortly after dawn. Jijoku relished the fresh cold and the beauty that the snowfall brought to his home. But it was falling so heavily now that he could no longer see the portal.

  If it had just been Jijoku's brothers and the tiger, it might have not been so worrisome. The uldra often reveled in their hunts too long when game-two-legged or four-legged-was plentiful. But the eladrin Amarhan and Teirel had been leading the company. They were never late.

  Unless they'd found something.

  "They should have been back by now," Jijoku muttered to himself.

  It was snowing even harder. He'd waited longer than he should have. A sentry who could no longer see what he was supposed to be watching wasn't much of a sentry. Time to move.

  Jijoku retrieved his spears and hopped down from the outcropping of rocks where he'd been hiding. His bare feet had no trouble finding traction in the snow as he hopped and slid down the incline.

  Even as the ancient tree, bowed over as if forever frozen in the wind, came back into sight, Jijoku thought he saw the last of telltale shimmer fading from its branches. Had something just come through?

  He gripped his spears-one ready in one hand, two held loosely in the other-and advanced
more cautiously.

  Something was leaning against the bole of the ancient tree. It didn't move of its own accord, but the gusting wind caused something to ripple. Some sort of fabric.

  Jijoku raised his spear and approached.

  It was Amarhan. Both of his arms hung at twisted angles that made Jijoku wince. The eladrin's eyes were wide with panic, and he panted like a deer brought to ground by wolves.

  Amarhan's eyes locked on Jijoku, and his mouth moved.

  Jijoku stepped closer. "What?"

  "Run!" Amarhan gasped.

  Jijoku turned in time to see the sword descending. Then he saw no more.

  "No," Kadrigul said, as he knelt to clean his sword. "Don't."

  Soran emerged from the swirling snow like a ship through a storm.

  "Are there more guards?" Kadrigul asked him.

  "Not anymore." Soran closed his eyes and leaned his head back, like a man might bask in the sun. A smile spread across his lips, but it was the most inhuman thing Kadrigul had ever seen. No joy. Not even malice. Just the pulling of lips back over the teeth.

  "You can sense her again?" said Kadrigul.

  "Oh, yes. She burns like sun's first light. So much brighter here."

  Kadrigul scowled. He had no idea what that meant. "You can find her? You're certain?"

  "Quite certain," said Soran.

  Kadrigul stood and walked over to the eladrin. They wouldn't be needing him any longer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I'm Not Leaving Without My Fathers Bow," said Hweilan.

  Menduarthis frowned. The warm light from the hearth fire burned low, setting a flamelike halo around his hair. But the blue light from the goblet on the table lit his pale face, setting his eyes and the folds of his frown in deep shadows. All in all, it gave him a maniacal aspect.

  "Hmm," he said. "That could be difficult, I'm afraid. I may be the queen's hound, but Roakh is her main meddler. Your things are with him."

  "Then we go see Roakh."

  "You think he's just going to hand over your things?"

  "We ask nicely," said Hweilan. "If he refuses, we take them. Less than nicely if necessary."