Darric stopped and looked around as the others gathered behind him. There was no sign of Hweilan.
Jaden bent over, hands on knees. He was breathing so hard that he accidentally spat out the gobby mess of kanishta root. He cursed, picked it up, and after wiping off the worst of the dirt and grit, plopped it back into his mouth.
“Where’s … our lady … friend … got off … to?” he said between gasps.
Mandan was breathing heavily as well, but he stood straight, his head held back, his nostrils flaring as he took deep drafts of the breeze off the mountain. “We have bigger problems.”
Jaden said, “What?”
“I smell—”
And then a gale hit them. Darric heard the howl of it coming down the mountain an instant before it struck, snapping branches from trees and raising a wave of pine needles off the ground that swept over them, stinging exposed skin and forcing Darric to close his eyes. His cloak caught the wind like a sail, and he had to fight to keep his feet. That’s when he heard them.
Voices in the wind—hoots and cries, and mixed with it all a gleeful cackling. Shielding his eyes with one hand, Darric squinted against the cloud of pine needles and grit. A dozen or more figures were charging up the path behind them. Ugly scraps of black-iron armor covered clothes made of hide and pelts. The bits of hair that protruded from their helmets was so coarse and thick that it seemed more like fur, and their narrow eyes drank in every bit of dim dawnlight and cast it back, like a dog’s eyes. Most of the figures held iron-shod spears more than twice the height of their wielders. Hobgoblins. Bigger and meaner than their goblin cousins, Darric knew that even with Mandan in full rage they’d stand no chance against so many.
“Run!” Mandan roared, and pushed Darric up the path.
“Move-move-move!” Darric said, and got the men moving, Mandan bringing up the rear. If they could make it to the cliff, at least they could keep their backs against the rock and fight only on one front.
The wind came back around again, slapping Darric’s cloak against his legs. He stumbled, but Mandan caught him and kept him going.
Valsun, several paces ahead, was passing between two boulders when Darric saw it—something moving up from the ground. His first thought was it was a snake, but then he saw—
“Valsun!”
But it was too late. Running full speed, Valsun’s shins struck the tight cord, and he went down. From behind the boulders, two hobgoblins leaped over the path, crossing in midair and pulling the rope in a tight loop. Valsun managed to shake one leg free before the cord tightened, but his right boot caught. The hobgoblins didn’t even spare the others a glance. They turned and ran, dragging Valsun behind them.
Enemies behind and before, Jaden stood dumbstruck.
“Move, you fool!” Darric said as he passed Jaden. He rounded the largest of the boulders where Valsun had disappeared, then he too skidded to a stop.
Valsun lay on his back against another boulder, his sword on the ground well out of reach, his two captors standing over him, the points of their swords at his throat. But in front of Darric was the biggest goblin he had ever seen—had ever heard of. He had all the typical goblin features—coarse, bristly hair, pointed ears that stood out from its head, a scarce bump of a nose between two slit eyes; he wore only rudimentary clothing—but he was easily eight feet tall, most of it muscle. Arms wide, the monster lunged.
Darric ducked and swiped with his sword. He didn’t put full force into the blow, fearing Jaden or Mandan might be coming up behind him, and the blade only sliced a narrow gash along the back of the creature’s helmet-sized hand.
And then the hobgoblins were all around—rising from behind boulders, jumping down from thick boughs where they’d been hiding. Those charging up the path hadn’t been attacking. They’d been driving Darric and his men into the real attack, and it had worked perfectly.
The giant goblin grinned and made another quick swipe at Darric. Again Darric struck, but the monster was ready for it this time and pulled away laughing.
Behind him, Mandan roared and Darric could hear his club cutting through the air. Jaden was screaming. Darric kept the point of his blade raised at the monster as he turned sideways and risked a quick glance. Mandan stood between the two boulders where Valsun tripped. Swinging his club, he was holding back a half-dozen goblins. One of them lunged with a spear and the club struck, shattering the shaft and sending its wielder reeling back.
Beyond Mandan, Jaden lay on his belly, a cackling hobgoblin straddling his legs and beating him with a cudgel while two others tried to pry the cleaverlike sword from his grip.
That quick glance cost Darric his advantage. He felt something strike his knee hard, then pull. Turning back around, Darric planted both feet and looked down. One of the hobgoblins had come in with a long pole, a wide, blunt crook on one end, and he had Darric’s leg quite nicely hooked.
The hobgoblin pulled, and Darric stumbled. He struck at the pole with his sword, but the shaft was thick ash wood. He put a good nick in it, but nothing more. He used his free hand to grab the loop of the hook and pull. With such poor leverage, he knew he’d never pull it off, but if he could just hold it steady long enough to step out—
A tight grip closed over his sword arm. The huge goblin had his sword arm in one bony fist. The monster grinned and yanked. Darric lost his footing and went down. The hook of the pole slid up his waist and caught in his belt. But he kept the grip on his sword. Screaming, Darric thrashed and kicked, but the monster’s grip only tightened.
“Hoy!” a voice called, and Darric looked up into the face of a hobgoblin, who had stepped forward. He held a curved sword but seemed in no rush to use it. “Drop that steel or Grunter here’ll snap your arm like twig.”
The huge goblin grunted as if to confirm his name, then gave a tug and a twist as if to drive the point home.
Darric thrashed harder. He managed to bring one foot around and drive the toe of his boot into Grunter’s knee. It was like kicking an oak.
Grunter smiled, revealing tusk-yellow teeth. “Tickles,” he said, and grunted again.
The hobgoblin with the sword shrugged and said, “Break it.”
Grunter grabbed Darric’s arm with his other fist, both tightened—
“Well done! That will be quite enough!”
The voice spoke elegantly accented Damaran, and the wind twisting through the field of boulders seemed to carry it. It was firm, confident, but no shout, though it carried to every ear.
The wind died, and a strange silence settled on the scene. Grunter’s grip on Darric’s arm did not lessen, but neither did it move. Darric had no doubt the brute could do just what the other had claimed—snap his arm like a twig. He risked another glance at his comrades. Valsun’s position had not improved. Jaden was weaponless, had two grinning hobgoblins on his back and one standing on each arm. Mandan still held his club in one hand. The shattered remains of one of the hookpoles dangled from his waist, and two cords of braided leather were tangled around his left arm—the other ends held tight by four hobgoblins. Darric could see their wide yellow eyes through the slits in their helmets. They were obviously torn between trying to pull Mandan over and the thought of pulling him too close. Just behind them, another hobgoblin leaned against a rock, moaning and cradling his shattered forearm.
“Everyone just calm down.”
A figure emerged from the forest—taller than every person gathered except for Mandan and Grunter, but he moved with the grace of a dancer. A long cloak and deep cowl hid his features. He stopped just behind the nearest goblin.
The cowl faced Darric. The voice had a mocking tone that seemed altogether at odds with the present situation. “Quite enough excitement for so early in the morning, don’t you think?”
Darric goggled, no idea what to say. But he did take the opportunity to regain his feet and wrench the hookpole away. Grunter’s grip tightened slightly, causing Darric to wince. He still held his sword, but he could no longer feel the ha
nd gripping it.
“Easy there, Grunter,” said the cloaked man. “We’re just talking. For the moment.”
“Who are you and what is the meaning of this?” Darric asked him.
“Where is she?”
Darric blinked, taken aback by the question, then said, “Where is who?”
A tense silence followed, and Darric could feel a heavy gaze from inside the cowl weighing him. “Her pet has been trailing my friends for miles,” the man said. “I know she is nearby.”
“Then you know more than I,” said Darric. “On my father’s name, I do not know where she is.”
“Seeing as how I don’t know your father, that oath holds little weight for me.”
Mandan growled and yanked on the cords tangling his left arm. Those holding it stumbled but kept their feet. Standing atop the boulder in front of Mandan, a hobgoblin loosed his bowstring, and an instant later Mandan’s club sprouted an arrow.
“Calm yourself,” said the man.
Mandan kept his place, but Darric saw his hair bristling and the muscles in his face had tensed so much that his skin looked like a tightly bound drum. If this went much further, there’d be no controlling him. Keeping Mandan in check when he was afraid was hard enough. But when he went beyond fear and into a true rage …
The cloaked man chuckled, then said, “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. Truth be told, I have no interest in any of you. But I am most eager to speak to the lady.”
“And who are you?”
“I’ll ask only once more,” the man said. “Then I’m going to tell Grunter there to snap your arm. Urdu and Oluk over there will start poking holes in the old man. The little one who makes so much noise they’ll save for later fun. Your big and bristly friend will start sprouting arrows, and then … well, and after that, do you really care?” All mockery left the man’s tone. His voice went hard and solemn, and he said, “Where is she?”
“I told you I don’t know.”
A long silence. Darric and Mandan exchanged a glance.
“Would you tell me if you did?” said the cloaked man.
Darric told the truth. “No.”
“Very well,” the man said, his voice all false regret. Then he raised it to a shout. “Razor Heart! Have your—”
“Stop!”
Everyone looked up.
The cliff was not an unbroken face. Ledges and cracks riddled its side where years of ice and tenacious roots had broken through the rock. A few dozen feet over them, two figures emerged on the ledge, one moving very stiffly.
The foremost was a hobgoblin, his helmet gone, blood leaking from his mouth, his left eye swollen shut. His hands were unbound, empty, and he held both out. Even from the distance, Darric could see they were trembling. Standing behind him, another figure held a fistful of the hobgoblin’s hair in one hand and a naked blade under his throat. As she stepped into the growing light, Darric recognized the fearsome bone mask.
She called down to the cloaked man, “This fellow says he’s your second, and war chief of the Razor Heart clan. If your war chief is this easy, the rest of you shouldn’t be much of a problem. Let these four idiots go. I’ll release your chief and you can all skulk off.”
The cloaked man was staring up at her, obviously considering. He shrugged and said, “I don’t skulk. You kill the chief and your friends will join him.”
“They aren’t my friends,” said Hweilan.
And then Darric heard the growling. Everyone else did too, for every eye turned to look behind the cloaked man. The wolf stood only a few paces beyond the hem of his cloak, its hackles raised and trembling, its black lips pulled back over fangs longer than arrowheads.
“You’ll join them as well,” Hweilan told the cloaked man. “You can all sit on the rim of the Abyss and argue over whose fault it is while I go off to breakfast.”
The man looked back up at Hweilan, then faced his men. “Oh bells of the Hells, this isn’t going how I planned at all. Let them go.”
The hobgoblins cried out in protest.
“Oh, calm down the lot of you. They aren’t going anywhere. Hweilan would never leave an old friend behind. Besides, she’s deep in debt to me.”
“And who are you?” she called down.
The man lowered his cowl and pushed his cloak back over his shoulders. He held no weapon that Darric could see. His armor was very fine—finer than any Darric had ever seen, in fact—a breastplate, spaulders, and tassets made of many layers of fitted metal, that still managed a silvery sheen despite the layer of dust. He wore no gloves against the cold, and even his clothes seemed fitted more for elegance than warmth. He wore no helmet, and his long black hair was an unkempt mess. His features would have had an almost feminine beauty if not for his strong chin, but there was something disconcerting in the gaze. And then Darric saw it. His eyes had no pupils. An eladrin. Why in the unholy Hells was an eladrin running with a band of mountain goblins?
“My name is Menduarthis,” he said for all to hear. Then he pointed up at Hweilan. “And you still owe me a kiss.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
MENDUARTHIS,” SAID HWEILAN, FOLLOWED BY SOMETHING in a language Darric could not understand. But he knew a curse when he heard one, and this one sounded impressively foul. The wolf snapped and growled even louder.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” said Menduarthis.
Most of the tension had one out of Hweilan’s stance, but she still hadn’t released the hobgoblin chief. “How … how …?”
“Articulate as always, my little flower,” said Menduarthis. “Why don’t you come down?”
Hweilan glanced at Darric and each of his men. Menduarthis caught it.
“As long as they behave themselves, they have nothing to fear from us.” Menduarthis looked to Darric. “You and your men will behave, won’t you?”
Darric glared at him.
“Come now,” said Menduarthis. “Things are finally calming down. You don’t want to get everyone all riled up again, do you?”
“I have no idea what’s going on,” said Darric.
“That much is obvious,” said Menduarthis. “I have your word?”
Darric looked to Valsun, who looked down at the steel tickling his throat. He nodded very carefully.
“Jaden?” Darric called.
“Tell me how I’m not behaving now?” Jaden called. His voice was muffled because his face was smashed into the dirt, a hobgoblin’s hand pressing down on the back of his head. “I behave any more and I’ll be digging with my teeth!”
“Mandan?”
Mandan didn’t even look at Darric. He snarled at Menduarthis.
“Aren’t you quite finished with this nonsense?” said Menduarthis. His lips curled in a smile, but his gaze had gone cold.
Mandan roared and gave a sudden, hard yank on the ropes tangling his left arm. Caught off guard, the hobgoblins holding the ropes flew off their feet. One at least had the good sense to let go. But the other two held on. Mandan turned his club. The knobby end of it connected with the face of a goblin’s helmet with a loud clunk and he drove his boot into the chest of the other, sending him flying backward. Both went down, the former moaning and clutching his head, the latter kicking and struggling to breathe.
But Mandan merely stood straight and wriggled his left arm until the ropes fell away.
“Now I’m finished,” he said.
A few of the hobgoblins laughed at that.
Menduarthis spread his arms. “See? All friends now?”
Hweilan released her grip on the chief, who fell to his hands and knees and sighed with relief.
Menduarthis turned to the wolf, causing it to growl anew. “Oh, I know who you are,” said Menduarthis. “Don’t make me twirl my fingers.”
Hweilan and the chief came down together. Blood still stained his chin and cheek, but he had regained his composure, and the blood only served to give him a more savage look. Hweilan had bow in hand, but her arrows still rode in her quive
r. Watching her … Darric stared. She moved with the grace of a panther. Of the fiery little castle girl Darric remembered, nothing remained. Here they were surrounded by mountain hobgoblins, not a one of them without a weapon, led by some sort of eladrin sorcerer, and she showed not a hint of fear.
She stopped several paces from Menduarthis, then said, “What are you doing here?”
Menduarthis raised on eyebrow. “How good to see you again, Menduarthis. Thank you so much for saving my life, Menduarthis. So sorry for leaving you for dead, Menduarthis. How have you been, Menduarthis?” Both eyebrows went up. “No?”
“You and your new friends have been following us for miles. Why?”
“Well, I did risk my life for you. Gave up quite a prominent position in a powerful queen’s court. For you. Even risked my life fighting that whatever it was. For you. You owe me.”
“I owe you?”
“Most certainly, little flower.”
She watched him a moment. Though she was at least two heads shorter than him, she still managed somehow to look down on him. “And what do I owe you?”
Menduarthis smiled. “I told you already. A kiss.”
She watched him, saying nothing. Several of the hobgoblins chuckled.
“ ‘Get me to Lendri,’ you said, ‘then help us to get out again, and afterward, I will kiss you.’ Your words. And I seem to remember stipulating not one of those how-good-to-see-you-big-brother pecks on the cheek. A real kiss. Right here. Right now.”
“And then …?”
Menduarthis shrugged. “I held up my end of the bargain. Time for you to pay up. And then we’re even.”
“Very well.”
“What?” The word escaped Darric before he could stop it. All eyes turned to him.
She took off the bone mask and hitched it to her belt. But her face was no less a mask, completely devoid of any emotion. “What’s the harm in it?”
“Oh, sod it!” Jaden called. “If it’ll get these brutes off me, I’ll kiss him!”
Menduarthis turned to look where the hobgoblins still held Jaden facedown in the dirt. “Get off the loud fellow. He’s spoiling my moment.” Then he looked to Darric. “And you keep quiet. This doesn’t concern you.”
Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II Page 26