The Fall of Highwatch

by Mark Sehestedt

  “No sudden moves,” said Menduarthis in Damaran. “Most of them know at least a little Common, so guard your words. Let me speak to them.”

  “Speak so I can understand you, Menduarthis,” the creature with the sword said in Common.

  “Forgive me, Grilga. This one”—he pointed to Hweilan—“knows little Common, and none of our speech.”

  “And who is this one?”

  “A captive taken in my last hunt.”

  “The one who traveled with the Vil Adanrath?”

  “That one, yes.”

  Grilga looked at Hweilan, his eyes narrowing in what she thought was a scowl. “And why is she here now?”

  “Kunin Gatar ordered me to let her go.”

  Grilga’s eyes widened, and he looked at Menduarthis. “Let her go?”

  “I believe “Get that creature out of my sight’ were her exact words.”

  “Gods’ truth?”

  “Gods’ truth,” said Menduarthis.

  “Then why not kill her?”

  “Had Kunin Gatar wanted her dead, I’m sure she would have said so—or done it herself. You know as well as I that our beloved queen is seldom unclear on such matters.”

  The other creatures giggled at this.

  “I see blood all over her,” said Grilga. “And I smell it on you, Menduarthis. Elf blood. Explain.”

  “You heard the horns?” said Menduarthis.

  “We did. You have news?”

  “On the way here, the girl and I met Tirron’s riders on the ice. While we were … having words”—at this, a few of the creatures laughed softly—”we were attacked. By two. One was a Frost Folk warrior. The other … some vile thing I have never seen before. Whether they were the entire invading force or only part, I don’t know. But Tirron’s riders”—Menduarthis shuddered—”they couldn’t stop the thing.”

  A collective gasp rustled through the group. Even Grilga seemed caught up in the tale.

  “I took the girl and ran,” said Menduarthis. “I can’t be sure, but I think these invaders, whoever they may be, are after her.”

  All eyes turned to her, and several pulled their bowstrings to a half draw.

  Hweilan looked back into the wall of thorns. The weight in her mind was growing heavier again, the pulsing alarm faster.

  “Then I ask you again,” said Grilga, “why not kill her?”

  “Marauders invade our realm,” Menduarthis said, anger in his voice, “kill our people, defy our queen, and you suggest we give them what they want? Besides, Kunin Gatar ordered her gone. Until Kunin Gatar orders otherwise, I hear and obey.”

  Hweilan watched the creatures. They glanced at one another, and every one pointedly avoided looking at Grilga, whose scowl deepened. It struck her how magnificent a liar Menduarthis really was. Everything he’d just told them was the truth. Every word. But the many words he’d left out made all the difference. It made her very glad that she’d insisted on seeing Lendri for herself. Menduarthis had been wounded defending her, and was even now committing treachery against his queen. She had no reason to doubt he was helping her. But why? I’m bored, he’d told her, starting to feel dead. True? Perhaps. But what truths was he keeping from her?

  “If Tirron’s people couldn’t stop this thing,” said Grilga, “and if it is hunting her, then where is it? And what of the Frost warrior?”

  “I dealt with that one,” said Menduarthis. “The other …” He shuddered. “I don’t know. I destroyed the Byway Bridge. I’m sorry. I had to. But for all I know, that thing is on its way here right now.”

  The creatures all went very quiet. They cast furtive glances over their shoulders into the surrounding woods.

  “What is this thing?” said Grilga.

  Menduarthis glanced at Hweilan, then said, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen its like. He seemed like a man—taller than me, but much stronger. A very formidable-looking fellow. Human by the looks. But I saw him take an arrow and a spear in his body—wounds that would have killed any creature with sense enough to die—and it barely slowed him. He ripped off an elf’s arm with his bare hands.”

  The creatures all looked to their leader. Grilga stood straight, puffing up all of his three-foot height, and said, “Nothing comes through the thornway without our knowing.”

  The pounding in her head felt like iron hammers now. It was closing in.

  She opened her mouth to tell Menduarthis, when hundreds—hundreds of thousands—of the tiny white moths poured out of the thorns, like a fluttering geyser.

  Grilga shouted orders. The creatures—all but one—split into groups and shot back into the thorns, quick as squirrels. Hweilan had no idea how they navigated the deadly tangle, but the branches closed around them, the leaves rustled a moment, and they were gone.

  Grilga looked at Hweilan, seemed to weigh her in his mind, then said, “My folk will do what we can, but I won’t spend their lives on this one. Get her out of here.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” said Menduarthis.

  Grilga took what looked like a long, thin bone from his belt, set it to his lips, and blew. Hweilan heard nothing, but a shudder seemed to pass through the branches.

  “The way is open to you, Menduarthis,” he said. “Move fast.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  GURIC SLUMPED IN HIS CHAIR. HE’D TURNED IT TO face the door of his personal chamber, but A rgalath still had not come. The flagon dangling from Guric’s right hand had been empty a long time. The wine had thickened his head, making him feel warm and the world around him soft, but it had not dampened his ire.

  He heard voices. Someone knocked on his door. “Enter,” Guric said. He did not get up, did not even straighten in his cha ir.

  The door opened, and Sagar stepped inside. “He’s here, my lord.”

  “Send him in. Alone. And shut the door behind you.”

  Sagar turned and left the room. Guric could see more guards, and beyond them, Argalath, head buried deep in his hood against the light. Vazhad and Jatara lurked beyond their master. Argalath entered the room, and Sagar slammed the door behind him.

  Argalath bowed. “I come as bidden, my lord.”

  “Drop your cowl, counselor. I would look at you when you speak.”

  “The light, my lord …”

  Guric had ordered the hearth packed full of wood and blazing, every lamp in the room lit, and more candles brought in. One might have thought it was High Festival by the look of things.

  “Then close your eyes. I like to look at a man when he lies to me.”

  Argalath laid the palm of one hand against his chest and bowed even deeper. “You wound me, my lord.”

  “Drop that cowl, damn you!”

  Slowly, Argalath straightened and lowered the hood. He squeezed his eyes shut and placed one hand over them. “How have I lied to you, my lord?”

  Guric stood. He towered over the spellscarred man by more than a head, but he still found himself hesitant to approach. “I have two questions for you, Argalath, and I want the raw truth. No evasions.”

  “Might you dampen some of the lamps, my lord?”

  “No,” said Guric. “Where is my wife?”

  Argalath licked his lips. “We have been over this, my lord. I assure you, your beloved’s body is being well cared for until we can return her to you.”

  “Where is her body being well cared for?”

  “Someplace safe.”

  “She’s down beneath the fortress, isn’t she? In those caves. Down there with your other monsters. Isn’t she?”

  Argalath stepped toward Guric and laid one hand on his shoulder to push him toward the bed. “You sound so tired, my lord. You aren’t thinking clearly. Please, take your rest. I will see to everything. If you so wish it, I will have her brought back to the tower at once.”

  Guric took one step back, his legs crashing into the chair behind him, then smashed the empty wine flagon against Argalath’s skull. The baked clay was thick, but it shattered. The man grunt
ed and went down in a tangle of his own robes.

  The door slammed open, and Sagar and Isidor rushed in, swords drawn. Jatara stood just outside the door, struggling with two guards, who were keeping her out of the room and preventing her from drawing her sword.

  “Do you need assistance, my lord?” said Isidor.

  Guric looked down at Argalath, who was rubbing the side of his head and brushing shards of pottery off his shoulder.

  “No. Everyone out. If anyone”—Guric caught Jatara’s gaze—”enters without my word, Sagar, you have my leave to run them through.”

  Sagar smiled and gave the fallen Argalath a rather disbelieving—and very relieved—glance before following the other guard out. Guric walked past Argalath and shut the door behind them.

  Argalath pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

  “What was the other thing you wished to know of me?” Argalath said. His voice lacked his usual deference, and he seemed more angry than hurt.

  The first pang of doubt hit Guric, like a little shock at the bottom of his skull. “What?”

  “You asked where Valia is,” said Argalath. He stood before Guric, eyes still closed, but he stood straight now, not cowering against the light. “But you said you had two questions. What is the other?”

  “I trusted you,” said Guric. “I trusted you with everything. My life. My future. Everything I had. Even after you turned Valia into that … that thing, still I clung to your word. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? This was your game all along, wasn’t it? Those Nar I saved you from all those years ago, they were right, weren’t they? You are a … a monster.”

  “Am I a monster? What is a monster but a trial for the hero in bards’ tales? I gave you all you asked for, never asking anything in return. And you are no hero, Guric.”

  A low growl built in Guric’s throat. No one had ever spoken to him in such a fashion. Had he been sober, he might have given Argalath a cold laugh and summoned the guards. But the wine had opened his eyes, had showed him that when the really important things of life are at stake—and nothing was more important than his beloved Valia—all the trappings of society, of court, of civilization, all the bows and “by your leaves” were only so much pretty ribbon on an unbroken horse. Pretty it up all you like, the horse still would suffer no master—unless the master broke it.

  He had a dagger at his belt. No. Too swift. Guric wanted to beat this monster with his bare hands. He balled both fists and charged.

  The patches of pale skin mottling Argalath’s skin suddenly flared with cold, blue light, and pain—agony like he had never known, like he had never imagined any one person could know—struck Guric in the chest, then radiated outward. He couldn’t cry out. Couldn’t even draw breath. His entire chest seemed to constrict, and he fell at Argalath’s feet. Darkness was closing in around the edges of his vision.

  “Guric,” said Argalath, “because you have been such a useful tool in my hand, I will answer your last question. And it will be your last. Those men you rescued me from all those years ago were doing exactly what I told them to do. They played their roles perfectly.”

  The pain evaporated, and Guric spent every ounce of his strength drawing breath into his body. He opened his eyes. His vision was clearing, though the room seemed to dance and swirl. All the lamps had gone out. All the candles. Only the fire in the hearth remained, bathing Argalath’s robes in a hellish light.

  On the other side of the door, he could hear men screaming. The clash of steel on steel.

  He looked up at Argalath. The man was smiling.

  Guric tried to push himself up, but a new pain struck him, right in the middle of his head.

  “That is a vein in your brain bursting,” said Argalath. “That warmth, that … fuzziness you’re feeling is your own blood flooding the inside of your skull. Your own heartbeat is killing you. So, Guric, I will answer your question: Yes. This was my game all along. Thank you for playing.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  HWEILAN AND MENDUARTHIS CROUCHED IN THE TREES on the top of a small hollow. Menduarthis had put his light away. After leaving Grilga and his band, they had gone swiftly downhill, and the foliage was not as thick down here. Parts of the path were even open to the sky, and there was enough moon and starlight that even Hweilan could see fairly well. A wall of trees and vines ringed the hollow, but farther down, the brush seemed to thin out, and Hweilan could see bits of snow here and there.

  “Damn,” said Menduarthis. “There are guards.”

  “Where?”

  “In the hollow. I’d hoped Grilga might summon all his forces to go after … that thing.”

  “I don’t see any guards.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  The pounding in her mind had dampened somewhat, but it had not gone away. “We don’t really have time for this, Menduarthis.”

  “If the guards had gone off with Grilga and his band, this place would be alive with birds. Owls mostly. But it’s dead quiet. That means sentries.”

  “We need to hurry,” she said. The feeling of approaching doom was getting stronger again. Making her bones itch. “You have a plan for getting past the sentries?”

  “Bluffing. Seemed to work on Grilga, eh?”

  “And Tirron?”

  Menduarthis sighed. “You have a better idea?”

  “No.”

  He stood and offered his hand. “Then let’s do this.”

  They walked down a winding path toward a thick wall of trees and vines. As they drew near, Menduarthis said, “Now, remember—”

  “I know. You do the talking.”

  Several steps later, leaves rustled over them and two of the green creatures, much like the ones from Grilga’s band, dropped onto the path, one before them, one behind. Both had bows, with arrows pulled to their cheeks.

  Menduarthis stopped and spread his hands. Hweilan followed his example.

  The one in front of them relaxed his blow slightly and said, “Menduarthis? Why are you here?”

  The one behind Hweilan lowered his bow.

  “We need to see the prisoner,” said Menduarthis.

  The first creature narrowed his eyes to glowing slits and said, “Why?”

  Hweilan could barely keep herself from bouncing on her toes. Her entire head was thrumming. “Menduarthis,” she said in Damaran. “Hurry. Please.”

  “What’s this?” said the first guard, his words harsh and angry. “Who is this one?”

  Menduarthis turned to Hweilan and spoke in Common. “It is most rude to speak of our hosts in front of their backs.” “What is the meaning of all this?” said the guard. Horns broke the surrounding silence of the wood. The same warning clarions as before, but these were much closer. Definitely this side of the river. Perhaps even just over the crest of the hill, Hweilan thought.

  “Invaders are in the woods,” said Menduarthis.

  “We heard. Drurtha and I guard the prisoner. Why are you here?”

  “Just you two?” said Menduarthis.

  “We two. Now why—?”

  “That simplifies things,” said Menduarthis. He thrust his hands outward, one toward each of the guards. Currents of air, focused like battering rams, shot through the trees and hit the guards, snapping both arrows and knocking the bows from their hands. He flicked his wrists again, and the currents came back around, striking each of them from behind and pummeling them to the ground. Bits of leaves went flying from their clothing.

  “Get that one!” Menduarthis shouted, and leaped for the first guard.

  Hweilan threw down her bow and jumped for the second guard. His quiver had spilled its arrows all over the ground, and he was still stunned from the pummeling, but as soon as Hweilan grabbed his arm, he screamed, kicked at her, and tried to twist around to bite. Only her thick glove and coat sleeve saved her. He was no larger than a six-year-old child, and very thin, but he twisted and thrashed like a sack full of cats. Hweilan yanked him up by the arm, spun him around, and grabbed him in a fierce hug. Still he
kicked and thrashed.

  “I thought you were going to talk our way past!” she screamed.

  Menduarthis had the other guard in a similar hold. “Changed my mind.”

  “Now what?”

  The little creature was still thrashing and wailing in her arms.

  Menduarthis walked over, his own prisoner putting up quite a fight. “Listen, you two!” he said.

  It did no good.

  Menduarthis threw his charge to the ground, belly first, and straddled his back, pinning the creature’s arms underneath his own knees. His hands now free, Menduarthis twirled his fingers, and the guards’ screams suddenly stopped.

  “That’s right,” said Menduarthis. “I can rip the breath right out of you. Or”—he twirled a different pattern, and Hweilan heard a great gasp forced into each of the creatures—’or I can pop you like pustules. So you will both calm yourselves. Now.”

  Air exploded out of both guards. The one in Hweilan’s arms went limp, as did the one beneath Menduarthis.

  “Much better,” said Menduarthis. “Now, the girl and I are going to see your prisoner. Then we’ll be leaving. You can tell Grilga whatever you want. Never saw us. Ate us. I don’t care. But you will cease to bother me. Understood?”

  Hweilan retrieved her bow while Menduarthis kept a tight grip on the guards’ arms. But it seemed unnecessary. After Menduarthis’s threat, all the fight had gone out of them. There was still anger and hurt in their eyes, but a great deal of fear as well.

  The horns had stopped, but the wind had picked up again, setting the entire wood to rustling. Knowing Menduarthis as they did—at least by reputation—this only served to make their captives even more nervous. Wisps of cloud were racing past the moon and gathering overhead.

  “Oh, damn,” said Menduarthis.

  “What?”

  Menduarthis spoke as he led Hweilan along the wall of vines and trees. “Kunin Gatar. I think she might be headed this way. And I don’t think she’s happy. Let’s make this doubly damned quick, shall we?”