Hand of the Hunter

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hweilan sat atop gleed's tower, her legs over the edge, her heels drumming an irregular rhythm against the ivy-covered stone. Heavy clouds, thick with rain, hung low in the sky. With evening coming on, the light growing grayer by the moment, the woods across the lake were impenetrable gloom. When she and Ashiin had returned to the Feywild, the cool had been most welcome, and they had both bathed in the falls, washing away the blood and dirt. The shock had felt good. Welcome. After the warmth of where they'd been, she'd even welcomed the shivering. But, hours later, she was still shivering.

After coming back, after what they'd done, she'd had to seek a high place. She'd grown up in a fortress on the edge of the mountains. Her bedroom window overlooked a garden, but beyond the garden wall she'd been able to see to the horizon, and she had spent many nights watching the moon rise over the snowfields. She'd grown used to the confines of the Feywild woods, but she couldn't bring herself to love them. To clear her head, she needed to see distance. Gleed's tower was a poor substitute, but it was the best she had.

Today had not been Hweilan's first blood. She'd killed before. Hunting, she'd killed more animals than she could remember. And she'd killed two people-but both times, those people had been intent on killing her. It had been kill or be killed. Today had been different. She'd gone looking for a fight. True, those she and Ashiin had killed would be no great loss to the world. After what she'd seen them doing, she knew every last one of them had it coming.

Still…

Hweilan couldn't quite decide what she was feeling. Not guilt. Not over those men. Regret? Perhaps. Part of her missed the Hweilan that had been. The girl who always had someone to watch out for her, to take care of her.

But that only brought the anger back. She used to have people who cared for her and took care of her. But they had been taken from her. Killed. And those who had done it were still breathing. And that planted a cold shard of ice in her gut.

And so, round and round, back and forth, these thoughts went through Hweilan's mind. No conclusion. Just a wrestling of conflicting emotions.

All the doors to the stairways and upper levels of Gleed's tower had been locked or blocked with rubble, so Hweilan had simply used the vines to climb up the outside. Behind her, she could hear someone doing the same. The rustling vines stopped, and she heard bare feet rustling through the leaves and vines that covered the tower's top. Gleed, then. She didn't turn when she heard her teacher walk up behind her and stop.

"You're thinking about what happened," said Gleed.

Hweilan shrugged.

"This wasn't the first time you've killed."

"No."

A long silence, then Gleed asked, "Then why are you up here? Something is troubling you."

"I miss the high places," said Hweilan. "I miss-"

Gleed waited. But when Hweilan didn't finish he said, "You miss what?"

"The way I used to be."

"You're better than you used to be," said Gleed, an edge entering his voice. "You think you could have dealt with those dogs without Ashiin's training?"

"No."

"Then why-"

Hweilan whirled to her feet. "Because I-"

Gleed stood his ground. He looked up at her, scowling. "Yes, well? Spit it out."

"I enjoyed it."

"Good." Gleed turned away, chuckling. "You're learning. That old fox is good for something after all."

"You don't understand."

"No, it is you who do not understand. You come from a line of warriors, girl. You think they did not enjoy the heat of battle? Of killing their enemies?"

"My father never enjoyed killing."

"Then your father was a fool."

Hweilan snarled and drew the knife from her belt as she lunged.

Green light washed over her and she found herself caught fast. The vines and branches had come alive, cracking the air like tiny whips as they writhed and twisted around her legs, then encased her torso, and finally her arms. Hweilan shrieked and thrashed and fought, but the vines only pulled tighter, constricting, pulling her arms close. In moments, she could barely move. She found herself staring at the old goblin, green light sparkling off his upraised staff, his free hand weaving an intricate pattern in the air.

"You really think you can take me?" said Gleed. "Even Ashiin knows better than to challenge me on my own ground."

He was only inches away. Hweilan gathered her strength and tried once more to break free, but the vines were strong as steel wire, and she could feel the power running through them.

"You ever disrespect my family again," said Hweilan, "and I'll kill you."

"You really think you could?"

"Even you sleep."

He held her gaze. Neither looked away. The green fire of his magic sparkled in his one good eye. The other dead eye was flat and gray as a stone.

He smiled. "But would you enjoy it?"

Hweilan spat in his face. "Curse your mother."

Gleed through back his head and cackled, then wiped the spittle from his face. "Oh, I did. Believe me. And long before the shriveled old monster deserved it. Still, I guess this exchange of sentiments makes us even. Does it not?"

Hweilan tried again to move. Still nothing. She might have been encased in stone. "I meant what I said."

"I don't doubt you. But you've got a lot to learn before you can take me."

His gaze shifted and locked on the blade held in her hand. The light from his staff seemed to catch there and glow like an emerald brand.

"She did give it to you then," he said.

It was the blade Menduarthis had given Hweilan. More than a foot of sharp steel, etched with waves and whorls. Ashiin had been true to her word and returned the knife to her.

"Ashiin was the second one to give it to me," said Hweilan.

"Then I shall be the second to take it away," said Gleed, and he reached for it.

Hweilan tightened her grip.

"Let go," Gleed said.

"No."

Gleed twitched his fingers, and the vines around her right arm and wrist tightened even further. Hweilan felt her skin press into the muscle beneath, and the whole pressing almost flat against the bone. She gritted her teeth and forced her fingers to hold the fist around the hilt of the knife.

I will not scream, she told herself. I will notSkin tore, and the vines bit into the flesh beneath. She held the grip a moment longer, but when the vine began to worm its way through flesh and into bone, her body betrayed her. Her fingers went limp.

Gleed snatched the blade. "Thank you," he said and turned away, holding the blade close to the light emanating from his staff.

The vines loosened, but not enough for her to break free. Warmth began to spread down her forearm, a dark stain spreading down her sleeve.

"Ahh," said Gleed, studying the blade. "Now this is a wonder. A real beauty."

He waved the blade before her face.

"Can you read the steel's riddle?" said Gleed.

Hweilan tried to move, but the vines only bit into her again.

"This particular knife," said Gleed," has quite a history. A lineage rivaling even your own-and that is saying something. Not ancient, no, but quite special. This particular tooth was forged in the depths of Ellestharn. Do you know of this place?"

"The palace of Kunin Gatar," said Hweilan through teeth clenched in pain and anger.

"Very good, girl. Very, very good. Not a nice place. But one of great power. And powerful indeed were the hands that crafted this blade. Wise in the ways of wind and waves."

"I didn't care for the place much."

Gleed laughed, low in his throat, croaking almost like a toad. "No, I don't suppose you would. But then, the queen has always had a taste for pretty girls. Still… the power she wields is not without its uses."

With that, he began an incantation. Not the usual spells in the speech that Hweilan knew-the tongue of her Vil Adanrath ancestors. This was something altogether different-long vowels and harsh consonants that rasped in the back of the throat. A speech of cold wind cutting over sharp rocks.

Her eyes were drawn to the steel that Gleed still held, only a handspan or so from her eyes. The green light from Gleed's staff dimmed. But the etchings in the blade caught even that weak light, and Hweilan felt a breeze play over her skin.

Hweilan inhaled through her nose. Her head filled with the scent of everything around her-the green and all-too-alive scent of the vines and leaves around her-the coppery tang of blood leaking from her arm-the wet slate of the stone tower, so strong she could taste it in the back of her throat-the loamy, fish-tinged, muddy reek of the lake-the hundredfold, layer upon layer, smell of leaves, pines, and flowers-the rotting, years upon years stench of the bats and their droppings in the rooms of the tower below her-and nearest of all the underground, bordering-on-foul, yet tinged with spice scent of the old goblinHweilan had always had a good sense of smell. More than anyone she knew, in fact. Scith himself for a while had taken to calling her his "little hound." But this…

It was as if some sweet, spicy feastday cake had been sifted down to its individual ingredients, and each one presented to her senses for scrutiny. She could identify every one.

Gleed hummed, then mused aloud. "The things one with your… gifts can do. Eh?"

His words brought her attention back to the moment. Back to her captivity and the little toad lording it over her. She scowled down at him.

"Gifts…" Gleed said, almost to himself, as if tasting the word. "Gifts, gifts, gifts. Oh, that a lowly little bug such as I were to be blessed as you… eh?"

He brought the knife around in a wide, theatrical arc, worthy of the finest tavern bard, and stopped it with the point resting in the soft flesh underneath Hweilan's chin. He pressed, trying to force her to raise her head.

She refused, instead clenching her jaw tight. She felt the cold steel pierce skin, then flesh. Felt the warm trickle of blood slide down the razor-sharp edge.

Many in this world are stronger than you, and those stronger may try to take from you. They may try to take your life, and they may succeed. But you must never give it to them. Make them pay, Hweilan. Make them pay.

Her mother's words. Given to her on the day she took Hweilan to see her father's dead body.

Hweilan clinched her jaw and forced her head down, driving the steel deeper so that she could look Gleed in the eye.

The slight widening of his eyes brought her great pleasure, despite the increased pain.

"You are a spiteful little nit, aren't you?" said Gleed. "You'd walk barefoot over red hot coals just for half a chance to vex me. Wouldn't you?"

Despite the almost half inch of steel lodged in her skin, Hweilan forced her lips to smile. In truth, she'd grown to respect the little goblin, if not to like him. But after what he'd said about her father, she'd gladly seize the opportunity to throw him off his own tower and feel guilty about it later.

Gleed pulled the knife out-one swift motion that sent a thin gout of blood splattering on her vine-wrapped feet.

"Fool," said Gleed, and again he held the knife in front of her. Her blood, a thick, dark rivulet, ran down the blade. But a thin trickle, splintered as a lightning bolt, ran down the flat of the steel, caught in etched swirls, and ran down their path. "How long did you carry this, completely ignorant of its power? This little trick I've just showed you… I can teach you to do that. Anytime you want. And more. So much more. Would you like that?"

"Let me free."

"If you were half as strong as you think you are, you could free yourself."

Hweilan scowled, at a loss for words.

Gleed's eyebrows shot up. "No? Well, then, perhaps you'd like to listen. Yes? Hm?"

She bared her teeth at him, but her gaze was pure malice. "Teach me, Master," she said.

The old goblin smiled. "I sense a sincere lack of sincerity in your words."

"Let me free."

"You remember the first night we met?" The malicious glee melted from his countenance, and he took on the lecturing tone she knew all too well.

She did. He'd tried to call her Meyla, some demeaning name meant to put in her place. She'd defied him.

"You are not the first I've trained," said Gleed. "I have instructed many in the Master's service over the years. But you are the first to know who she is. To remember. And yet… you don't really know, do you?"

"What?"

"Who you are. Only not so much who as what you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," said Gleed. "You may not know, little girl, but I think you at least suspect. Don't you?"

Hweilan looked away before her eyes could betray her. Gleed was not the first to suggest such things to her. Menduarthis and Kunin Gatar had said something similar.

You're Damaran, to be sure. If you say you're kin to Lendri there… well, I have no reason to doubt you. But make no mistake. You're something else, too. Something… more.

The queen had ravaged Hweilan's mind, trying to find that something. But that something-whatever it was-had struck back, surprising and even hurting Kunin Gatar.

And the night she had first seen Nendawen, he had done something similar-and suffered much the same fate.

And even Kesh Naan, tasting her blood, saying-What are you?

That was the question. And yes, as Gleed said, she had suspected, had at the very least wondered. But to speak the truth" I don't know," she said.

Gleed lowered his staff. The vines around her did not loosen their grip, but the last of the light around Gleed's staff faded, and the evening darkness closed in. Hweilan felt as if a shroud were closing in around them.

"You were called," Gleed whispered. "You were chosen. By Nendawen himself. But you, dear girl… there's something about you that even the Master had not planned on."

He looked around, glancing quickly over each shoulder, and when he returned his gaze to her she saw the last thing she'd expected-sympathy. A softness that even bordered on… kindness.

Nothing he could have said or done could have caught her more by surprise.

Gleed came in close, the desperation in his gaze stilling her words. No. Not desperation. Fear. "The night has ears."

"But… but I saw… Jagun Ghen. What he'll do. What he is. What he could become. If he isn't stopped… if I don't stop him-"

"And then?"

All at once, the vines slackened, and Hweilan fell to the stone rooftop.

Gleed crouched in front of her and leaned close, so that his whispered words were still loud in her ears.

"And then what, girl? When Jagun Ghen is beaten and his sickness purged from the worlds… what then? You think the Master will free you? Nendawen is the Hunter. He has always been the Hunter. He will always be the Hunter. It is his nature. His only… beingness. The Hunter does not free his prey. I should know."

She looked up at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I can help you get away."