Hand of the Hunter con-2

by Mark Sehestedt

  Adder-quick? Had that been how Hweilan once thought of Ashiin? No. Adders were slow compared to her. Ashiin twisted away. Hweilan missed her ribs completely, but her foot connected with the staff. It sent pain radiating outward, down to her toes and all the way up to her hip.

  The staff went flying.

  Hweilan was moving too fast, her heart hammering too hard, to cry out her triumph. But in her mind, she screamed-she exulted. It was the first time she had ever disarmed her teacher.

  Ashiin swiped out with the other hand, and bright sunlight flashing off bright steel blinded Hweilan for just a moment. But a moment was all it took. The blade struck her in the throat, and she went down.

  Hweilan's chest constricted, and she forced herself not to gasp, for she knew she'd only fill her lungs with blood. But then the realization set in. Her throat hurt, but the knife had not cut.

  "Flat of the blade," said Ashiin, standing over her. "Had I used the edge, I'd be watching you die now."

  Hweilan's fist closed on the ground. It was sun-baked and hard, but still, a fair amount crumbled in her palm. Before her good sense could overcome her rage, she screamed and threw the dirt in Ashiin's face.

  Her teacher shrieked-more out of surprise than fear, Hweilan would decide later, remembering this moment. But that instant of surprise was all she needed. She brought her leg around with all the strength she could muster and swept Ashiin's feet out from under her.

  Hweilan swiped her own knife-the one Lendri had given her-out of her boot, and then she leaped. There was no grace or elegance to it, but she came down upon Ashiin, one knee driving into the woman's gut. She brought her own knife around and jammed it onto Ashiin's throat-the back, dull edge of the blade.

  Her face was only inches from Ashiin's. Sweat poured off her and bled tracks down the dust on Ashiin's skin. "Had I used the edge, I'd be watching you die now."

  Ashiin grinned-smiled through the tears washing the dirt from her eyes. "You're learning, girl," she said. "Much better today. But you still have a lot to learn."

  She motioned downward with her chin. Hweilan looked down and saw the point of the silver blade resting just under her left breast.

  "No good to kill your enemy if you die trying," said Ashiin.

  "Depends on the enemy," said Hweilan.

  Ashiin laughed and pushed her off.

  "I'm starting to like you, girl."

  Hweilan and Ashiin crouched amongst the broken rocks a hundred feet or so up the broken side of the stone tower. It was not the same rock formation where they'd first come to this place. It had taken them all the morning to walk there. Both women had stripped down to loincloths and their boots. Hweilan still wore a thin strip of cloth tied around her neck, wrapping around front to cover her breasts, and tied behind her back. But Ashiin was naked from the waist up, covered only in the dozens of braids of her thick hair. In the tiny cave where they'd left their other clothes, Ashiin had a cache, and from it she'd produced a clay urn. Inside was a black paste that smelled much like the tiny blue flowers that grew in the shadows near Gleed's lake.

  "To protect us from the sun," Ashiin had explained, and they smeared it over every inch of exposed skin. "And from prying eyes."

  The paste spread slick on their skin, and over it they spread liberal amounts of dirt, which stuck to the paste. Hweilan knew that if they chose their cover well and did not move, even a hawk would have a hard time seeing them.

  Less than half a mile from where they hid, tents lay in a tight grouping. At first, Hweilan thought it was for the most obvious reason-the camp would lay in the shade of the rock during the hottest part of the day. But on closer inspection she saw the real reason. In the center of the camp was a ring of stones, no more than three feet across.

  "A well," said Hweilan.

  "The only water for ten miles," Ashiin said, confirming Hweilan's sight of the stone ring. "Out there"-she pointed to the miles of scrubland-"if you know what you're doing, you can dig and bring up enough water to survive. But not enough to keep your horses alive."

  The camp seemed mostly empty. Hweilan assumed most of the people were inside the tents, escaping the heat of the day. But a few men, long spears in hand, sat under lean-tos, watching over the band's score of horses.

  "Why are we here?" said Hweilan.

  "Those folk down there," said Ashiin. "They survive by scavenging, raiding and hunting. A tough breed."

  "Hunters? They serve the Master?"

  "They honor the Hunt, which means they please the Master. Life in these lands has always been hard, but in recent years it has become harder still."

  Ashiin looked down at the camp to be sure no one was looking up their way, then she pointed to the far horizon.

  Hweilan followed her gaze. On the horizon, Hweilan saw something.

  "Dust," said Hweilan. "Something out there is stirring up dust. Coming this way." She glanced down at the camp. "They won't see it before it's too late."

  "Haerul," said Ashiin.

  "What?" The name tugged at Hweilan's memory. Something she'd seen in the Lore of Kesh Naan. Something…

  "The father of your grandfather's grandfather," Ashiin explained. "He lived in lands far to the east of here. Hard lands, populated by people born to war, who would rather die than suffer an insult. Their khans were men of great renown. Great warriors, feared even as far as Cormyr. But Haerul… the mere mention of his name would make the proudest khan's bowels turn to water. If they knew Haerul's band was in their land, the fiercest warriors would huddle close to their fires and pray to all their gods and ancestors."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because tonight, you're going to find out how strong his blood runs in you. That cloud of dust you see on the horizon? Agents of the new lords of Vaasa. Too arrogant to believe they need fear the dark. Tonight, you are going to show them they are wrong."

  It took the dust cloud a long time to cross the open plain. Hweilan and Ashiin sat in the shade, sipping water and watching the riders draw closer. The sky was beginning to take on the purple and orange shades of evening before the cloud was close enough for the guards down below to see it and raise the alarm. The result was like watching the stirring of an anthill. People ran around, hiding possessions in shallow ditches, covering them with blankets, and spreading dirt on the blankets. As near as Hweilan could tell, there were no more than a half-dozen men in the camp, a few oldsters, and twenty or so women and children. A few older girls led a band of children up toward the rocks below where Hweilan and Ashiin hid, where they soon disappeared.

  "What could they possibly have worth taking?" Hweilan asked.

  "The current rulers of this land are building an army," said Ashiin. "Locals are not particularly eager to join, so these agents… force the issue. They ride in and take any fit to bear arms-or serve in other ways. Young men and women are their favorite, though lately they've been taking older children as well."

  "How do you know all this?"

  Ashiin smiled. In the lavender evening light, her yellow eyes gleamed and her pointed teeth shone. "The tyrants here are not the only ones with agents." She looked over her shoulder, up at the dark crevice in the rock face above. "Rusheh, tekaneh!"

  There was the slightest rustle from the dark, and a shape emerged on silent wings, gliding over them before taking to the higher air. Its feathers were the mottled color of the surrounding lands, but its eyes were round and orange as a desert moon. Large as a man's torso, it was the biggest owl Hweilan had ever seen. She soon lost sight of it in the dusk light.

  Hweilan heard the gallop of the newcomers long before she could get a good look at them. Sounds traveled far in this open and empty land, and it was almost full dark. On the eastern horizon, which they faced, she watched as the arc of a full moon, fat and blood red, rose in the dust raised by the riders.

  The world seemed to shift around Hweilan, and deep in the dark places of her mind she heard a BOOM, as if a distant mountain had fallen. She had only felt this on
ce before. On the night Lendri died. The night she had first seen…

  "Nendawen," she said, speaking aloud before she realized.

  "Yes," said Ashiin. "The Master has come. Time to go to work."

  In the distance, a wolf howled.

  The old women had the fires stoked, stirred, and burning high. What food and drink they could offer, they laid out in readiness. They could have run, forsaking their tents, grabbing what they could carry, and riding away. But they had done that before, and they remembered what it had cost them. Besides, the nearest well was over ten miles away, and if they rode there only to find it occupied by a superior force, their horses would likely die before they could reach the next well.

  The riders did not ride in at full gallop. No need. These were thugs coming to take what they felt was their due. Only the leader wore full armor-steel plate that looked black in the night. Covered in the dust of a long ride, it reflected little of the firelight.

  He and his two guards rode into the middle of the camp, where the elders and men stood in a row. Ten riders fanned out behind the leader while two more wound their way through the camp, sneering down at any who dared to look up at them and trampling piles of belongings. One of them lowered the point of his halberd so that its blade sliced through a tent's support rope, causing half of it to collapse.

  The leader took off his helmet, handed it to the man on his left, and made quite a show of wiping the dust and sweat from his eyes.

  "How many?" he said.

  The old man a pace from his horse's nose looked up and said, "My lord?"

  "How many did you hide up in the rocks?"

  "We hid nothing, my lord."

  The leader smiled indulgently. "It's better that you tell me. And tell me true. I am guessing a few young girls we'll want, hiding with the children. Those we'll probably leave. For now. If you tell me the truth."

  The old man looked to the old woman beside him. She looked away.

  "My men are tired from a long day's ride. If they can sit by the fire and rest their bones, they will be most grateful. Most pleasant. If they have to spend half the night up in those damned rocks, rooting out your whelps… well, they might be less than pleasant. So I'll ask you once more: how many and where are they?"

  The old man looked to the old woman again, then back up at the leader, his jaw flapping. He almost told, but then he clamped his mouth shut.

  The leader held out an open hand to the man on his right. The rider slapped a spear into the hand, and the leader brought the shaft down on the old man's shoulder. Hard. Bone cracked, and the old man went down.

  The men in the row of villagers cried out in anger and reached for their weapons.

  "Now! Now!" The leader put the point of the spear on the old woman's throat, and his guard to his left did the same to another woman. "You men don't want this to go any further, do you?"

  Several of the other riders dismounted and relieved the villagers of their blades.

  "What were you planning on doing with this?" said one of the riders as he wrenched a short sword from the grip of a middle-aged man. The rider clenched his fist around the pommel and punched the man in the gut hard enough to knock him to the ground.

  The leader counted off five of his men. "Get up in those rocks and find any lost kittens."

  The men nodded and kicked their mounts into motion.

  "Stop!" the leader called. They did. "Idiots," he said. "You'll break your horses' legs up in those rocks. You've been in the saddle all day. I'm sure your legs could use a stretch."

  The men grumbled but did as they were told, handing the reins of their horses to other riders.

  The leader dismounted, clapped, and said, "Now! What's for dinner?"

  After seeing to their horses, the newcomers settled around the fires and proceeded to eat most of what little food the villagers had. The village had nothing but water to drink, but the raiders had brought their own, stronger stuff, and before they were halfway through their meals, bottles and skins were being passed around, and the men's voices were growing louder by the moment.

  "Must've hid the kittens particularly well this time," said the man on the leader's left. He laughed and passed the bottle. "They're getting craftier."

  The leader smiled, took the bottle, and was about to say something when a shape the color of new flame bounded into the camp. Sleek and graceful, it leaped soundlessly into their midst, stopped not ten feet away, and stared right at the leader. All red fur, golden eyes that shot the fire back at him, and two triangular ears. A fox. And not the small foxes of this land, which seemed all ears covered by scraggly brown or black fur. This one was almost large as a brush wolf and red as blood, save for its paws, nose, and the last handspan of its tail, all of which were black as cold malice.

  The villagers stared at the alien creature, and the newcomers all turned to see what had captured their leader's attention.

  "Have you ever seen its like?" said the leader. "It's beautiful."

  "It's mine!" said his second, and leaped to his feet, spear already in hand. He bounded over the fire, weapon raised.

  The fox seemed to smile at him, then yipped and trotted off, almost prancing.

  Three men ran after it, spears raised.

  Laughing, the leader watched them. Two were half drunk and one far more than half. But the beast seemed in no hurry to lose them.

  One spear flew, its aim true despite the man's drunkenness. But the fox leaped aside at the last moment and the spear struck dirt.

  "Quick! We'll lose it in the da-"

  A shadow rose from behind a bush, and there was a flash as steel caught the firelight and streaked toward the man's throat. Before he hit the ground the shadow bounded two steps to the next man, plunged the knife into and out of his throat, then kicked him away. Both men were down, their feet hammering the ground, the second man trying to scream but only producing a choking, gurgling sound.

  The third men yelled as he struck with his spear, but the shadow slid out of the way and snatched it from his hands. A blur as the spear whipped around, knocking the man's feet out from under him. The point came down, a loud crack as it shattered a rib going through him, pinning him to the ground.

  "To arms!" the leader shouted. His men found their feet-more than a few swaying-and drew blade or grasped spear. Villagers scattered in every direction.

  The shadow walked into camp, almost casually, and by the graceful walk and the curve of hip, the leader knew" A woman!"

  Nearly naked but seemingly covered in the dust from which she'd sprung. Her long, dark hair pulled back. The only color the firelight rippling in her eyes and the blood dripping from the dagger she held in one hand. She seemed altogether undisturbed by the four spearmen surrounding her.

  She walked until the nearest man's spear touched the flesh just above her navel. She looked at the leader, cocked her head, and blinked once.

  He couldn't help but chuckle. "Who are you?"

  "My name is Hweilan."

  No fear in her voice. No deference. Not even challenge. Flat. Emotionless.

  The leader shook his head, utterly perplexed. "My name is-"

  "Your name doesn't matter," she said in the same disinterested tone.

  "You'll show some respect!" said the man to her left, and raised the butt of his spear to strike.

  The woman twisted sideways around the spear at her gut, grabbed it with her free hand, and kicked its wielder so hard that he went backward with enough force to flip his feet over his head. The woman kept turning and brought the spear around to block the next man's strike. She swiped his spear aside, then backswiped with the point of her own. The leader actually saw the iron point rip the man's jaw from his face.

  Another man screamed and threw his spear, but she simply knocked it out of the air.

  "Stop this!" the leader screamed. "You men, fall back!"

  His men retreated, their spears and blades held on guard. The leader stepped forward, his own sword held before him.


  The first two men she'd struck had stopped their kicking. The one she'd impaled still had both hands gripped around the spear, but the leader was quite sure the man was dead. The one she'd kicked and robbed of his spear was on his feet again, but still doubled over and obviously having trouble breathing. The last man was on his knees, making a terrible mewling sound as he used his blood-soaked hands to try to reattach his jaw.

  "The way you took out my spearmen," said the leader, "impressive, I must admit. But they're both half-wits and quite drunk. You stand no chance against the rest of us."

  The woman tossed the spear on the ground.

  The leader smiled and opened his mouth, intending to say, Very wise. Now get down on the ground.

  But the woman flipped the knife in one hand, caught with the other, then motioned for him to come for her.

  "I have five more hardened warriors up that slope," said the leader, motioning with his sword. "Elgren! Morn! You men, get down here!"

  "Those five are dead," said the woman. "Nine down. Five to go."

  The leader put on his bravest face, but he still had to swallow before he could find his voice. "You cannot count. There are six of us."

  The woman smiled, teasingly. "Oh, you I'm not going to kill."

  "Enough of this," said the leader. "Kendremis, deal with her."

  He stepped back, and the man to his left stepped forward. He wore no armor, and only a light cloak over fine linen clothes. He extended both hands, his fingers already weaving intricate patterns.

  Kendremis smiled as he began his incantation. "Uth duremmen ta-"

  The point of a spear burst out from his chest, his back arched, and a gout of blood ran down his chin.

  Eyes wide, the leader whirled to see one of the villagers holding the spear. He heard the snap of bowstrings, and the flifft sound of arrows cutting the air. Like that, and it was over in seconds. He stood alone. The only one of his men still making a sound was the poor fellow trying to hold his face together. But one of the old women stepped forward with a club and put an end to that.