The fall of Highwatch con-1

by Mark Sehestedt

  "Wh-what if I fall?"

  "Don't."

  She looked back. There was no other way.

  "I'll go first," said Menduarthis. "But Hweilan, once I'm in, I can't come back for you. You understand?"

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  Menduarthis pushed forward into the vines. They parted before him like smooth waters before a ship, then rustled shut behind him, thick as iron bars. He'd taken the light. Darkness engulfed Hweilan.

  "Come along," he called, and she could hear the rustling of his movement.

  Hweilan held her father's bow close, pulled her hood down as far as it would go, huddled in the cloak, and pressed forward. Even through all her layers of clothing, she could feel the vines. Not like wire at all. More like… snakes. They slithered and undulated around her as she moved forward, the thorns bending, pliable and harmless as feathers, just as Menduarthis had said. Unable to see anything, Hweilan squeezed her eyes shut and pushed onward, step by careful step.

  She could still hear Menduarthis ahead.

  "How much farther?" she called.

  "Not long," he said. "Keep moving!"

  She kept moving. Once, the bow caught on a particularly thick branch, and for one terrified moment, caught. Stifling a scream, Hweilan pushed hard. The bow broke through, and the branch snapped back, striking her in the face. Her hood caught most of the blow, but she still felt the branch brush across her nose and cheek. The thick autumnal scent hit her, but the thorns didn't even scratch, and she pressed onward.

  Her eyes squeezed shut, her mind concentrating solely on forward, forward, forward, a slow panic began to rise in Hweilan. To fight it, she began counting her steps.

  At forty-seven, another vine struck her face, harder this time. Still, the thorns brushed off her skin, but it startled her so that for an instant her step faltered. The vine's thorns stiffened, catching in her hood. A low moan escaped her throat and she surged forward. The thorns caught in her hood, pulling it off her head. She kept going. She heard fabric tearing, then she was through. The feel of the vines and leaves against her face sent her stomach churning, but she pressed on, even faster this time.

  "Hweilan?" Menduarthis called, and she could hear the concern in his voice.

  "Right behind you. How much farther?"

  "Not long."

  "You said that. Quite long ago, I'm certain."

  "Keep moving."

  She took a breath to scream at him, but a sound cut her off. Laughter. Light and gleeful. Almost childish. And very close.

  Hweilan opened her eyes. Still she walked in darkness, vines and leaves and thorns thick about her, but she saw eyes watching her. Not the pale blue of the uldra. These eyes glowed verdant green. Two pairs of eyes off to her right, and one very close on her left. Just out of reach, in fact. Seeing her watching them, the watchers laughed, and the eyes were gone.

  "Menduarthis!" Hweilan called, panic rising in her voice.

  "Keep moving."

  "There's something in here with us!"

  "Many somethings," said Menduarthis. "Keep moving. We're almost through."

  "Curse you, Menduarthis, how much far-?"

  She shrieked as she fell forward into open air.

  Menduarthis sat on a boulder a few paces away. The vine-wrapped trees still twisted all around them, but the light from Menduarthis's stone showed a small grove with paths branching off in several directions. He gave her a sheepish smile. "Not long," he said.

  Then the thorns around them moved, and Hweilan saw that many of them were not thorns at all. At least a dozen figures closed in on them. Some stood on the ground, while others crouched on the thicker branches of the surrounding trees. They stood no taller than uldra, but their skin was green as moss, their meager clothing made up entirely of leaves. They had very narrow chins, almost pointed, tiny noses, and their sharp ears swept back, framed by thick brown or reddish hair that stood off their heads in lanky points. Theirs were the eyes she'd seen. Most held bows, arrows nocked and ready, but one held a sword of sorts in both hands. At least Hweilan thought it was a sword. There was no steel or metal. The entire thing-blade, hilt, handle-seemed made entirely of stiff vines, hundreds of sharp thorns sprouting off the blade.

  "No sudden moves," said Menduarthis in Damaran. "Most of them know at least a little Common, so guard your words. Let me speak to them."

  "Speak so I can understand you, Menduarthis," the creature with the sword said in Common.

  "Forgive me, Grilga. This one"-he pointed to Hweilan-"knows little Common, and none of our speech."

  "And who is this one?"

  "A captive taken in my last hunt."

  "The one who traveled with the Vil Adanrath?"

  "That one, yes."

  Grilga looked at Hweilan, his eyes narrowing in what she thought was a scowl. "And why is she here now?"

  "Kunin Gatar ordered me to let her go."

  Grilga's eyes widened, and he looked at Menduarthis. "Let her go?"

  "I believe "Get that creature out of my sight' were her exact words."

  "Gods' truth?"

  "Gods' truth," said Menduarthis.

  "Then why not kill her?"

  "Had Kunin Gatar wanted her dead, I'm sure she would have said so-or done it herself. You know as well as I that our beloved queen is seldom unclear on such matters."

  The other creatures giggled at this.

  "I see blood all over her," said Grilga. "And I smell it on you, Menduarthis. Elf blood. Explain."

  "You heard the horns?" said Menduarthis.

  "We did. You have news?"

  "On the way here, the girl and I met Tirron's riders on the ice. While we were… having words"-at this, a few of the creatures laughed softly-"we were attacked. By two. One was a Frost Folk warrior. The other… some vile thing I have never seen before. Whether they were the entire invading force or only part, I don't know. But Tirron's riders"-Menduarthis shuddered-"they couldn't stop the thing."

  A collective gasp rustled through the group. Even Grilga seemed caught up in the tale.

  "I took the girl and ran," said Menduarthis. "I can't be sure, but I think these invaders, whoever they may be, are after her."

  All eyes turned to her, and several pulled their bowstrings to a half draw.

  Hweilan looked back into the wall of thorns. The weight in her mind was growing heavier again, the pulsing alarm faster.

  "Then I ask you again," said Grilga, "why not kill her?"

  "Marauders invade our realm," Menduarthis said, anger in his voice, "kill our people, defy our queen, and you suggest we give them what they want? Besides, Kunin Gatar ordered her gone. Until Kunin Gatar orders otherwise, I hear and obey."

  Hweilan watched the creatures. They glanced at one another, and every one pointedly avoided looking at Grilga, whose scowl deepened. It struck her how magnificent a liar Menduarthis really was. Everything he'd just told them was the truth. Every word. But the many words he'd left out made all the difference. It made her very glad that she'd insisted on seeing Lendri for herself. Menduarthis had been wounded defending her, and was even now committing treachery against his queen. She had no reason to doubt he was helping her. But why? I'm bored, he'd told her, starting to feel dead. True? Perhaps. But what truths was he keeping from her?

  "If Tirron's people couldn't stop this thing," said Grilga, "and if it is hunting her, then where is it? And what of the Frost warrior?"

  "I dealt with that one," said Menduarthis. "The other…" He shuddered. "I don't know. I destroyed the Byway Bridge. I'm sorry. I had to. But for all I know, that thing is on its way here right now."

  The creatures all went very quiet. They cast furtive glances over their shoulders into the surrounding woods.

  "What is this thing?" said Grilga.

  Menduarthis glanced at Hweilan, then said, "I don't know. I've never seen its like. He seemed like a man-taller than me, but much stronger. A very formidable-looking fellow. Human by the looks. But I saw him take an arrow and a s
pear in his body-wounds that would have killed any creature with sense enough to die-and it barely slowed him. He ripped off an elf's arm with his bare hands."

  The creatures all looked to their leader. Grilga stood straight, puffing up all of his three-foot height, and said, "Nothing comes through the thornway without our knowing."

  The pounding in her head felt like iron hammers now. It was closing in.

  She opened her mouth to tell Menduarthis, when hundreds-hundreds of thousands-of the tiny white moths poured out of the thorns, like a fluttering geyser.

  Grilga shouted orders. The creatures-all but one-split into groups and shot back into the thorns, quick as squirrels. Hweilan had no idea how they navigated the deadly tangle, but the branches closed around them, the leaves rustled a moment, and they were gone.

  Grilga looked at Hweilan, seemed to weigh her in his mind, then said, "My folk will do what we can, but I won't spend their lives on this one. Get her out of here."

  "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," said Menduarthis.

  Grilga took what looked like a long, thin bone from his belt, set it to his lips, and blew. Hweilan heard nothing, but a shudder seemed to pass through the branches.

  "The way is open to you, Menduarthis," he said. "Move fast."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Guric slumped in his chair. He'd turned it to face the door of his personal chamber, but A rgalath still had not come. The flagon dangling from Guric's right hand had been empty a long time. The wine had thickened his head, making him feel warm and the world around him soft, but it had not dampened his ire.

  He heard voices. Someone knocked on his door. "Enter," Guric said. He did not get up, did not even straighten in his cha ir.

  The door opened, and Sagar stepped inside. "He's here, my lord."

  "Send him in. Alone. And shut the door behind you."

  Sagar turned and left the room. Guric could see more guards, and beyond them, Argalath, head buried deep in his hood against the light. Vazhad and Jatara lurked beyond their master. Argalath entered the room, and Sagar slammed the door behind him.

  Argalath bowed. "I come as bidden, my lord."

  "Drop your cowl, counselor. I would look at you when you speak."

  "The light, my lord…"

  Guric had ordered the hearth packed full of wood and blazing, every lamp in the room lit, and more candles brought in. One might have thought it was High Festival by the look of things.

  "Then close your eyes. I like to look at a man when he lies to me."

  Argalath laid the palm of one hand against his chest and bowed even deeper. "You wound me, my lord."

  "Drop that cowl, damn you!"

  Slowly, Argalath straightened and lowered the hood. He squeezed his eyes shut and placed one hand over them. "How have I lied to you, my lord?"

  Guric stood. He towered over the spellscarred man by more than a head, but he still found himself hesitant to approach. "I have two questions for you, Argalath, and I want the raw truth. No evasions."

  "Might you dampen some of the lamps, my lord?"

  "No," said Guric. "Where is my wife?"

  Argalath licked his lips. "We have been over this, my lord. I assure you, your beloved's body is being well cared for until we can return her to you."

  "Where is her body being well cared for?"

  "Someplace safe."

  "She's down beneath the fortress, isn't she? In those caves. Down there with your other monsters. Isn't she?"

  Argalath stepped toward Guric and laid one hand on his shoulder to push him toward the bed. "You sound so tired, my lord. You aren't thinking clearly. Please, take your rest. I will see to everything. If you so wish it, I will have her brought back to the tower at once."

  Guric took one step back, his legs crashing into the chair behind him, then smashed the empty wine flagon against Argalath's skull. The baked clay was thick, but it shattered. The man grunted and went down in a tangle of his own robes.

  The door slammed open, and Sagar and Isidor rushed in, swords drawn. Jatara stood just outside the door, struggling with two guards, who were keeping her out of the room and preventing her from drawing her sword.

  "Do you need assistance, my lord?" said Isidor.

  Guric looked down at Argalath, who was rubbing the side of his head and brushing shards of pottery off his shoulder.

  "No. Everyone out. If anyone"-Guric caught Jatara's gaze-"enters without my word, Sagar, you have my leave to run them through."

  Sagar smiled and gave the fallen Argalath a rather disbelieving-and very relieved-glance before following the other guard out. Guric walked past Argalath and shut the door behind them.

  Argalath pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

  "What was the other thing you wished to know of me?" Argalath said. His voice lacked his usual deference, and he seemed more angry than hurt.

  The first pang of doubt hit Guric, like a little shock at the bottom of his skull. "What?"

  "You asked where Valia is," said Argalath. He stood before Guric, eyes still closed, but he stood straight now, not cowering against the light. "But you said you had two questions. What is the other?"

  "I trusted you," said Guric. "I trusted you with everything. My life. My future. Everything I had. Even after you turned Valia into that… that thing, still I clung to your word. But I was wrong, wasn't I? This was your game all along, wasn't it? Those Nar I saved you from all those years ago, they were right, weren't they? You are a… a monster."

  "Am I a monster? What is a monster but a trial for the hero in bards' tales? I gave you all you asked for, never asking anything in return. And you are no hero, Guric."

  A low growl built in Guric's throat. No one had ever spoken to him in such a fashion. Had he been sober, he might have given Argalath a cold laugh and summoned the guards. But the wine had opened his eyes, had showed him that when the really important things of life are at stake-and nothing was more important than his beloved Valia-all the trappings of society, of court, of civilization, all the bows and "by your leaves" were only so much pretty ribbon on an unbroken horse. Pretty it up all you like, the horse still would suffer no master-unless the master broke it.

  He had a dagger at his belt. No. Too swift. Guric wanted to beat this monster with his bare hands. He balled both fists and charged.

  The patches of pale skin mottling Argalath's skin suddenly flared with cold, blue light, and pain-agony like he had never known, like he had never imagined any one person could know-struck Guric in the chest, then radiated outward. He couldn't cry out. Couldn't even draw breath. His entire chest seemed to constrict, and he fell at Argalath's feet. Darkness was closing in around the edges of his vision.

  "Guric," said Argalath, "because you have been such a useful tool in my hand, I will answer your last question. And it will be your last. Those men you rescued me from all those years ago were doing exactly what I told them to do. They played their roles perfectly."

  The pain evaporated, and Guric spent every ounce of his strength drawing breath into his body. He opened his eyes. His vision was clearing, though the room seemed to dance and swirl. All the lamps had gone out. All the candles. Only the fire in the hearth remained, bathing Argalath's robes in a hellish light.

  On the other side of the door, he could hear men screaming. The clash of steel on steel.

  He looked up at Argalath. The man was smiling.

  Guric tried to push himself up, but a new pain struck him, right in the middle of his head.

  "That is a vein in your brain bursting," said Argalath. "That warmth, that… fuzziness you're feeling is your own blood flooding the inside of your skull. Your own heartbeat is killing you. So, Guric, I will answer your question: Yes. This was my game all along. Thank you for playing."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Hweilan and Menduarthis crouched in the trees on the top of a small hollow. Menduarthis had put his light away. After leaving Grilga and his band, they had gone swiftly downhill, and the foliage was not as th
ick down here. Parts of the path were even open to the sky, and there was enough moon and starlight that even Hweilan could see fairly well. A wall of trees and vines ringed the hollow, but farther down, the brush seemed to thin out, and Hweilan could see bits of snow here and there.

  "Damn," said Menduarthis. "There are guards."

  "Where?"

  "In the hollow. I'd hoped Grilga might summon all his forces to go after… that thing."

  "I don't see any guards."

  "Of course you don't."

  The pounding in her mind had dampened somewhat, but it had not gone away. "We don't really have time for this, Menduarthis."

  "If the guards had gone off with Grilga and his band, this place would be alive with birds. Owls mostly. But it's dead quiet. That means sentries."

  "We need to hurry," she said. The feeling of approaching doom was getting stronger again. Making her bones itch. "You have a plan for getting past the sentries?"

  "Bluffing. Seemed to work on Grilga, eh?"

  "And Tirron?"

  Menduarthis sighed. "You have a better idea?"

  "No."

  He stood and offered his hand. "Then let's do this."

  They walked down a winding path toward a thick wall of trees and vines. As they drew near, Menduarthis said, "Now, remember-"

  "I know. You do the talking."

  Several steps later, leaves rustled over them and two of the green creatures, much like the ones from Grilga's band, dropped onto the path, one before them, one behind. Both had bows, with arrows pulled to their cheeks.

  Menduarthis stopped and spread his hands. Hweilan followed his example.

  The one in front of them relaxed his blow slightly and said, "Menduarthis? Why are you here?"

  The one behind Hweilan lowered his bow.

  "We need to see the prisoner," said Menduarthis.

  The first creature narrowed his eyes to glowing slits and said, "Why?"

  Hweilan could barely keep herself from bouncing on her toes. Her entire head was thrumming. "Menduarthis," she said in Damaran. "Hurry. Please."