Cry of the Ghost Wolf

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Jagun Ghenlooked up at her and smiled. Seeing the enemy before her at last, but looking at her through the gaze of Menduarthis … it filled Hweilan with an unreasoning rage. She pulled the arrow to her cheek and aimed.

Jagun Ghen smiled wider and proffered both hands. It was such a Menduarthis-like expression that Hweilan found her arm trembling.

“Put down your weapon,” said Jagun Ghen. “It cannot serve you. Not here.”

Hweilan whispered, “Forgive me,” and let go the bowstring. The runes along the arrow’s shaft blazed as it flew.

Jagun Ghen swatted one hand, and the air around him whipped out, striking the arrow, shattering it, and sending the pieces clattering over the courtyard.

“Only one arrow left,” he said.

Hweilan grabbed the bow and aimed again. Two of the surviving baazuled walked to join their master. One was burned beyond recognition. The galeforce winds had killed the flames, but his body still smoked as he walked-a blackened, bloody husk, his teeth the only lightness. Other baazuled stood up.

The few hobgoblins left alive-Hweilan saw Flet stirring-were watching the confrontation, but the worst of the fight had gone out of them. One of them got to his feet and bounded down the stairs. Ravens circled overhead, but none dared attack.

“Our time is short, girl,” said Jagun Ghen. “You can come quietly, or we can make you come. But come you will.”

Hweilan kept her aim fixed on Jagun Ghen, but she began a slow, careful walk down the steps. Perhaps if she could get close enough …

“The last time you faced one of us in the body of one you loved, you hesitated. Another struck in your place. I am pleased to see that you have learned courage since. Or perhaps you did not care much for this one after all? I will be sure he knows of it when I am done with him.”

From the corner of her eye, Hweilan saw Rhan. He lay against the fortress where the wind had thrown him, but he still had the Greatsword of Impiltur in his hand. If she could take out Jagun Ghen, and if Flet had another special arrow or two … they might stand a chance. Hweilan’s foot came off the bottom step, and she kept going, her aim still fixed on Jagun Ghen. If she could just get a little closer …

“Done with him?” she said. “Like you were done with Argalath?”

“The halfbreed was a broken fool when I found him-”

“When he found you, you mean,” said Hweilan, slowly placing a foot forward. She didn’t miss the small drop of the corner of Menduarthis’s mouth. She had surprised Jagun Ghen.

“This one,” said Jagun Ghen, “is deliciously stronger. I could spend decades chewing his soul, tasting his essence. Alas, my perfect vessel awaits.”

Hweilan’s step faltered. “Perfect vessel?”

“You.”

She stopped. His presence, so close, was almost overwhelming. Part of his mind touched on hers, and she could not resist it. Her gorge rose. It was like drowning in sewage. But she could sense no lie in his words.

“It was always you, Hweilan. Grandmother Spider knew it. The Fox knew it. That meddling old toad by his lake knew it. Even your precious Nendawen knew it. And you know it, too, don’t you girl? You can feel it. Feel me. Your soul crying out, hungry, starving for-”

A sob escaped Hweilan, and she let go of the bowstring.

It was a near thing. But again Jagun Ghen summoned a cord of wind, striking the arrow less than a yard from his chest. It flew away.

Then he opened his arms, put his head back, and sucked in a deep breath through his mouth. He looked down at her. “You taste so wonderful. Now all your arrows are gone. Time at last. Time to-”

Hweilan threw down the bow and charged, one hand pulling the stake from the band at her chest, the other reaching for her red knife.

Jagun Ghen took one step back and swept both his hands forward. Air hit Hweilan like a battering ram. The stake flew from her grip as Hweilan shot through the air. She struck stone, and the steady throb in her mind rose up and swallowed her.

Hweilan struck the wall of the fortress not five feet from where Rhan lay.

He kept himself absolutely still, save for tightening his grip around the hilt of his sword. The girl had failed. Maaqua had feared she might. Even Hweilan had warned him that she was less than sure of her victory; that they were marching toward death. Still, he had let himself dare to hope, to believe …

Watching through the bare crack of his eyelids, seeing her sprawled senseless on the ground, Rhan raged. But he swallowed it, stoking the fire in his heart, and thought like a warrior.

Arrows were no good against Jagun Ghen. Whatever sorcery he commanded protected him. That meant Rhan had to get in close.

He’d seen the monster he cut in half still come crawling after him. Even after he’d smashed the skull open, still the thing had twitched and clawed in pursuit. Hweilan had warned him that he had no power to kill these things. Slaughter the bodies, perhaps, but the demons inside them Rhan could not kill. Even had he not believed her, the dead zuugruk standing with the others proved her true. Which meant Rhan had a lot of hacking to do.

Jagun Ghen sauntered toward Hweilan. He waved, and a gust of wind swept the red blade from her hand. She moaned but did not wake. Two baazuled followed behind their master.

Jagun Ghen stopped-no more than four paces away now-and looked down at Rhan. In the presence of so many demons, the purple light danced furiously along the Greatsword of Impiltur. Rhan could feel their power crackling against his skin. Jagun Ghen flicked his hand, almost as if he were shooing a fly, and Rhan felt the air around the blade tighten and try to rip the sword from his grasp.

No time to get any closer. It was now or never.

Rhan kept hold of the blade and lunged. He didn’t try to regain his feet, but instead kicked away from the wall, hit the ground, and rolled, bringing the sword around with all his strength toward the monster’s legs.

Jagun Ghen took to the air, and the black iron sliced under his feet. He came down, light and graceful as a dancer, and swept his hands toward the Razor Heart champion. Rhan braced himself for the battering to come. But what did come was much worse.

Air forced its way inside Rhan’s body, filling his lungs almost to bursting. He clamped his jaw shut, but still the air came in his nose. Pain ravaged him, pain like he had never known, and he couldn’t even scream. Every muscle in his body had locked up. A sound like stone cracking shot through Rhan’s right ear, and a moment later he felt a wet warmth leaking out. Lights danced before his eyes, bright and blinding-

And then his breath burst out of him. He fell to the stone, taking ragged breaths through his torn throat.

“I could pop you like a boil,” said Jagun Ghen.

Rhan could only hear out of his left ear. His hand went to the right side of his head and came away bloody. His empty hand. He had lost the sword.

“But you are a strong one. One of my brothers might find you a more suitable home than these other broken wretches. Yes?”

Rhan looked up. Jagun Ghen was walking away with Hweilan in his arms. He looked over his shoulder at the other baazuled.

“Gather her arrows-carefully!-and come to the circle. Bring enough bodies. And hurry. Time grows short.”

Another gale roared off the mountain, but rather than battering those in the courtyard, it coalesced around Jagun Ghen and Hweilan, lifting them up and out of sight.

Rhan heard a shuffling gait, and when he looked around, the dead hobgoblin was coming toward him. It saw him and said, “I like this one better.”