Hand of the Hunter con-2

by Mark Sehestedt

  Thidrek was afraid. The grassy valley through which they rode was miles wide, but he still felt as if the door to his cell had been slammed behind him.

  Hundreds-perhaps thousands-of Creel held the valley, lounging around in filthy camps or riding around and sparring. A few stopped and watched the Damarans ride past, but none spoke a word, and there was not a hint of deference even in the gazes of warriors who were scarcely more than boys.

  The mountain height on which Highwatch rested rose before them. It was not elegant, but it did have a functional beauty to it. Perched on the heights, turrets jutting out from cliffs hundreds of feet high, it looked like a castle out of a bard's tale. Still, Thidrek felt repulsed by it. He could put no name to it, could see nothing particularly repellant about the castle, but he could feel it. The sight of it pushed at him. It was like walking against the current of a river.

  About halfway across the valley, the horses began to feel it too. At first it was merely a few mounts tossing their heads. But soon there was not a rider among them who wasn't struggling to keep his or her horse under control. The beasts' eyes rolled in their heads, and Thidrek even saw one horse do its best to wrench its head around far enough to bite its rider.

  "My lord, this is pointless!" Almar said. Then his horse kicked up its rear legs, and the man had to fight to keep his saddle.

  "Withdraw!" Thidrek called out. "Withdraw!"

  He wrenched his own horse around. Once turned away from Highwatch, the beast set off in a gallop. Thidrek gave the horse its head for a hundred yards or so, then wrenched back the reins. The rest of the company soon gathered around him.

  "What's gotten into them?" Almar said.

  One of the men whom Thidrek didn't know answered, "Could be some enchantment to keep horses back. Gods know if I lived among all these damned Nar, I'd want just such a thing."

  Thidrek forced a smile that he in no way felt. "Almar, choose twenty men to stay here with the horses. Order them to make camp. The rest of us will walk."

  "What is this place?" one of the men said as they passed the first of the buildings.

  "Kistrad," Almar answered.

  It was a ghost town. Most of the buildings still stood, though here and there they passed the scorched skeleton of a house's frame still standing amidst the ashes. Some of the stone buildings bore marks of fire, and no one had bothered to repair any of the season's storm damage. Thidrek thought he could hear rats scuttling in the late afternoon shadows, but he saw not a soul.

  "Not even a stray dog."

  "My lord?" said Almar, and it wasn't until then that Thidrek realized he had spoken aloud.

  "Nothing."

  "Nar don't keep dogs," said one of the other men.

  "Yes," said Thidrek. "That must be it."

  They walked on, staying to the main thoroughfare-the widest path through the village, and the only one paved. The sun sank behind the mountains before them, and the shadows grew thick and cold.

  The road led to Highwatch's main gate-though it was hardly a gate as Thidrek understood them. Castles had walls, and castle walls had gates. Highwatch's main defenses were the heights themselves, and her main gate was twice the size of any Thidrek had ever seen. But it was not a passage through a bailey wall. It was an entrance into the mountain itself. One gate was open wide. Its timbers scorched, all but two of the massive hinges broken, it hung loose, resting against the stones of the road. All that was left of its mate were shards of blackened wood and twisted metal littering the ground around the arch. Thidrek could see a half-dozen paces or so into the tunnel, but beyond that all was darkness.

  "Well," said Almar, "what do we-"

  "Quiet," said Thidrek, who was staring into the darkness. "Something's coming."

  Every man's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and Almar drew his half out of the scabbard.

  Shapes that were slightly less darkness than the blackness beyond moved toward them. Thidrek could hear their feet shuffling over the dust and grit on the ground, and with each step, the shapes grew more distinct.

  Four men. All obviously Damarans by the cuts of their hair and their clothes. But their clothes were filthy, fraying at the seams, and hung loose on their frames. In the last moment before the nearest of them stepped fully into the light, Thidrek thought he saw red fire, like sunset through stained glass, glint deep in their eyes. Thidrek gasped and took a step back.

  "Did we startle you, my lord?" said the nearest of them, and then all four men bowed. "Forgive me. You are Lord Thidrek of Goliad, are you not?"

  Thidrek swallowed hard. Something in the man's voice set Thidrek's teeth on edge. But he managed to say, "I am. And you are…?"

  "Morev," said the man. "We have come to welcome you in the name of Lord Guric of Highwatch. And to bring you to him."

  Almar slammed his blade back into its scabbard. "You are our escort?"

  Morev kept his eyes fixed on Thidrek. "We are."

  "Lords of Damara are more accustomed to being escorted through their host's gate," said Almar. "And not having to walk through a dusty ruin before being greeted."

  "My most profound apologies, Almar of Brotha. Our forces are, sadly, much reduced of late. I trust our Nar servants did not offend you."

  Almar opened his mouth to retort, but Thidrek cut him off.

  "How do you know our names?"

  Morev smiled, and Thidrek shivered at the sight. There was no mirth in it. Not even the feigned obsequiousness one might expect from a high-minded servant. Thidrek had once seen a jackal, brought by some southern trader to his father's court. He remembered that jackal and how it had seemed to grin just before it pounced on the hare that was its dinner.

  "Your reputations precede you, my lords," said Morev. "Come. You are most welcome."

  Highwatch proved to be even more of a ghost town that Kistrad. Although something deep in Thidrek's brain thought perhaps the ghosts might be real in the fortress. They saw not a soul in the halls. No guards posted at any of the dozens of gates and doors through which they passed. No servants sweeping halls or courtyards that were in desperate need of it. No one lighting the evening lamps, for there were no lamps, and their escorts carried no torches. They walked in darkness, ever upward into the heart of Highwatch. Even when they passed through courtyards or avenues open to the sky, there was not so much as a raven or a sparrow. Highwatch was barren.

  Despite the seeming emptiness, Thidrek could feel eyes on him, watching from heights above that he could only guess at, or staring from the shadows that faded to absolute black as evening gave way to night.

  "I hope you will forgive our lack of lamps, my lords," said Morev. "Since the recent… unpleasantness, I fear our supply of oil and pitch has grown thin."

  "With summer, trade should resume, yes?" said Thidrek.

  "We hope."

  "We saw fires in the Nar camps we passed," said Almar.

  "Indeed," Morev replied. "The Nar burn grass and horse dung that they cache throughout the year to dry. Here in the fortress, we do not care for the stench."

  "You mean they cook their food on… on shit?" said one of Thidrek's men.

  "Yes," said Morev. "And for warmth and light. Narfell is not a place known for its abundant forests. What few there are hug the mountains here, but the Nar-and especially the Creel whom you saw-are creatures of unbreakable habit."

  "Remind me not to dine with the Nar."

  "Oh, not to worry. We have a most special meal prepared for you, my lords."

  Standing outside the main hall, for a moment Thidrek dared to hope that he might have been wrong, that every sense in his body and mind were raw from lack of sleep and good food. The receiving chamber was long overdue for a good sweep and scrub. Even the cobwebs overhead looked stale and abandoned. But there was blessed, blessed light. A brazier wider than a paladin's shield burned a healthy bed of coals next to the far wall, and Thidrek could smell incense there as well. A dozen torches burned in sconces along the wall, their smoke pooling thick overhead
before it finally leaked out through vents in the roof. More Damarans stood as guards, their backs as straight as the spears they held. They did not look at Thidrek and his company, and their clothes were just as dirty and worn as that of Morev and his fellows, but after occupying a sacked fortress cut off from trade with everyone except a bunch of dung-burning barbarians, what could one expect? Even the four Nar standing guard farther down the hall were dressed in their finest and looked at Thidrek and his men with proper deference.

  One of the doors opened, and a huge Nar stepped out. He was dressed as the rest of his countrymen in various bits of wool, fur, and horse leather, and he wore the sides and crown of his hair in the traditional topknot, but when he spoke, his Damaran was flawless.

  "I am Vazhad," he said. "I serve Argalath, Lord Guric's chief counselor. I have come to take you to my lords."

  The man showed nothing. No deference or respect. No contempt. No amusement. No emotion whatsoever.

  "Very well," said Thidrek. "Do your men hold our weapons while we are in the hall?"

  "That is not necessary."

  "Then proceed."

  Vazhad nodded and pulled the door wide. Almar scowled when the man simply stared at them without a bow.

  "I will announce you," said Vazhad.

  Thidrek led them inside. As the last man passed, Vazhad called out, "Thidrek of Goliad and company!"

  More torches burned inside the main hall, but there was no brazier, and the hearths held only cold ash in their beds. Orange torchlight and dancing shadows filled the hall but gave no warmth. Full night had fallen, the upper windows stood dark, and Thidrek could see steam as he breathed.

  He led his men across the hall where an impressive Damaran sat in a simple oak chair upon the dais. A smaller man, swathed completely in thick robes and a cowl, stood behind his right shoulder.

  Thidrek had heard of Guric, of course, long before Yarin had told him the full story. He'd been sent by his father to Highwatch to strengthen relations between the two houses, but he'd been besotted by some lordling's daughter whose father had chosen the wrong side during Yarin's ascension. He'd chosen love over his inheritance and been taken into High Warden Vandalar's household. But then his wife died. He'd given up everything for an empty bed and no heirs. However, Guric had not accepted his fate. He'd seized what he wanted and sat as the new lord of Highwatch. Thidrek couldn't help but admire that. Should things continue to worsen for Yarin in Damara, Thidrek could do far worse than look to Guric as an ally.

  Thidrek stopped at the foot of the dais and kneeled. He heard his men do the same behind him.

  "Lord Guric, High Warden of Highwatch," said Thidrek, "I bring you the good will and congratulations of Yarin Frostmantle, rightful ruler of Damara."

  "Please stand, Thidrek," said Guric. "We have no supplicants here. Though I hope you'll forgive me keeping my seat. I'm afraid my duties have kept me so busy of late that I am quite famished."

  "Of course, my lord," said Thidrek, and he put on his most ingratiating smile as he rose. But he felt it falter when he looked up. There it was again. For just a moment, he'd seen a red, hungry fire burning in Guric's eyes. Surely it was just a trick of the torchlight…

  "Why are you here?" said the robed one behind Guric.

  Thidrek scowled. No my lord or why have you honored us with your presence? It had been spoken like one might speak to a chambermaid knocking on the door after her duties were done.

  But looking into the depths of that cowl where the torchlight did not penetrate, Thidrek felt his offense and resolve waver, and the fear that had dogged him since entering the valley came back full force.

  Thidrek swallowed and, in a near panic, fell back on the rote he had turned over in his mind a hundred times since leaving Damara.

  "A-as I said, we have come to bring you the good will of King Yarin-and to offer his congratulations and sincere gratitude in successfully bringing the king's justice to the traitor Vandalar."

  "And…?"

  "And we have come to invite you to renew your vows of fealty and friendship to Yarin, the rightful King of Damara."

  "There," said Guric, "we come to it."

  "Highwatch is not in Damara," said the robed man.

  "Nevertheless-"

  "Enough!" said Guric, and he pushed himself to his feet. Thidrek flinched, but Guric had not spoken in anger or offense. In fact, he was smiling down on Thidrek. But the smile lined Thidrek's veins with frost. "There are new lords in Highwatch now. Are you hungry?"

  "A-am I-?"

  "Hungry," said Guric.

  "Y-yes," said Thidrek.

  "I am starving," said Guric.

  The lord of Highwatch moved so quickly that Thidrek only had time to draw in a breath to scream.

  But Guric swept past Thidrek, knocking him to the cold stone floor.

  Almar shrieked-a high-pitched wail so loud that Thidrek actually heard the man's throat tear. The other men yelled and tried to run, but Guric's guards caught them.

  Thidrek scrambled to his feet and gaped at the scene before him. Every one of his men caught in the arms of a Damaran or Nar-except for Almar. It had not been the scream that tore the man's throat. Guric had one arm wrapped around Almar's waist, the other tangled in his hair, and was bending the man over backward. For one absurd instant it looked like some horrific dance. Then he saw the blood. So much blood. Guric had his face buried under Almar's jaw, and by the movement of his head, Thidrek knew he was biting, rending, chewing…

  Wide-eyed, hand trembling as he reached for his sword, Thidrek forced himself to look away.

  And wished he hadn't. He looked right into the eyes of a Damaran holding one of his men. There was no mistaking it. They glowed, red like fire, but with no warmth. Only hunger. And then Thidrek noticed something that had escaped him before. He and his men were breathing great clouds of steam in their panic. But not a wisp of breath escaped any of the Damarans of Highwatch. They weren't breathing.

  Thidrek felt warmth as his bladder released. His hand refused to grip the hilt of his sword. As a knight, he knew that in the thick of battle, the body's natural reaction was to fight or flee. His mind screamed, Flee! But his body had not the strength. It was all he could do to keep his feet.

  Guric straightened, and the sound of flesh and tendons ripping and tearing made Thidrek's gorge rise. Had he anything in his stomach he would have spewed it out, but he only filled his mouth with bile. The lord of Highwatch threw his head back and swallowed. Then he looked down at Thidrek.

  "That took the edge off," he said.

  "Whuh… whuh…" was the only thing Thidrek could manage.

  "What are we going to do with you?" said the robed man. "Fear not. A man of your… stature is worth more to us than a meal. We have something very special for you in mind. A bit of lore I have been most eager to try-and one in which we find ourselves of sore need."

  "Wh-what?" said Thidrek.

  Thidrek felt strong arms seize and lift him. He didn't struggle.

  "Sarkhrun…" said the robed man.

  Thidrek heard the man before he saw him, shuffling out of the deeper shadows behind the dais. A dead man… a dead man was coming at him. Some small part of Thidrek's brain that still clung to rational thought reminded him that he seemed to be surrounded by dead men, but there was no mistaking the thing that approached him for anything but a shambling corpse. Skin hung off stiffening muscles in tatters, all but a few lanks of matted hair had fallen out. The eyes had either sunken all the way into the skull or fallen out altogether, for suddenly, the only gaze there was red hunger.

  "Our brother Sarkhrun," said the robed man, "one of the first to join us. But as you see, his spirit seems to have outworn his body's welcome. If the hunger grows too strong without being sated, the effects are as you see-irreversible. We cannot have that. Our brother deserves better."

  The corpse stopped in front of Thidrek and reached out one emaciated hand. The stench coming off the thing…

  Thidrek screa
med. All reason had left him, and the most bestial instincts of his body took over, and at the moment every fiber of his being fought to survive.

  It was a useless fight.

  The thing holding him held his head steady while the corpse used his fingernail to gouge deep into the skin of Thidrek's forehead. The thing carved a pattern there, a rune all of sharp angles and hanging arms, like a broken holy symbol.

  Hot blood ran into Thidrek's face. He blinked it away and saw the corpse before him fall to the ground. The light in its eyes died and it was then truly a corpse.

  Thidrek's forehead was a mass of pain. That pain suddenly flared, like fire, and although he could not hear it over the sounds of his own screams, he could feel the skin there sizzling and popping.

  But it was a backward burning. Whereas normal fires blaze and send light and warmth outward, the symbol on Thidrek's forehead blazed, and a hideous, cackling, rending fire came inside him. Thidrek felt-actually felt-veins in his brain swell and burst, felt minuscule sections of the spongy mass inside his head crisp and burn as the new life inside him took over, pushing the Thidrek down, binding and sealing him inside the tomb of his own mind.

  The man holding him let him go, and Thidrek's body stood on its own strength. Sarkhrun looked out from his new eyes, forced his new lips to pull back in a grin, and said, "It worked."

  CHAPTER NINTEEN

  Ashiin had opened the portal for them, making slight variations to the rhythm of the drum. And instantly, Hweilan saw why. They had not stepped through the veil of water into the near-desert land of towerlike mountains. No. She knew these mountains.

  "The Giantspires," she said.

  She didn't know this particular valley, no. But that peak off in the distance… she knew those ragged edges. She'd seen them out her bedroom window her entire life. She was seeing them from the other side, which meant that she was many miles north of Highwatch.