Cry of the Ghost Wolf con-3

by Mark Sehesdedt

  “Who are you?” said Jagun Ghen.

  The eladrin looked around, his gaze passing Jagun Ghen, counting the baazuled, lingering on Vazhad for an instant, then the high walls around him.

  “Highwatch?” he said, his voice a raw rasp.

  The mottled blue of Argalath’s spellscar flickered, just for a moment, almost imperceptible against the torchlight. But the eladrin flinched as if he’d been jabbed with a dagger, took in a great draught of air, and clenched his jaw against the pain.

  The eladrin swallowed, then said, “She … told me. About you. You’re even scrawnier than-”

  The spellscar flared again, brighter this time. The eladrin’s jaw dropped as he struggled for breath.

  “We will discuss her shortly,” said Jagun Ghen. “Ignore my question again and I will have one of my brothers bite off a finger. Now, who are you?”

  It took the eladrin a long time to catch his breath. But he looked up at Jagun Ghen at last and said, “Ko … vannon. My name. Is Kovannon.”

  The Creel baazuled said, “He lies. The one called Kovannon I left alive. His companions-Durel, Ulender-those two I killed.”

  The eladrin tried to twist his head around to see who was speaking, but he could not quite manage it.

  “My brother,” said Jagun Ghen, “did not always wear this form. Once, he had the skin of Jatara. A most faithful servant. So you see. I know you lie. I can smell Ellestharn and its bitch queen on you. You reek of winter.” He stepped forward, grasped the eladrin by the chin, and raised his head. “It would be best if you give me what I want. If not, I will take it.”

  The eladrin held his gaze a long time. He must have seen something there that shook him, for he tried to look away, but Jagun Ghen held him firm.

  “Men … duarthis,” said the eladrin. “Menduarthis. Of Isan Meidan.”

  “Of Isan Meidan?” Jagun Ghen chuckled. “I think not. You dwelled there long enough, no doubt. But still you try to hide lies behind a little truth. Yes?”

  The eladrin clenched both fists, rattling the chains, and for a moment Vazhad felt the air in the yard begin to stir. And then the eladrin screamed. The symbols on the collar flared like forge fire, and wisps of steam eked out of his pores.

  “I am most curious how you control the air,” said Jagun Ghen. “It is not a spell. Some skill you learned in the depths of Ellestharn, perhaps?”

  But Menduarthis did not hear him. He had passed out from the pain and hung limply from the chains. Jagun Ghen released his hold on the eladrin’s chin and turned to Vazhad.

  “My friend,” he called. “I have need of you. Come. Please.”

  Vazhad spared a glance at the alleyway, but the three baazuled still blocked that way. One of them peeled back his lips. Nothing like a smile. A predator’s baring of teeth, as if the thing sensed what Vazhad was thinking. Vazhad stepped forward, stopping just out of Jagun Ghen’s reach.

  “My faithful servant,” said Jagun Ghen, “I fear I must … let go of this host. Just for a time. Care for it well, as you have always done.”

  Vazhad bowed. “As you command, Master.”

  Jagun Ghen turned back to Menduarthis and grabbed his head. Vazhad winced, waiting for the snap of the eladrin’s neck. But Jagun Ghen placed one foot down into the basin and leaned forward, so that his own bald pate touched the smoldering symbol on Menduarthis’s forehead. The eladrin mumbled something, then a shiver passed through him.

  Jagun Ghen fell backward into Vazhad’s arms. But when Vazhad looked down, he saw that it was not Jagun Ghen. The jaw hung slack, and a trail of spittle trailed down Argalath’s jawline. His breath came in a harsh rattle, and the odor coming out of him was worse than a midden pit. He tried to open his eyes, but the light stung, and he flinched, squeezing them shut.

  “Vazhad? Is that … is that you?” The last words came out barely above a whisper.

  “I am here, Master.”

  Argalath’s mouth moved again, but Vazhad missed the words.

  Vazhad turned his ear toward his master’s face and leaned in closer. “What was that, my master?”

  “Kuh!” Argalath rasped. “Kill … me. P-please. I … beg.”

  Vazhad looked up. The Creel baazuled was still standing behind the eladrin, but all the others had stepped closer. The nearest was only a pace away, and they were all watching Vazhad. Full dark had fallen, and their eyes seemed black as the heart of the Hells. The fires burning deep in that blackness beckoned to Vazhad.

  He heard the rattle of steel and looked back to Menduarthis. The chains still held, but the rest of the eladrin’s body was floating above the bloodstained basin, and every bit of exposed skin trembled and squirmed, as if maggots had hatched in the muscles and were trying to break free.

  Vazhad cradled Argalath’s head against his chest and tried to ignore the pleading.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  An escort of fifteen Razor Heart warriors led Hweilan and the Damarans into a fissure in the mountainside, leaving the sunlight behind. The hobgoblins lit no torches. In the close blackness of the passageway, through dozens of twists and turns and up flight after flight of stairs, Darric gave up trying to keep any sense of direction. The smell of the hobgoblins in such close quarters was almost overpowering.

  Not far ahead of Darric, Jaden managed to walk, but his moaning and complaining increased until-

  “Hey!” said one of the hobgoblins in Damaran. “You keep quiet and you have food and fire. You keep mewling and we leave you in the dark. You hear my words?”

  “Just keep quiet and walk,” said Valsun from somewhere ahead in the darkness.

  Soon, a thin, gray light began to illuminate their surroundings, growing brighter with every step. It was the late afternoon light struggling through fractures in the rock overhead, but soon the group passed by true windows. Some had the smooth edges and irregular shapes of natural caves, but Darric could tell by the hewn rock that others had been hacked out of the mountainside.

  The tunnel widened, and they walked by other passageways and even a few doors. Their own path branched off now and again. Darric heard voices coming from some of the other tunnels, and once a shriek that ended abruptly.

  “What was that?” Jaden whispered.

  “Keep walking or I show you,” said the warrior at his back, prodding him along.

  The hobgoblins led them into a firelit chamber. It was so broad that Darric could not see the far walls, lost in shadow beyond the reach of the fires. But the ceiling was low enough that he could reach up and brush the rock with his fingers. The floor sloped upward slightly farther on and ended at open sky.

  A few others puttered around the chamber, dressed in hides that were only a few washes away from rags. Smaller than the warriors escorts, they reminded Darric of goblins or some other cousins to the hobgoblins-slaves at any rate, by their outfits and the way they avoided looking at the warriors.

  The slaves brought in several brass urns that glistened with moisture. A pair of them tended fires. There were no chimneys or vents that Darric could see, so the smoke’s only escape was up the very slight incline of the ceiling to the cave entrance. A large cauldron bubbled over one fire, and a variety of meats sizzled on a rack over another.

  A month ago, Darric might have wrinkled his nose at the smell, but now his was not the only stomach that growled as the men walked toward the aroma.

  The guards motioned to a row of blankets thrown around another fire. “Sit,” one of the hobgoblins told them. “Slaves will serve you.”

  The three Damarans sat-Jaden collapsing onto the thickest of the blankets. Even though there was a pile of furs next to Darric almost deep enough to form a nest, Hweilan kept to her feet on the other side of the fire.

  The hobgoblin warriors walked off to their own places; all but one, who looked down at the Damarans, then turned to Hweilan and spoke in his own language. She replied in kind, then the hobgoblin walked away.

  “What’s happened, Hweilan?” said Darric. “Why have they let us o
ut? And where is Mandan?”

  He watched her for a reaction, some hint at his brother’s fate, but Hweilan’s expression might as well have been set in stone, and her eyes seemed to gaze inward. Pacing back and forth like a hound testing its leash, she gave them a brief explanation of what had happened after she’d been pulled out of the pit. How she could have such energy after what they’d been through …

  Halfway through her story, two of the goblin slaves brought over a large platter of food. Bowls of some sort of thick, brown stew, filled to the brim, topped by strips of meat that Darric guessed-hoped-were goat. They were each given a sort of curved wedge of flat wood that served as a spoon, and another goblin set a pitcher of water next to Darric.

  “No cups?” said Darric, but the slave only averted his eyes and scuttled off.

  “And so the hobgoblins healed you?” said Valsun. “This … Kad?”

  “Kaad,” said a voice from behind them, and Darric turned to see an old hobgoblin dressed in robes almost exactly as Hweilan had described. A brown paste had dried on his left temple, and the skin around it sported an ugly bruise. The newcomer looked at Hweilan. “Hratt said your companions need some mending.”

  “The little one first,” said Hweilan. “He’s done nothing but complain.”

  “Although I see it hasn’t affected his appetite,” said Valsun.

  Jaden’s scowl deepened, but he kept his mouth shut.

  Kaad placed a rolled bundle on the ground, then kneeled beside Jaden and began examining him.

  “I didn’t think humans had a taste for one another,” said Kaad as he began to clean the cut in Jaden’s scalp.

  “What do you mean?” Valsun asked him.

  “Your meal,” said Kaad. “You’re eating what’s left of the last Nar tribe the Razor Heart raided.”

  The three Damarans went still as tree stumps, but Hweilan kept chewing as she walked back and forth, back and forth. Darric’s stomach took a wet tumble, and he felt bile rising in his throat. How could she-?

  “Stop teasing them, Kaad,” said Hweilan around a mouthful of food. “He’s only having a bit of sport with you. It’s goat. An old, ill-tempered goat by the taste of it, but it’s just goat.”

  Jaden still hadn’t been able to swallow what was in his mouth, and Valsun stared down at his platter. “And the … stew?”

  “Only roots, herbs, and a bit of deer,” said Kaad.

  Valsun picked something out of his mouth and tossed it in the fire. “Which bits? The damned hooves?”

  Kaad chuckled. “Be still,” he told Jaden, then unrolled the bundle he’d brought. Inside were an assortment of herbs and roots, along with many stoppered vials in sleeves along the inside of the bundle. The old hobgoblin selected one of them, opened it, and smeared a pungent paste onto Jaden’s wound.

  He hissed. “Unholy Hells! That burns!”

  “Only a moment,” said Kaad. “It will deaden the flesh so that I can clean and stitch it.”

  “Just give them some gunhin,” said Hweilan.

  Darric caught the amused smile Kaad gave Hweilan, but then the old hobgoblin shook his head. “Forbidden, I fear. Gunhin is for warriors bled in battle. Not for prisoners.”

  “What is … gunhin?” asked Valsun.

  “The reason the lady can’t sit still and avoids looking at the duke’s son,” said Kaad.

  Hweilan scowled at the healer, but the old hobgoblin didn’t see it, busy as he was cleaning the paste from Jaden’s scalp. “What did you do to tear such a gouge in your head?” he asked.

  Jaden pointed at Hweilan. “She threw one of your warriors on top of me. A damned big one.”

  Kaad put away the vial and began to thread a needle that Darric thought looked far too big for stitching skin.

  “Rhan, you mean?” said Kaad.

  “Big brute with a black sword?” said Jaden. “That’s him.”

  “You have told them, then?” said Kaad. The healer was squinting at the needle, so it took Darric a moment to realize he’d been speaking to Hweilan.

  “Told us what?” said Darric.

  Kaad finished working the thread into the needle and set about stitching Jaden’s scalp. Darric knew when he was being purposefully ignored. He looked to Hweilan over the fire. She held his gaze, but he didn’t like what he saw there.

  “Where is my brother, Hweilan?” said Darric.

  “He’s alive,” she said. “For now. But he has been condemned to death.”

  And then she told them the rest.

  Darric thought there had to be more, some sane resolution to her tale. But when she walked around the fire to take a long drink from the pitcher, he realized she’d said all she was going to say.

  “Have you gone completely mad?” Darric stood. “You can’t fight that monster!”

  Hweilan opened her mouth for what looked to be an angry retort, but Kaad cut her off.

  “If she doesn’t, you three won’t fare much better than your big friend. If Maaqua is in a generous mood, she will give you to some of the unblooded warriors for practice. A quick death, but still not pleasant.”

  “But-” said Darric.

  “Lady,” said Valsun, though he looked to Darric. “We are most grateful for your attempt to help us. But if what you told us is true, we cannot just leave while our brother is tortured to death.”

  “So what is your plan?” Darric asked Hweilan.

  “My plan? I plan to kill Rhan, get my things back, and go to Highwatch.”

  “And what of Mandan?”

  “I have other concerns.”

  “Other concerns?” Darric screamed. He stood to his feet so quickly that he rapped his head against the stone ceiling. He noted that his outburst had caught the attention of the warriors at nearby fires, but none of them had made a move to intervene. They were just watching the show. “What’s the matter with you, Hweilan? We can’t just leave him!”

  Hweilan kept her voice low, but there was no less heat in it. “If you have an army on the way that you neglected to tell me about, now would be the time. I tried to bargain for Mandan, but even the warchief refused to intervene. Me beating the Razor Heart champion gets the four of us out of here. I can do nothing more.”

  “They’re going to torture him. To death!”

  For a moment, he thought he had her. Something in her expression, some crack in the mask … but then it was gone, and she said, “I know. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “I …” Darric stopped. He didn’t know what. She refused to help and he didn’t know what to say.

  “I fight, Rhan,” said Hweilan, “I leave. If you choose to stay … you’re on your own.”

  “You won’t help us?”

  “I can’t help you!” she shouted. All the hobgoblin warriors were watching now, intent on every word. “Not against the entire Razor Heart in their own fortress! And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I have more important-”

  “More important? More-” Darric found himself completely at a loss for words. But then he found the one question that summed it all up. “What kind of monster are you?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment Darric was reminded of the night he first saw her on the mountain, that predator’s gaze staring out from the bone mask. He had thought her a monster then, too. It saddened and enraged him that he’d been right.

  “I’m no monster, Darric,” she said. “But I’m not a child anymore, either. The world isn’t a court bard’s tale. Honor may help you sleep at night, but it won’t keep the dark at bay.”

  “I forbid it,” said Darric, and as soon as he’d said it he felt an utter fool.

  “Forbid?” Hweilan snorted. “You’re in no position to forbid anything.”

  “Mandan is my brother,” said Darric. “If they won’t let you fight for him, I will.”

  Hweilan studied him a moment, and for the life of him Darric could not guess her thoughts. But damned if she didn’t look … hungry. He felt the blood rising to his cheeks but forced himself not to look awa
y. Perhaps the fire and smoke would hide his blush.

  “They won’t allow it,” said Hweilan. “Your lives belong to the Razor Heart. If I defeat the champion, your lives are returned. Mandan’s life belongs to this … Ruuket. Besides, you wouldn’t make it through the crowd’s first cheer. Not against Rhan.”

  “Oh, and you will?”

  “You’re not a killer, Darric.”

  “I’m a knight! I’ve killed more p-”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “What?” Darric looked to Valsun for support, but the old knight was watching Hweilan.

  “You’re a knight,” said Hweilan. “You kill to defend yourself or others. But you don’t like killing.”

  “And you do?”

  The smile she gave him had no humor or good will in it. It was the bared-teeth look of a wolf warning a lesser member of the pack to step away and wait its turn. If there was anything left of the girl he had known years ago, he couldn’t see it. Not anymore. And he thought, Oh, gods, Hweilan, what have they done to you?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Part of Hweilan-a very small part, she admitted-regretted being so hard on Darric. It was not her intention to shame him. But in their current situation, his sense of honor was only going to get him and all his companions killed. She didn’t doubt his courage, but neither did she doubt Rhan might spend a while toying with Darric for the pleasure of the crowd, then put a quick and bloody end to him.

  Kaad completed his ministrations of Jaden and Valsun, confirming that Darric was suffering from nothing more than a few bruises and lack of sleep.

  “Now,” Kaad said to Hweilan, “I’ll look at that arm.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Kaad glanced quickly over each shoulder, then said, “Drakthna is nothing to take lightly. Can’t let that fester.”

  Hweilan caught his meaning. She stood still and presented her bare arm to Kaad. He bent close, seeming to examine the tattoo and new skin-and pressed a small bundle into her hand. It was soft, like lamb’s skin, but she could feel the contents. She shoved the whole thing into her pocket.