“This explains much,” said Maaqua. “Twelve days past, our scouts heard rumor of one of these things in our territory. Rhan led our strongest warriors to hunt and kill it. But all they found were corpses. On the way back, they found more. Five days ago … more rumor, followed by more corpses. It seems that something—or someone—is hunting the hunters.”
“And doing a damned fine job of it,” said Menduarthis.
“You know what these things are,” Maaqua said to Hweilan, “and you know how to kill them.”
“Yes.”
“And how is that?”
“You let me go.”
Maaqua started at that. “Eh?”
“You heard me.”
“You misunderstood me,” said Maaqua, a cold edge of steel in her voice. “I was asking how we might kill these things.”
“You can’t,” said Hweilan. “I can. You want them dead? Then get out of my way.”
Maaqua scowled, then went very still. “And then?”
“And then when I’m done, I’ll tell Nendawen what a helpful little goblin you were.”
Every hobgoblin in the valley drew a weapon. Rhan roared and raised his sword again. Uncle stepped forward next to Hweilan, black lips pulled back over his fangs and every hair on his body standing on end. The Damarans put their hands to weapons and stepped away from each other to give themselves room to draw and swing. Menduarthis stepped between Hweilan and Maaqua, hands raised between them, his mouth opening to say something he shouldn’t. All this happened in an instant. In all the valley, Hweilan and Maaqua were the only two who didn’t move.
“Be! STILL!” Maaqua roared, her voice echoing like thunder off the surrounding cliffs. She stood straight, no longer the wizened crone. Everyone obeyed. “The next one who so much as coughs without my leave will earn my most serious displeasure!”
The hobgoblins lowered their weapons, though they did not put them away. Jaden let out a very loud sigh, and Menduarthis lowered his hands and stepped back beside Hweilan.
Maaqua leaned on her staff again, then said, “Tell me. How is Gleed?”
Hweilan blinked and took an involuntary step back. “What?”
Maaqua chuckled. “See? Not half as smart as you think you are, girl.”
“You know Gleed?”
Behind her, Hweilan heard Jaden whisper, “Who in the unholy Hells is Gleed?”
“It might surprise you to know,” said Maaqua, “that I was not always the wise old husk you see before you. Nor was Gleed always content to putter around his little lake. There was a time—more than a few times, truth be told—that Gleed made Maaqua’s toes tingle and beg for more.”
Menduarthis gasped and his eyes went wide. He leaned in slightly to Hweilan and muttered, “That image is going to cause a few sleepless nights.”
“I hold the Master of the Hunt in the highest respect,” said Maaqua. “But don’t think for a moment that means I’ll tolerate rudeness from one such as you.”
Hweilan took a careful breath to regain her composure, then said, “My apologies. Gleed is … well as ever.”
“I feared as much,” said Maaqua. “Ah, well. Now, back to—”
Maaqua flinched, as if something had stung her. And then Hweilan felt it too—that familiar pounding at the base of her skull. It didn’t begin with a slow pulse and build as it usually did. It hit so fast that Hweilan thought she felt her back teeth pulsing.
The air a few paces to one side of Maaqua swirled in a miniature cyclone, gathering dust and grit—and something else, something darker—as it spun, taking shape. The wind burst outward like a wave. At its source stood a figure dressed in once-fine clothes gone ragged and caked with filth. It lunged, fast and hard as a tundra tiger, knocking both Rhan and Maaqua to the ground and then tackling Menduarthis.
Hweilan took three loping steps back, her hand already grasping an arrow and laying it across the bow. She fitted nock to string, raised the bow, and pulled the feathers to the corner of her eye. The runes in her bow blazed with green fire.
The figure stood, holding one arm across Menduarthis’s chest, the other wrapped around his face.
Hweilan spoke the words of power, and aimed the point of her arrow. Looking beyond it, she got her first good look at the thing’s face.
The arrowhead shook and faltered, and Hweilan gasped.
“Mother?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EVERY HOBGOBLIN WARRIOR IN THE VALLEY SURGED forward, Rhan the closest of them all, but again, Maaqua’s voice stopped them.
“Be still!” the goblin queen said as she regained her feet and stood on guard behind her raised staff. The gold crown hung slightly askew on her head, but a hot fire blazed in the rubies there. “Be still, all of you, I say!”
Merah looked at Hweilan from over Menduarthis’s shoulder. “Well met, girl,” it said, its voice rough and guttural. “We didn’t expect you here so soon. Most fortunate for us both. Half a moment. You need to see something.”
Hweilan’s hand steadied. The voice had done it. Despite the body it wore, this was not her mother. She fixed the point of her arrow on the thing’s right eye.
“I can put this arrow right through him and still get you,” Hweilan said.
“I’d rather you didn’t, please!” said Menduarthis. “Silence!” the thing said, and tightened its hand over Menduarthis’s jaw to force the point. But then it lowered him a little, and again Merah’s face peeked over his shoulder. All the hardness, the muscles tight and taut as harp strings, was gone. The hunger was gone from the eyes, and Merah simply looked tired. No, she looked bone weary.
“H-Hweilan? Is … that you? I can’t … can’t see. I’ve been in the dark so long, Hweilan.”
Hweilan forced her left hand to grip the bow and the three fingers of her right hand to maintain the tension on the bowstring. Her left arm suddenly felt as heavy as an anvil, and the effort of keeping it up made a small mewling sound escape her throat.
“Is that you, Hweilan?” Her mother looked at her and blinked, again and again, as if trying to clear dust from her eyes. “Say something. Please …”
Hweilan took a deep breath, swallowed, and said, “Let him go.”
“Let …?” She glanced down at the eladrin in her arms, and her entire body trembled. “Help! Help me, Hweilan! It’s still in here with m—!” And then every muscle in Merah’s body tightened, hard as old oak, her skin seemed to tighten over her frame, and her hair stood on end. The hands tightened around Menduarthis, and he breathed in a hiss of pain.
“Stop!” said Hweilan.
The thing’s voice answered, “She’s still in here with me, girl. Your mother. She’s screaming now. Screaming for you.”
“Stop it!”
“Put that bow down and we’ll talk.”
Behind Merah, Rhan took a careful step forward. At first, Hweilan thought the images carved into his sword had come to life, but then she saw that tiny flecks of lightning, each spark black as onyx, were playing up and down the blade.
“Your new friend moves another step,” the thing said, “and I’ll kill this one.”
“Rhan, stop!” Maaqua said. “Let this play out.”
“Kill him and I’ll kill you,” Hweilan said.
“You’d kill your own mother?”
“My mother is already dead,” Hweilan said, and saying the words gave strength to her faltering conviction. “Defending her maidservants.”
“Is that what they told you?” the thing said. “Her body was quite hurt. Death … a near thing. But my master is skilled. Most skilled. Her body has made quite a pleasant home for me. Though she does scream so. And cry. She cries for forgiveness from Ardan. Begs for it. Who was Ardan, girl?”
The world seemed to tilt around Hweilan, and she almost dropped the bow. Her right hand could no longer hold the full tension, and she slackened the tension in the string. The point of the arrow dipped, aiming at the ground.
“Much better,” the thing said.
�
�He told me she died,” said Hweilan, more to herself, remembering the words.
The last words she’d ever spoken to her mother had been in anger. She’d never seen her again after that. Someone had told her that her mother was dead. Scith had told her. She died defending her maidservants.
“I told you, girl,” the thing said, raising its voice, “there’s something you’ll want to see. Now … watch.”
The arm holding Menduarthis tightened further. Hweilan thought she heard something inside him crack, and he screamed. The thing’s other hand, the one gripping his face, loosened its grip slightly and moved upward. Hweilan watched in horror as one finger dug a deep gouge into Menduarthis’s forehead. He screamed louder and began to thrash. Wind swept down off the mountain, swirling through the valley and raising a great cloud of dust and grit. Hweilan could no longer see the hobgoblins, and Merah and Menduarthis were only a blur in the murk.
Hweilan raised the bow again and advanced. “Stop! Stop this now!”
Two things happened at once. The thing still held Menduarthis, but his entire face was a mass of blood. All the dirt in the air was sticking to it, forming a sickly black mess. As her gaze took this in, the darkest and wettest of the blood on his forehead flared with a red light, like a smith blowing fresh life onto hot embers. At the same moment a huge form materialized out of the dust cloud behind them. It was Rhan, sword high and ready to strike.
Hweilan opened her mouth to scream for him to stop, realized the blow would fall before the words escaped her lips, and so she turned her arrow on the hobgoblin champion and loosed.
The runes blazing along the arrow’s shaft lost their light, perhaps sensing they were no longer headed for their sworn enemy. The arrow was just over half the distance, headed for the thick flesh of Rhan’s shoulder, when a blazing shard of light struck it in midair. The arrow absorbed the force and did not shatter, but it flew end over end, disappearing into the dust cloud.
Rhan’s sword came around.
“NO!” Hweilan screamed.
But it was too late.
A lesser warrior might have cut both Merah and Menduarthis in half. But even in the midst of the wind, Rhan’s aim was expert and true. The black sword cut through Merah’s neck, barely slowing as it passed through skin, flesh, and bone. Because there was no heart beating in Merah’s chest, there was no spray of blood. The body simply went limp, hitting the ground an instant before the head. Even in death, the grip held, and the headless corpse pulled Menduarthis down with it.
The wind died away at once, and the dirt in the air was already beginning to settle when Hweilan rushed forward. Rhan was standing over the bodies, neither of which were moving.
“Bastard!” Hweilan screamed, and launched herself at him. The brute was at least three times her weight and two feet taller, but Ashiin had taught her well. She knew right where to hit him, planting her heel directly beneath the spot where his ribs joined his chest. He folded in half and went down.
Although he was fighting for breath, he still made it to his feet the same time Hweilan did.
“Stop this! Stop this right now!”
Maaqua stepped between them, her staff raised, sparks still leaking from its length. Hweilan noted the sparks were the same color as the shaft of light that had struck her arrow.
“You stopped my arrow, y—!”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Menduarthis sit up and raise one arm. Air swirled around him, fanning his hair outward and coalescing around his outstretched hand. It formed into a concentrated mass of force that shot out and struck the hobgoblin queen, sending her tumbling through the dirt.
Hweilan sidestepped and turned to face him.
One glance, and she knew it wasn’t Menduarthis. The tendons of his neck stood out taut, and his skin stretched over the tight muscles of his face. The ever-mischievous glint in his eyes had gone out, replaced by an empty hunger. And the familiar pounding in Hweilan’s mind was strong as ever. The demon was still here.
She reached for an arrow at the same time that Rhan roared and charged, black sword held high.
Another funnel of concentrated air struck the hobgoblin champion. It didn’t send him flying as it had Maaqua, but it did knock him off his feet and backward.
Hweilan pulled the fletching to her cheek and aimed. The runes on her bow flared, and she realized she had to kill Menduarthis. She had to—
She loosed, but another wave of air struck the arrow, and it hit the dirt a yard to Menduarthis’s left. Hweilan knew she’d have to get closer.
“Listen, Maaqua!” the thing said, turning its attention to her. “We know where you are. Bring us the girl, and we’ll let you live.”
Hweilan charged, fitting another arrow to her bow.
The thing raised a hand and spoke a word of power. Wind and dust funneled upward in a thunderous roar, and there was an ear-shattering clap as air rushed in to fill empty space. The dirt was settling, showing dozens of hobgoblin warriors approaching and confirming what Hweilan’s mind already knew: Menduarthis—and the demon inside him—was gone.
Hweilan stood over her mother’s severed head. It had landed so that the open eyes stared up at the sky. Her mother was dead.
Moreover, she had been dead for a very long time. Had Hweilan taken just a moment to think, she would have realized that. She’d seen her mother’s spirit, with her father, a golden light around them. That thing might have stolen Merah’s body for a time, but the heart and mind of her mother had long since joined her loved ones.
Tears fell down Hweilan’s cheeks and she let loose a string of curses in every language she knew. She’d faltered. She’d failed.
“Hweilan?”
She looked up. Darric stood a few paces away, looking at her like a little boy who’d just stumbled upon a hungry wolf in the woods. Mandan stood just behind him, club in hand, doing his best to keep one eye on Hweilan and the other on the dozens of warriors watching the situation unfold.
“I should have killed it when I had the chance,” she said. “If I’d loosed at it instead of Rhan …”
“But … it had your mother,” said Darric. “Anyone would’ve—”
“That wasn’t my mother.”
Saying it aloud drove the point home. Killing her family … Hweilan had thought that was the worst thing her enemies could do to her. She’d been wrong. This was worse. This was desecration, sacrilege, blasphemy … no word fit. She had no word for it in any language she knew. But what it made her feel, that was easy. Rage. Fury.
What she’d been doing these past days—hunting Jagun Ghen’s minions—it had been stupid. If you want to kill ten thousand ants, you kill the queen. You kill the one laying the eggs, not the ones gathering the food. She had to take care of Jagun Ghen. After that … the rest would be easy.
“Hweilan,” said Darric, “anyone here would have done the same.”
“Stop talking,” said Hweilan.
“Enough of this!”
It was Maaqua, approaching them, limping and leaning heavily on her staff, one hand clutched to her chest. She looked as if she’d just had the worst day of her life, but she was very much alive, and the glint in her eye made it seem as if she was ready to skin a tiger with her bare hands.
“What are you fools waiting for?” she said. “My mind is made up. Seize them.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark Sehestedt used to live in New Mexico, but he doesn’t anymore. He moved to Washington State, but he doesn’t live there any more either. He now lives in Midcoast Maine and has no plans to leave. He has never lived in Delaware.
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Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II Page 28