The fall of Highwatch

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Howls haunted Hweilan's dreams. Pain tinged these howls. Remorse. Fear.

Everything around her was cold. Cold and hard. Mountains covered with snow and ice that had not melted in a thousand generations of men. Jagged, broken peaks that bit through gray clouds lined by moonlight. At the mountains' feet, forests of pine older than the kingdoms of men filled valleys-some so deep that they never saw sun or moonlight.

Cold as it was, still the land felt alive. Not merely filled with living things-though that was true; thousands of animals and birds singing, playing, sleeping, waking, hunting and being hunted… dying; even flowers bloomed amid the frost-the land itself and the air around it possessed… a…

Livingness. A steady pulse ran through everything. A breathing. Almost like a song, though one not so much heard with the ears as felt in the blood.

But that blood ran cold.

Her eyes opened, the memory of the dream already fading. She couldn't see. Shadows masked everything.

She tried to sit up, but something held her back. For an instant, she panicked, but then she found she'd been wrapped-more snug than tight-in blankets, then lain upon a thick fur and wrapped again, some of the outer fur blanket folded over her head like a hood.

Wriggling like a caterpillar escaping its cocoon, Hweilan managed to free her arms, sit up, and pull the blanket off her face.

She was surrounded by bones.

She was in a sort of domed tent, made from bent poles of wood-some so green that leaves and verdant moss still clung to them. A small fire in the center of the room cast everything in orange light. Hanging from the tent frame were dozens and dozens of bones. Leg bones, ribs, sections of backbone strung through braided thread like the macabre necklace of a giant. But worst were the skulls. Swiftstags, some with antlers and some without. Tundra tigers, their daggerlike teeth painted in swirls of red and yellow. Many smaller animals-badgers, squirrels, voles-and many birds. And here and there were even a few human skulls, some bare and yellowed with age, painted in many curved and branched patterns, and others still brown and glistening fresh.

The last thing she remembered was Menduarthis on the mountain, then a great gust of wind, hitting her like a felled tree. Her body still ached from the impact, but it was a dull ache. Either a healer had seen to her, or she had slept for many days while her body healed. Perhaps both.

Her stomach felt empty and her throat dry enough to make her believe she had slept for a day at least.

Feeling her body and looking down inside the blankets, she saw that her own clothes were gone. She had been washed and now wore a sort of shift. It felt soft and warm as doeskin but looked fibrous. Someone had washed and clothed her. Hweilan shivered.

She looked down at her right hand. The bandages were gone, and the skin almost healed. The new skin had a too-smooth sheen, but the scabs were gone. The letters were still there, though, a puffy scar: KAN. "Death." She wiggled her fingers, then clenched her hand in a tight fist. The new skin felt tender, but there was no pain.

The flap of the tent opened, admitting a breath of frigid air and one of the little hunters. He ducked inside, pulled the door shut, and his eyes widened at seeing her awake.

They locked gazes for a long moment, then he placed one hand to his chest and said, "Nikle."

In the light of the fire, Hweilan got her first good look at one of these strange hunters.

Her first impression of a halfling had not been far off, at least in height. But there the resemblance ended. He was very thin, and his skin had the tint of a cloudless winter sky. And so much skin showing for such cold weather! It made Hweilan shiver even in her blankets. The little hunter wore a sleeveless tunic of some cured animal hide, belted at the waist. Its fur fringe hung just above his bare knees. He wore no boots, gloves, or coat. Just a very strange hat. It, too, was made from some sort of animal skin, fur around the edge of the cap, tied around a rim of dark wood, or perhaps horn. On the left side, a single antler spike protruded from the rim, and bits of leather lacing tied it to the long cap, so that the hat rose to sort of a curved cone over his head. A tiny skull-from a squirrel or small badger perhaps-dangled from a tassel attached to the top of the hat. The ears protruding from under the rim of the hat were very pointed-sharper and taller than even Lendri's-and the green eyes had the look of elfkind. By the warm light of the fire, they did not quite glow, but they seemed very bright, like flawless emeralds.

Hweilan shook her head. "Nikle?"

The hunter nodded and motioned to her with one hand. "Nu thrastulet?"

The door opened again, letting in more cold air, and Menduarthis entered.

"He's telling you his name," said Menduarthis, "and asking for yours." He rattled off something in the same language she'd heard them speak on the mountainside. Nikle smiled and shuffled out of the way.

Menduarthis shut the flap and sat across the fire from her.

"He knows your name already," he said. "But the uldrainsist on propriety and good manners to a guest."

Hweilan looked to Nikle, who was watching them both. If he understood Menduarthis's words or sensed his flippant tone, the little hunter gave no sign.

"Uldra?" Hweilan asked.

Menduarthis waved one hand at the little hunter. "Nikle here. He's an uldra."

Hweilan took in her first good look at Menduarthis. She'd only been able to get a few details on the dark mountainside. He wore no armor now-trousers and shirt of a simple cut, an unbuttoned coat that fell to his knees, and boots laced up to his knees. Nothing unusual in his manner of dress, but his physical appearance was something else. His skin was not simply pale. It was bone white. Which made his hair seem all the darker-the blackest black she had ever seen. It scarcely reflected the firelight. He wore it long, well past his shoulders, and it didn't look as if a brush had visited it in many days. Her first thought was that his eyes were silver, but upon closer inspection she saw that they were very light blue flecked with many darker shades, and he had no pupils.

"You are eladrin?" she said.

Menduarthis gave her a sly smile. "Among other things."

"What does that mean?"

Menduarthis chuckled, but he had a dangerous glint in his eye. "And what are you? Hmm?"

"Human," said Hweilan. "Though I have elf blood through my mother."

Menduarthis sat up straight, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back, almost as if in meditation. A breeze came from somewhere behind her, tossing her hair in her face and causing the fire to lie low. But when she turned, there was no gap or tear in the walls. Just the wooden tent frame and wall of animal skin.

When she turned back around, Menduarthis had not moved, but he breathed in deep through his nostrils.

"Ah,' he said, and looked down at her. "Human with some elf blood, she says. True enough. True enough. But what else runs in your veins? Hmm?"

"You never answered my question."

"I didn't come to answer your questions, girl. I came to fetch you. You have an audience. With the queen."

"Queen? There are no queens in the Giantspires."

"Oh, you are a sharp one. Now, get dressed or I'll have to take you in your blankets, and that is hardly a way to make a good first impression."

"Where are my clothes?"

He leaned back, opened the door just enough to reach one hand out, then brought it back inside holding a thick bundle of cloth tied crossways with a cord.

"Your clothes, I'm afraid, are gone." He glanced at Nikle. "Those rags you had on were not suitable for an audience with the queen."

"They were no worse than what you're wearing."

Menduarthis chuckled. "Yes, but I'm a loyal subject. You? Well, you were found running with that sivat, so I suggest you wear what you're told and mind your manners. At the moment, you're a guest, but you can join your little elf friend if you aren't careful."

"Where is Lendri?"

"Taken care of."

Hweilan took the bundle and undid the knot of cord. Opening it, she found fine linen smallclothes, a shirt of the same fibrous material as the shift she was wearing, a leather belt, and trousers and a coat that seemed to be made of swiftstag skin. Soft rabbit fur lined the coat. Nothing fancy, but all very well made.

Nikle rattled off something in his own language, and Menduarthis responded in kind. The little hunter poked his head outside, spoke to someone out there, then reached out and came back in holding a large sack. Menduarthis was watching her intently, an amused glint in his eye.

"What is it?" said Hweilan.

"Nikle has a gift for you," said Menduarthis.

She looked at the sack. As Nikle moved back to sit beside the fire, she could hear something rattling inside. "What kind of gift?"

Menduarthis said something to Nikle. The little hunter smiled and emptied the sack beside Hweilan.

Five skulls rattled out. Dark brown and glistening wet, bits of tissue and blood still clinging to them. The stench of death caught in the warm air of the fire and filled the tent, making Hweilan's stomach clench.

Nikle spread his hands over the gift and said something.

Menduarthis translated. "Nikle wishes to tell you that those Nar who hunted you will trouble you no more. Whatever grievance they had against you died with them. Though in truth, I do believe that your elf friend killed two of them, and a good many more got away-including that Frost Folk brute and that… whatever it was."

She looked down at the grisly pile. "What am I supposed to do with them?"

Menduarthis threw back his head and laughed. "Nikle here would be happy to treat and paint them for you. You can use them to adorn your… well, wherever you might end up. But that is for another day."

He said something to Nikle, and the little hunter began tossing the skulls back in the sack.

"I'll give you a moment to dress," said Menduarthis. "A quick moment. We must be off. Not wise to keep the queen waiting."

Menduarthis waved to Nikle, and they turned to leave.

"Where are my things?" said Hweilan. "My bone whistle? My father's bow?"

"I told you," Menduarthis said over his shoulder, "you had to give those up. Don't worry. They're in safe keeping. But until we're sure you aren't going to cause any trouble, I'll just keep them safe."

"I am not going anywhere without them."

"I could make you come."

"And I could make that very difficult for you."

Menduarthis stared at her a long time, those pupilless eyes seeming to weigh her. Finally, the left side of his mouth curled up in a grin. "You could, I think. Hmm. Well, as much as I might enjoy that, our time is short. Shall we compromise?"

"What?"

He reached inside a pocket sewn on the inside of his coat and pulled out her kishkoman. "I give you back your kishkoman, and you come along with no trouble."

"How… how do you know what that is?"

"Let's just say it isn't the first I've seen."

He tossed it to her, and she caught it.

"Know this," said Menduarthis. "Blow it all you like. No one here will answer. You'll only annoy the locals, and I don't recommend that. Try anything with the pointy end, and you'll never see dear Mother's kishkoman again. Get dressed."

Menduarthis crawled back outside and held the door open for Nikle. The air that rushed inside was absolutely frigid. Nikle turned and faced her, gave a small bow, then walked out. The door shut after him.

Hweilan crawled out of the blankets. Even with the fire nearby, the air inside the tent was cold, and she shivered.

She was halfway finished donning the smallclothes when the door flew open, and Menduarthis leaned inside. Hweilan shrieked and grabbed the blankets to cover herself.

"I almost forgot this,' he said, and threw in a pair of fur-lined boots, gloves, hat, and a fur cloak. The door slammed shut. "Hurry, girl!"

Knowing what nights in the mountains could feel like, Hweilan put the shift back on over her smallclothes and tucked it into the trousers. Every little bit of clothing would help.

Once she was fully dressed, she hung the kishkoman round her neck and stuffed it between her smallclothes and shift.

Give me the bow and knife or I take them. Menduarthis had said that right before he'd done… whatever he'd done. And he'd taken the bow and knife. Damn him.

Hweilan's fear subsided as her anger returned. She'd been chased and threatened, and Menduarthis had taken away her weapons with ease. She'd have to find a less direct way of beating him if his magic could summon the winds like that.

Hweilan crouched and threw the door open. Menduarthis stood a few paces away, scuffing the toes of his boots through the snow. Nikle and a few other uldra chattered among themselves. Beyond them Hweilan stepped outside and got her first good look around. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes went wide. There were dome tents all around-some clustered around large firepits where cauldrons bubbled, others alone between the roots of trees.

And such trees. Hweilan craned her head upward. Pines of some sort, branches powdered in snow and trunks coated with frost, their lowest branches far overhead. The bases of the trees were larger than the topmost towers of Highwatch, and several had roots that broke up through the soil and twisted in arches that under which she could have walked upright.

She could only assume it was daytime, for soft gray light filtered down from the pines, but she could not see the sky through their branches. Most of the light came from the campfires.

Flowers grew amid the frost-in the dim light their petals looked silver, their leaves dark blue. Above she heard the songs of birds and cries of animals, but none she recognized.

All this she absorbed in one glance, then pain broke her concentration.

Cold hit her like a slap. Hard enough that she gasped. The sharp intake of breath froze the insides of her nostrils and slid like a razor down her throat. Her exhale plumed like a geyser in front of her, froze into a miniature storm of frost, and fell with a whisper on the ground. The skin on her face tightened, and she thought she could feel the blood just under her skin freeze solid. Both eyes seemed to turn to round stones of ice in her head. She squeezed them shut.

She'd lived in snow-covered, ice-bound Narfell all her life, where winter winds howled down the mountainsides like tormented dragons. But she had never felt cold like this.

"Bit of a chill in the air this morning, isn't there? "said Menduarthis, and when Hweilan opened her eyes a crack, she could see he was looking at her with that insolent smile. How could he be standing there bare-faced, no hat or hood, and seem so at ease?

He rattled off a string of words in the lilting language of the uldra, and Nikle proffered a small wooden bottle.

"Let me help you,' Menduarthis told Hweilan. He upended the bottle on his thumb and reached for her face.

She flinched back out of reach.

"Easy. This is halbdol. A bit scenty, but the fumes will keep your eyes from freezing in your skull.' "Why aren't you wearing any?"

"I don't need it. Take it or not. You can walk around all squint-eyed and grow icicles off your nose if you like. Yes or no?"

She gave him a curt nod and stepped forward. He smeared a thick coating of the black paste over each eyelid, coated the skin around her eye, and smeared a line below each eye. Then he drew a stripe down her nose and around each nostril, and coated her lips, chin, and cheeks. "Scenty" had been an understatement. The halbdol gave off wonderfully warm fumes, enabling her to open her eyes fully and breathe without pain. It had a heady scent of mint, flowers, and… something she couldn't quite place.

"What is that made of?"

Menduarthis chuckled. "Probably best you not know. There!"

He stepped back and his chuckle turned into a laugh. Even Nikle and the other uldra smiled.

"You look like a very sad skull," he said

Hweilan scowled.

"Forgive me," said Menduarthis. He handed the bottle back to Nikle, then bent and cleaned off his thumb in the snow. "It's quite becoming on you. The halbdol, I mean. Not the scowl." He turned on his heel and began walking away. "We must be off. Mustn't keep our lady waiting."

Hweilan stood her ground. The uldra behind her crowded in close. Even Nikle scowled, and the others had taken tighter grips on their spears.

When Menduarthis noticed he was walking alone, he turned and raised his eyebrows. "Problem?"

"Where am I?" she asked.

"You'll be in the bad graces of your hostess if you don't come along."

"I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers."

Menduarthis grimaced. "We shall talk while we walk, yes?"

Hweilan spared the uldra another glance. The look in their eyes made the decision for her.

"Very well," she said, and followed Menduarthis.

"This isn't the Giantspires," Hweilan said as they threaded their way through the scattering of tents and fires amid the trees.

"Very good," said Menduarthis. "You have a talent for noting the obvious."

They passed into a part of the camp where the fires were fewer, the trees closer, and all around her the world was a mixture of snow amid dark blue shadow. The trees seemed an army of towers that disappeared into a foggy murk overhead. But amid the murk, Hweilan caught glimpses of glowing eyes. More uldra? Perhaps. But if so, they could climb like monkeys.

"So where are we?"

"Frightened?"

"No,' she told Menduarthis, and was surprised to realize it was true. Everything around her looked, smelled, and sounded completely… other. Completely foreign to everything she knew. Still, something about it seemed right. Not quite comfortable exactly, but…

"Home,' said Menduarthis.

"What?"

"The short answer to your question. This is home. I've lived here many years. The uldra call it ban Meidan, which in their tongue means 'our land.' "He chuckled. "Very imaginative folk, the uldra. But those people in your world who know enough to know of this place, they call it the Feywild."

Hweilan's heart skipped a beat, and she gasped before she could catch herself.

The Feywild.

She'd heard bards' songs of the place, and Dorim's stories. Of all the dwarves who lived in Highwatch, Dorim was the only one to whom Hweilan had ever been close. Master craftsmen, his family crafted the bows for the Knights, and Dorim himself had crafted her father's bow. But more than a master of weaponry, Dorim fancied himself a loremaster-though Hweilan's grandmother had always called them "foolish dwarf nonsense.' But Hweilan had loved his stories-the ones he'd tell her over a fire on the coldest winter nights, his bare feet propped next to the fire, his favorite pipe dangling between his lips.

All the lore and songs and fireside stories agreed on one thing-the Feywild was a place of peril, of beauties that would break your heart and horrors that would eat it. Some who wandered into the Feywild returned to the real world half-mad. And some never returned at all.

She didn't know what to think. Her senses couldn't deny her present location, no matter how much her reason tried to fight it. She'd somehow stumbled into a bard's tale.

"Where is Lendri?" she asked.

Behind her, the uldra hissed. She turned and saw the hunters staring at her through narrowed eyes.

"Hmm," said Menduarthis, and though his back was to her, she could hear the frown in his tone. "Best not mention that name around our little friends. Your pale pet doesn't have the best reputation 'round here."

"Where is he? He isn't… dead?"

"No." He cast a sly eye over his shoulder and winked at her. "But the day's not over yet."

The darkness pressed down on them. Even with her keen eyesight, Hweilan could make out little except pale swathes of snow amid patches of shadow. They passed under a great arch of a tree root, icicles and silvery moss drooping from it like a ragged tapestry, before she saw the tundra tiger lounging atop the root, watching them.

Menduarthis caught her wide-eyed stare and said, "You behave yourself and so will the uldra's playthings."

She hurried under and past the root. The tiger watched them leave but did not follow.

"Why am I here?" she asked. "Why have you brought me to this place?"

"You'd rather we left you in the Giantspires to freeze or starve?"

"Of course not. But why bring me here?"

Menduarthis was silent a while. Long enough that Hweilan was beginning to think he wouldn't answer. But then he sighed and said, "I was bored."

"You brought me here because you're bored?"

"You were found in the company of an elf that the queen swore to kill if she ever found. A little exciting, yes? That makes you a candidate for… well, a few questions, at the very least. What happens to you next"-he turned and smiled at her, but it was the smile of a wolf finding a lamb all alone on the hillside-" depends very much on your answers." He looked around at their surroundings, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Best we not talk through this little bit of our stroll."

"Why?" she whispered back. "You said the tigers would behave themselves."

"There's more than tigers in these woods. Quiet now. And stay close."

They wound their way farther down into the valley. They left the giant trees behind and entered woods that seemed more familiar to Hweilan-at least in size. Set amid the frost and snow, their bark seemed just a shade above black, and their trunks and branches leaned and twisted every which way. Even though they were seemingly still in the grip of winter, leaves filled their branches. The leaves, some as large as her hand, seemed like an oak's-though the blade had far too many points and their veins looked silver, even seeming to glow if she looked at them just right. Silver moss and icicles hung from them, and undergrowth, aside from the occasional bit of the strange flowers, was sparse.

Their path disappeared, and Menduarthis led them into the trees.

The air became much quieter. There were no more songs of birds or cries of animals. Their footfalls crunching through the snow seemed muted, and even the uldra appeared uneasy. They gripped their spears in tight fists, and their oddly glowing eyes kept careful watch.

A rift in the earth blocked their path. It was only four or five paces across, but so deep that Hweilan could not see its bottom. Ice-covered stone and soil fell away at her feet into shadow. Definitely too far to jump. Hweilan looked both ways, searching for a bridge. Then she saw somthing on the other side of the ravine.

"That is the strangest tree I have ever seen," she said in an almost reverent whisper. The thing had two trunks that joined together about a third of the way up, then sprouted outward again just below the crown. It had an unsettlingly human shape. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of smaller branches, vines, and thorns sprouted from its limbs.

At the sound of Hweilan's voice, the tree moved, the thick cluster of branches that Hweilan could only describe as a "head" turning toward them, and two eyes regarded her. They glowed like the uldras' eyes, verdant green, and the look was decidedly baleful.

Menduarthis turned to her. He put a thin finger across his lips and whispered, "I said quiet."

She stepped as close to him as she could without actually touching and whispered, "If this place is so dangerous and your queen wishes to see me, why has she not provided an escort?" Her words came out in a plume of frost that coated Menduarthis's shoulder.

He smiled, but taut anger lay behind it. "What do you think I am?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but he placed his hand over her mouth and shushed her. His skin was shockingly cool-far colder than any man's ought to be. She wondered how he could stand being outside without gloves.

They continued on. The tree thing across the canyon followed them for a while, keeping pace and watching them from the opposite side. But the rift grew no narrower, and the thing made no effort to cross. Finally it gave up but stood there watching them as they continued. When they were almost out of sight, the thing threw back its head and let out a long, mournful sound that seemed part howl and part trumpet. It sent a chill down Hweilan's spine-and when other calls answered, in the distance, her chill grew into a full-fledged shudder. The sounds stopped them all in their tracks.

"How many of those things are out there?" she said.

Menduarthis turned and said, "We might just find out if you don't keep quiet. If I have to tell you again, I'm going to have Nikle gag you."

They walked on, always downslope, and at a much faster pace.

The rift widened the farther they went. The slope on which they trod grew steeper, the trees sparser, and more rocks began to peek through the snow. But Menduarthis seemed to know his way, and Hweilan followed his footsteps almost exactly.

Walking near the cliff's edge, Hweilan looked down and was surprised to see something: the bottom of the canyon. Its flatness made her suspect it was a river or lake where the water flowed right up to the cliff's edge, for there were no trees or brush of any sort. Just a flawless sheet of snow, blue and sparkling in the faint light.

"What-"

"Best not to talk just yet,' Menduarthis interrupted, and he motioned to the path in front of them. "The walls have ears."

Looking where Menduarthis had pointed, Hweilan saw that the woods were coming to an end, and they were nearing a wall.

As their little company passed out of the shelter of the wood, they walked into snowfall. Large heavy flakes that seemed to whisper as they fell. They came to the wall, and Hweilan saw that it was not a wall at all, but a huge hedge, comprising many thousands of dark-green-leafed branches, each armored in an array of thorns. No frost of ice covered it, and there was movement within the branches. Furtive shapes that must have been very small to work their way through the tangle. Hweilan saw tiny pairs of eyes glowing from the shadows, but if they caught her watching, one blink and they were gone.

"Menduarthis," Hweilan whispered, "what is in the hedge?"

"Locals. Don't worry. They know you're with me."

"That last local didn't seem to like you much," she said, thinking of the tree things.

He shrugged. "Most of the locals don't. But they know I'm here at the queen's behest. No one will interfere with that. Now be quiet."

Hweilan scowled, but the place seemed to call for quiet, almost as if the sound of snowfall was a constant shush. She turned to look at the uldra. The little hunters, all of whom seemed perfectly at ease around tundra tigers, were as wary as she'd ever seen them. They kept looking around, their eyes wide and movements skittish as birds.

She saw no more eyes in the depths of the hedge, but she did notice that even the snowflakes would not settle upon it. Most flew away at the last instant, as if stirred by a puff of air. But a few did manage to hit an outstretched branch or leaf, whereupon the flake sizzled away into a tiny mist that fell to the ground.

Menduarthis walked a few paces left, then back to the right, leaning in close and passing one hand over the hedge. The leaves and branches rasped and rattled as his hand passed over them.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

He stopped and stood ramrod straight, heels together, head back, arms outstretched slightly. Almost exactly the same pose he'd taken that night on the mountain before Hweilan gasped and stepped back. She could feel the power building.

Menduarthis leaned his head back, his eyes closed, but his nostrils flaring as he took in deep draughts of air.

The ground shook. Just a trembling at first, like the feeling in the air during thunder. But then everything underfoot shuddered with such force that Hweilan fell forward into the snow. She looked up.

Before Menduarthis, a shard of ice came up from the ground, splitting the hedge like shears through cloth. The shard was knife thin at first, but as it rose it thickened. By the time it stopped some ten feet or more above them, its base was wider than she was tall.

Still holding his pose, Menduarthis flicked his fingers forward, and the ice shard split with a crack! that sent a gout of frigid air and frost spewing over him. He brought his palms together with a flourish, then waved them apart. The split shard molded outward into an arch, then melted away into a heavy frost, much like the snowflakes had on the leaves. When it was gone, all that remained was a tunnel through the hedge, blue-silver mist falling down the sides and swirling along the bottom.

Hweilan pushed herself to her feet and brushed herself off. "What are you?" she said.

Menduarthis dropped his pose and turned to her. The frost that had coated him melted before her eyes, falling away in that same strange mist that the snowflakes had. He looked down on her with the strangest expression. Curiosity? Bewilderment? A little of both, and something else. Something that bordered on affection. That made her more uncomfortable than all the rest.

"You behave yourself, you survive your meeting with the queen, and I'll tell you all about me."

"Survive?"

"Too late to worry about that now," he said. He turned and walked into the tunnel. "Come along!"

Hweilan followed. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the uldra did not. Nikle motioned at her-it seemed more of a benediction than a wave-then he and his companions turned and fled.