Beyond the archway, all was darkness. Guric held his torch in front as he ducked into the tunnel. The ceiling was several feet above his head, but something about the feel of the darkness made Guric instinctively hunch over.
Jewels of every color sparkled along the walls and ceiling. Gold, silver, and other precious metals had been inlaid into the stone, highlighting sculptures of dwarf heroes. But on the floor, rats squealed and scurried away from the torchlight, bugs crunched under Guric’s boots, and with every step he waded through a thickening stench. He could hear Argalath following, but he kept his eyes forward, afraid that at any moment a cloud of bats might surge out of the darkness or the stream of rats might decide to brave the torchlight.
“Not much farther, my lord,” said Argalath.
Guric ground his teeth. How many times had the man said that already?
“Gods, Argalath, what is that reek? It smells like—”
The light washed over a demon, standing in the middle of the tunnel, and Guric started. The thing stepped forward, and Guric saw that it was not a demon after all, but one of Argalath’s special Nar. The man’s head was shaved in a fashion uncommon to the Nar: completely bald save for a topknot, in which were knotted bones and teeth. His face had all the expression of a death mask. Bare from the waist up, his torso and arms were covered with inks and scars of leering eyes and tongues slathering around sharp teeth. The red and green inks had looked very much like scales in the torchlight, which was why Guric had first taken him for a demon.
The Nar bowed and said, “Kâ bâr khorluk.”
Shielding his eyes from the torch, Argalath stopped beside Guric and said, “Kâ bâr khor,” followed by a long string of words that Guric could not follow.
The Nar answered, then turned away, the darkness swallowing him.
“All is ready, my lord,” said Argalath.
They walked on, and within a dozen steps Guric could see light ahead. Low and purplish, like the dying light of evening. Another scent mixed among the stench. Smoke that smelled of spices.
The tunnel turned to the right, and beyond, Guric’s torch was no longer necessary. The tunnel ended and opened into a vast stone chamber, lit by coals burning in braziers so large that he could have bathed in one. The coals piled high within them glowed sickly purple and gave off a scent that seemed sweet but still tickled the back of Guric’s throat, threatening to make him gag.
But the light they cast, though it seemed weak—so much so that even Argalath did not flinch—went very far, lighting up a chamber in which a hundred people could have milled with room to spare. Carvings and symbols decorated every wall, and the five columns of natural stone that joined the floor to the ceiling at least fifty feet above them had been left unmarred, though fine bits of gold wire had been wound around them in intricate, interlocking patterns so that they seemed to have been dressed in metal lace.
On the far side of the room was an altar half the size of Guric’s council table. Two dwarf-sized statues flanked it, and one three times the height of a man looked down from behind, but all three had been hacked, defaced, and smeared with soot and a darker, wetter substance.
The Nar guard that had startled Guric stood just inside the room with four others that might have been brothers to the first. So alike were they in dress, build, and the designs etched into their skin that Guric would not have been able to tell one from the other.
Beyond the Nar, the stone floor sloped down into a sort of bowl, and Guric gasped at the sight. It was a charnel house. Bodies had been torn and spread apart. All of them human. Broken bones, shredded skin, flesh, and offal lay everywhere. Rats and other vermin crawled over the remains.
But other corpses, whole corpses, stood among them, looking at Guric.
“Behold your new army,” said Argalath.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE QUEEN STEPPED TOWARD HWEILAN. THE RUSTLE of her robes reminded Hweilan of the sound of Deadwinter wind in the eaves outside her window at Highwatch. Looking into the eyes of the queen, Hweilan felt a presence rattling around in her mind, any barriers she might have had against it long since ripped away and discarded.
Kunin Gatar stopped, leaned in close and Hweilan heard a deep intake of breath. The queen pulled away, her head back and eyes closed, her nostrils flaring as she took in Hweilan’s scent. The presence in her mind did not leave but seemed to settle in. Quiet. Lurking, watching like a predator in tall grass.
“Hweilan, is it?” said the queen.
“It is … uh, Queen.” The last word ended in the tone of a question.
Kunin Gatar gave her a tight smile, showing no teeth. “Address me with only the truth,” she said. “We are not so caught up in titles as you mortals. Your petty lords … they drape themselves in titles like face paint on a whore, hoping it will make her a lady. I know who I am. What you name me says more about you than me.”
Kunin Gatar turned and walked away, and Hweilan saw that a throne now sat in the middle of the room. Had it been there before? She could not remember. It was like no chair she had ever seen, all jagged angles and sharp protrusions, save for the seat, back, and armrests, which were smooth as polished glass.
While the queen’s back was turned, Hweilan took the opportunity to risk a glance at Menduarthis. He stood several feet behind her, watching and waiting. He gave her nothing but a small raise of an eyebrow.
The queen sat and said, “Would you sit?”
Hweilan turned and saw that a chair of sorts now rested behind her. She was quite certain it had not been there a moment ago. It looked very much like an arm rising from the floor, made completely of ice, the hand bent back flat so that the palm formed a sort of seat, the fingers curling up into a backrest.
“N-no. Thank you,” said Hweilan. She could imagine those icy fingers closing into a fist all too easily.
“As you wish,” said the queen. She regarded Hweilan a moment, glanced at Menduarthis, then continued. “You are Hweilan, daughter of Ardan of the Damarans and Merah of the Vil Adanrath. Yes?”
“Yes.” Hweilan could not recall telling anyone the names of her parents. Had they beaten it out of Lendri?
“I know of Highwatch,” said the queen. “A pile of stone set on the mountains’ last grasp. Nar used to winter there like cockroaches scuttling away from the light. Then came the Damarans, hoping to rape riches from the rock. Your fathers sat in their houses of stone and scattered favor to any too weak or stupid to seize it for themselves. And for this, they fancy themselves lords. You mortals know little of true power.”
Hweilan said nothing. The queen’s words poked at the fire of her anger, but mostly because Hweilan, as a girl, had often thought the very things Kunin Gatar had just spoken. Hearing them come from her, Hweilan felt shame and anger.
“I care not for the Damarans,” the queen continued, and Hweilan saw a girlish glee in Kunin Gatar’s eyes. “Like flies in the Melting days, they will serve their purpose, then die. And not even the stones will remember them. I will remain, and I will remember them as no more than an occasional itch I was forced to scratch.”
The queen gripped the arms of her throne with a sudden fierceness, and Hweilan thought she heard cracks running through the ice.
“But these”—the queen’s lips twisted into a snarl—” Vil Adanrath they name themselves. That itch is long since scratched, save for one. So I would hear it from your own lovely lips, little Hweilan. Why are you running with that kus itaan sut?”
“You mean Lendri?”
Gale force wind shook the chamber, knocking Hweilan onto her hands and knees. Frost and ice stung her exposed skin, and through the howling air she heard the queen’s voice, seeming to come from all directions at once.
“I mean that murdering traitor! That—” the queen’s words fell into a stream of words in a language Hweilan did not know.
The wind abated as the queen’s tirade died away, and when Hweilan ventured to look up, Kunin Gatar was standing again, her throne gone. Hweilan look
ed behind her as she pushed herself to her feet. Menduarthis was standing in the same place, covered with frost. But it didn’t seem to bother him. He rolled his eyes and brushed it off his face.
“Answer me, girl,” said the queen, and when Hweilan turned, Kunin Gatar stood only inches away, cold radiating off her like heat from a forge. Hweilan hadn’t heard her approach.
“H-he found me,” said Hweilan.
The queen did not move. Her gaze did not falter. Did not soften. So Hweilan ventured on. The words tumbled out of her.
“Highwatch … is gone. Fallen. By treachery, I think. I escaped.” A sob shook her. But one look at the queen, and she did not even consider stopping. “I ran. Lendri found me. Promised to help me.”
Hweilan searched for more words to say. But there were none. The presence in her mind held her in its grip, and she found she could do nothing but look into the eyes of the queen.
“Hear me, Hweilan,” said the queen. “You would do well not to trust the words of that one. He holds them only as long as they seem comfortable to him.”
With that, the queen turned away. Her throne was back, and she sat again.
“I … I don’t know what you mean,” said Hweilan.
The queen had lowered her gaze and seemed to be staring off into nowhere. She motioned to Menduarthis with a flick of one finger.
“Tell her,” she said.
Menduarthis bowed, then began to pace the room, circling Hweilan like a bird searching for a safe place to roost.
“Your Lendri is not the most reputable of pups around here. We found him, years ago, wandering the valleys where our people hunt when it suits them. Our lord, uh …” He seemed at a loss for words, and looked to Kunin Gatar.
“You may say his name,” said the queen, still not looking up.
“Our lord at the time, Miel Edellon”—he stopped his pacing a moment and bowed to Kunin Gatar—”our lady’s beloved, decided to hunt your friend. But Lendri … a tricksy little cur that one. He evaded the hunt again and again, and when it became clear he could not get away, he turned on the hunters. Lord Edellon was so impressed that after he caught Lendri—for he did catch him at last—rather than take his tail for a pennant, he brought him home and offered him a place among our people. An offer that Lendri accepted.”
“He swore oaths,” said Kunin Gatar.
“So he did,” said Menduarthis. “Loyalty, keeping our secrets, preserving our ways—all that. But … well, it seemed his heart wasn’t in it.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” said Hweilan.
“Faithless cur, he—” The queen stopped, and Hweilan was shocked to see a glimmering tear fall down one cheek. For a moment, she really did seem a bereft girl, no more than Hweilan’s age, heartbroken and alone.
“Understand,” said Menduarthis. “Our world, our society … it isn’t like the outside world. The mortal world … your so-called lords and kings, they swear oaths and vows like they wear clothes—easily sloughed off when they become uncomfortable. Here, that isn’t so. Here, once you are one of us, the only way out is death. There is no …” He chewed the inside of his cheek, considering. “There is no change of heart. Here, you change your heart, we’ll feed it to you.”
Hweilan swallowed. The halbdol must be wearing off, she thought, for her face suddenly felt very cold, almost too chilled to move, to speak. “You’re saying … Lendri left?”
“Left?” the queen shrieked. “That whorespawn murdered my beloved!”
Hweilan looked to Menduarthis, who nodded. “Killed our lord, yes. That he did. Killed our beloved Lord Miel Edellon and ran.”
A murderer … no. Worse. A traitor. Someone who killed his own lord … among the Damarans, even trying that meant hanging. Among the Nar, they were even less merciful. They slit open a traitor’s stomach, tied the entrails to his own horse, then slapped the beast into a gallop. Once the traitor stopped screaming, his own family would hack him to pieces and leave the remains for wolves and ravens.
“I don’t believe you,” said Hweilan.
“You doubt me?” Menduarthis frowned, but it was a theatrical gesture. Mocking. “After all I’ve done for you?”
“Roakh!” the queen called. “Bring him!”
Hweilan heard a snap! like someone breaking a dry stick, then turned to see Roakh entering the room, leaning away from a series of black cords, dragging Lendri behind him. Lendri didn’t resist. Didn’t even move.
As Roakh passed Hweilan, he grinned at her and said, “Heavy, your friend. Dragging him makes me … peckish.”
He stopped halfway between Hweilan and the throne, then stepped back beside Menduarthis, who frowned down on the smaller figure. But Roakh didn’t notice. His hungry eyes never left Hweilan.
Kunin Gatar flicked her hand, and shards of ice shot up under Lendri, encasing his torso, arms, and lifting him off the floor. She walked over, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled up his head. Hweilan saw icicles forming around her grip.
She shook him. “Wake!”
A groan escaped Lendri, but his eyes did not open.
The queen looked to Roakh and spat an order in her strange language. Roakh shuffled forward and pulled a black phial from inside his jerkin. He pulled what looked like a wet wad of leaves from the mouth, then dumped the contents into Lendri’s mouth.
Lendri coughed, spraying Roakh and the floor between them with the green liquid. Roakh poured more, and clamped the elf’s jaw shut. Lendri swallowed, and his eyes opened. Roakh shuffled back to stand beside Menduarthis.
“Look at me,” said Kunin Gatar, and she gave Lendri’s hair a cruel twist.
Lendri glanced at Hweilan, a look of sadness passing between them, then up at the queen.
“Your new pet here,” said the queen, “thinks Menduarthis a liar. Tell her. Tell her what you are. What you did.”
Lendri swallowed and licked his lips. “That would be a long tale.”
Kunin Gatar looked down on him, stood absolutely still for a long moment, then brought her free hand around, one finger pointing. Hweilan heard a crackling, almost like the sound of water thrown on a hot rock, and Lendri’s mouth opened. But as Hweilan watched, his jaw kept opening, and Hweilan saw the ice forming there, growing, pushing his jaws apart. It was past the point of comfort, then kept going, into pain, and Hweilan feared at any moment she’d hear tendons breaking, skin tearing.
When Lendri cried out at last, Kunin Gatar stopped and leaned down so that her face was only inches from Lendri. “I can send that all the way down your throat. I can freeze the blood in your veins and keep you alive. I can think of ways to kill you that will take days and nights and days again. But you’ll be begging for mercy in the first few moments.”
The queen released him, whirled, and stomped away. The ice in Lendri’s mouth shattered, and he breathed out in a great cloud of steam.
Kunin Gatar stood in front of her throne and pointed an accusing finger at Lendri. “You killed him! You murdered Miel!”
Lendri swallowed, flexed his jaw and seemed to bite back pain, then looked up at the queen. “He would have killed me.”
The queen’s hand dropped back to her side. “Oathbreakers die,” she said. “He did only his duty.”
“It was him or me,” said Lendri. “I chose me.”
Kunin Gatar chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. “You chose poorly. Miel might have killed you. He might have even skinned you for a rug. But it would have been quick. Not at all what I’m going to do to you.”
Lendri said nothing. His head fell again, and his hair hid his face. Hweilan couldn’t tell if it was from resignation, or if he simply no longer had the strength to look up.
“Which brings us to you,” said the queen, returning her attention to Hweilan. “What to do with you …” She sat and let her fingers play over the sharp shards of her throne. “You are kin to this one. Do you deny it?”
“No,” said Hweilan.
“You share his blood,” said the queen. “Would you share
his fate?”
“She does not share his crime, my lady,” said Menduarthis. Both Hweilan and the queen looked to Menduarthis. Roakh was scowling up at him.
“What is she to you, Menduarthis?” said the queen.
He shrugged. “Interesting.”
The queen laughed. “You jest.”
“No, my lady. I knew it the moment I saw her. Human? Yes. And Vil Adanrath? Some, yes. But the other … can you not smell it in her?”
Menduarthis smiled. Roakh looked from his queen to Menduarthis, and his scowl deepened.
“Menduarthis is a liar and conniver,” said Kunin Gatar. “And many troublesome things besides. But in this, I think he is telling the truth.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Hweilan said.
The queen looked to Menduarthis, and again Hweilan was struck by the girlish expression on a being of such power. She’d never had an older sister, but if she had, one who perhaps liked to torment her younger siblings, she would have very much expected to see a look on her face like the queen had now.
“She really doesn’t know?” said the queen.
“So it would seem, my queen,” said Menduarthis.
“What is this?” said Hweilan, looking back to Menduarthis.
“Yes!” said Roakh, a look of utter bewilderment on his face. “What—?”
“Oh, flutter off,” said Menduarthis.
Roakh stood to his full height, which was still well below that of Menduarthis, and shouted, “I demand to know what—!”
“Be silent, crow,” said the queen, barely more than a whisper.
Roakh snapped his mouth shut and glared at Hweilan.
“Hweilan,” said the queen, and Hweilan turned to look at her. “Child of Damarans and Vil Adanrath. And what else, I wonder?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It was true.
The queen stood from her throne, and the seat crumpled to frost behind her. She walked to Hweilan, and it was all Hweilan could do to keep from backing away.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” said the queen.
There was a hiss in the air around her, and before Hweilan could move she found herself encased in ice, much like Lendri, only her hands and head free. She could not move, and she could feel the cold swiftly seeping through her heavy clothes.
Chosen of Nendawen Book 001 - The Fall of Highwatch Page 17