Cry of the Ghost Wolf: Neverwinter NiChosen of Nendawen, Book III (26 page)

Maaqua scowled as if she’d bitten down on a sore tooth. “What Menduarthis ever does: be a pain in a host’s arse.”

“But I saw him taken,” said Hweilan, “by one of Jagun Ghen’s minions. When Rhan”—her voice caught at the memory—“when he cut off my mother’s head, the thing inside her possessed Menduarthis.”

“True enough,” said Maaqua. “But it didn’t kill the old wind wasp. He has been … taken over, I guess you would say. ‘Possessed’ is the term your Damaran priests prefer, yes? But he’s still alive. And still fighting.”

“What is this?” Gleed said. He stamped one foot, and all the metal on his robes tinkled like tiny chimes. He jabbed Hweilan with his staff. “You told me this Menduarthis died protecting you.”

All eyes turned to the little goblin.

“Old meddler doesn’t know everything after all, eh?” said Maaqua, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

Hweilan said, “He’s—”

But Maaqua cut her off. “Menduarthis is an eladrin whose only loyalty is to himself. He spent decades studying with that Frost Bitch in Ellestharn. He became quite an adept at anything having to do with air and wind. Fits him, since he likes nothing more than the sound of his own voice. But I think he was already chafing under that leash when your little pet came along.”

“And now Jagun Ghen has him?” said Gleed. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, Hweilan?”

“Because she hasn’t made up her mind about him yet.”

“What?” Gleed looked back and forth from Maaqua to Hweilan, who was scowling at the queen.

Maaqua chuckled. “Menduarthis has been chasing this one for quite some time now, and she hasn’t yet made up her mind about whether or not she wants to be caught.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Hweilan, but she could feel blood rushing to her face.

“Don’t I?” said Maaqua. “I wasn’t always this old and shriveled, girl. Ask Gleed. He remembers.”

Then her eyes narrowed. “You can tell your girl was brought up in a court. She keeps her eyes straight ahead and
thinks of her duty. But all the while her heart is hoping the man’ll keep after her. Or the men, in this case.”

“What’s this?” said Gleed.

“Darric,” said Maaqua. “That’s his name, isn’t it? She’s gone through all this—haggling with Menduarthis, slicing up my Champion, feathering my guards to tower doors, and damned near killing me—to keep me from eating that boy’s heart. So which will it be, girl? The fetching eladrin who has probably bedded more women than you’ll ever meet, or the soft richling who has been mooning over you for years? You want my advice? Let Menduarthis teach you a few things, but don’t grow attached. He won’t. He’ll get what he wants, then grow bored. Have about with the eladrin, then go home to the richling. Soft men make better bedmates, because they’re so good at doing what you tell them.”

Hweilan stood there gawking a moment, all eyes on her. Maaqua’s smile widened even further.

Then Hweilan threw back her head and laughed—so long and hard that tears streamed down her face and her stomach hurt. Maaqua’s smile turned into a scowl.

“Oh, Gleed,” said Hweilan. “You were so right about her.”

“Eh?” said Maaqua.

Gleed nodded. “A mean old snake.”

But Hweilan could tell by the look in Gleed’s eyes that the old snake’s words had troubled him.

“Tell me I’m wrong, then,” said Maaqua.

“Maaqua,” said Hweilan, and Elret bristled at her familiar tone, “you could not be more wrong if you tried.”

Then Hweilan opened the portal and stood back for the hobgoblins to go through first. The four disciples carried Maaqua through the river and were about to step through the falls when Maaqua raised a hand, stopping them.

“Turn me,” she said.

They did, sidestepping in the knee-high water so that their queen could face Hweilan and Gleed on the bank.

“Gleed,” she said. “I suppose I owe you my thanks. You saved my life.”

Gleed smiled and bowed. “The gods will forgive me, I hope.”

The queen chuckled, but it had an ugly tone to it. “It is also good to know where you’ve been hiding.”

Gleed’s smile did not falter as he said, “Come here uninvited and I’ll pull down that rock you live in and bury you so deep even your pet demons won’t be able to find you.”

They held each other’s gazes a long moment, then the queen motioned for her servants to continue. They stepped through the falls and back into Faerûn. Elret followed, glaring over her shoulder just before she stepped through.

Buureg stepped into the water, turned, bowed to Gleed, then stepped toward the waterfall.

“Warchief,” said Gleed, stopping him.

Buureg stopped and looked over his shoulder at Gleed.

“You can do better than her, you know,” said Gleed. “You love the Razor Heart, have sworn your life and blood to it. Maaqua uses your clan for her own ends. If you ever come to believe that and need help …”

Buureg watched the little hobgoblin a long time, then gave a sharp nod, and walked through the falls, leaving Hweilan and Gleed alone.

“Strange friends you’re making,” said Gleed.

“You really think she’ll help?” said Hweilan.

“As long as it suits her purposes, yes. But as I warned you: don’t trust her.”

“I don’t.”

“Hweilan—”

“I know my place. What Maaqua said … she was just trying to goad me. You need not fear. Destroying that monster sitting in my home … that’s all that matters to me.”

“And then? It’s no shame to want more in life.”

“Is it a shame to want less?”

Gleed snorted. “Idiot. Love and family are not less. They are everything. Destroying Jagun Ghen is the reason your heart beats blood in your veins, girl. But never forget
why
. The true warrior fights not because she hates what is in front of her but because she loves what she’s left behind.”

Buureg had been true to his word. When the group returned to the Razor Heart fortress, he led Hweilan and Uncle to the cave where they had shared a meal the night before. She found Darric, Jaden, and Valsun around a fire. They had been fed and given fur blankets. All three were sound asleep, so Hweilan let them be.

“And Mandan?” she asked when she and Buureg were back in the sunlight.

The warchief looked away, staring into the wind. “I told you, Hand. His life is not mine to give or take. Ruuket has sworn to come to him at sundown. It is not my place to interfere.”

“Damn it, what exactly is your place, Buureg?”

He smiled, showing sharp yellow teeth. “Suffering the wrath of willful women.”

Hweilan couldn’t help but smile at that. She reached down and scratched the fur between Uncle’s ears. “That’s it?”

“That is all I can do.”

“Then I will be there at sundown, too.”

He looked back at her, anger in his gaze. “You would harm a grieving mate and her children?”

“No,” said Hweilan. “But I won’t allow them to harm Mandan.”

“You may have to choose one over the other. And if you harm Ruuket or her children, my warriors will be there to stop you.”

Hweilan cursed and looked away. She had wasted so much time already settling things at the Razor Heart. She did not want to start up trouble again. “Can I talk to Ruuket?”

“At sundown.”

Hweilan sighed and let it go. One battle at a time.

“By the way, Maaqua has called a war council,” said Buureg. “For midnight.”

“She is going to help then?”

He narrowed his eyes. “She said she would.”

“Then I will be there, too.”

After leaving Buureg—the warchief was a tough old root, but even he needed sleep—Hweilan went back up to the high places, her wolf at her heels. The combination of
gunhin
in her veins and her return to the Feywild had renewed her vigor. She didn’t feel the least bit tired. A restless energy filled her, fueling her determination.

Time is running out
.

But there was one thing she still had to do. And it shamed her that she had left the duty so long.

The way wasn’t difficult to find. Uncle sniffed at the trail now and then, and under the full light of day, she saw the blood smeared on the dirt and rocks.

“Bastard really did drag himself the whole way down the mountain,” she said to herself, and smiled at the image of Rhan crawling and cursing.

They weren’t far now.

The wolf stopped on the trail ahead. He’d gone very still. Only his ears twitched forward and his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air.

Hweilan’s bow was strapped unstrung on her back. She drew both her knives, the red one in her left hand, the silver in her right. She kneeled on the path, held the silver blade before her, and spoke the words of invitation. The runes along the blade sparkled, light running down their length, and the wind off the mountain changed directions, coming directly into Hweilan’s face. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

There. The pungent, putrid stench of death and worse. Desecration. But she smelled something else as well. Something alive. Anger filled Hweilan, and her jaw clenched so tight she heard her teeth grind. Uncle growled and flattened his ears.

She stood and together they ran up the path.

C
HAPTER
TWENTY

A
RGALATH WOKE BUT COULD NOT REMEMBER WHERE
he was. His entire body felt scraped raw from the inside out. He struggled to take a deep breath, and the reek made him gag.

Preparing for the pain he knew would come, Argalath forced his eyes open. Thick tapestries covered the hall’s windows, but a little light still managed to leak around the edges. And the light pierced his brain like needles. He lay on the dais in the main court. The High Warden’s seat—the old fool had never allowed anyone to call it a throne, though he had been the closest thing to a king for hundreds of miles—lay broken and shattered on the stone. The robes Argalath usually wore were crumpled beneath him. He was naked from the waist up, his skin caked in dried blood. The remains of a goat lay at the foot of the dais. It had been gutted, but most of the flesh was gone. Mice had come out of the walls to swarm over the remains.