Cry of the Ghost Wolf: Neverwinter NiChosen of Nendawen, Book III (11 page)

“The little one first,” said Hweilan. “He’s done nothing but complain.”

“Although I see it hasn’t affected his appetite,” said Valsun.

Jaden’s scowl deepened, but he kept his mouth shut.

Kaad placed a rolled bundle on the ground, then kneeled beside Jaden and began examining him.

“I didn’t think humans had a taste for one another,” said Kaad as he began to clean the cut in Jaden’s scalp.

“What do you mean?” Valsun asked him.

“Your meal,” said Kaad. “You’re eating what’s left of the last Nar tribe the Razor Heart raided.”

The three Damarans went still as tree stumps, but Hweilan kept chewing as she walked back and forth, back
and forth. Darric’s stomach took a wet tumble, and he felt bile rising in his throat. How could she—?

“Stop teasing them, Kaad,” said Hweilan around a mouthful of food. “He’s only having a bit of sport with you. It’s goat. An old, ill-tempered goat by the taste of it, but it’s just goat.”

Jaden still hadn’t been able to swallow what was in his mouth, and Valsun stared down at his platter. “And the … stew?”

“Only roots, herbs, and a bit of deer,” said Kaad.

Valsun picked something out of his mouth and tossed it in the fire. “Which bits? The damned hooves?”

Kaad chuckled. “Be still,” he told Jaden, then unrolled the bundle he’d brought. Inside were an assortment of herbs and roots, along with many stoppered vials in sleeves along the inside of the bundle. The old hobgoblin selected one of them, opened it, and smeared a pungent paste onto Jaden’s wound.

He hissed. “Unholy Hells! That burns!”

“Only a moment,” said Kaad. “It will deaden the flesh so that I can clean and stitch it.”

“Just give them some
gunhin
,” said Hweilan.

Darric caught the amused smile Kaad gave Hweilan, but then the old hobgoblin shook his head. “Forbidden, I fear.
Gunhin
is for warriors bled in battle. Not for prisoners.”

“What is … 
gunhin
?” asked Valsun.

“The reason the lady can’t sit still and avoids looking at the duke’s son,” said Kaad.

Hweilan scowled at the healer, but the old hobgoblin didn’t see it, busy as he was cleaning the paste from Jaden’s scalp. “What did you do to tear such a gouge in your head?” he asked.

Jaden pointed at Hweilan. “She threw one of your warriors on top of me. A damned big one.”

Kaad put away the vial and began to thread a needle that Darric thought looked far too big for stitching skin.

“Rhan, you mean?” said Kaad.

“Big brute with a black sword?” said Jaden. “That’s him.”

“You have told them, then?” said Kaad. The healer was squinting at the needle, so it took Darric a moment to realize he’d been speaking to Hweilan.

“Told us what?” said Darric.

Kaad finished working the thread into the needle and set about stitching Jaden’s scalp. Darric knew when he was being purposefully ignored. He looked to Hweilan over the fire. She held his gaze, but he didn’t like what he saw there.

“Where is my brother, Hweilan?” said Darric.

“He’s alive,” she said. “For now. But he has been condemned to death.”

And then she told them the rest.

Darric thought there had to be more, some sane resolution to her tale. But when she walked around the fire to take a long drink from the pitcher, he realized she’d said all she was going to say.

“Have you gone completely mad?” Darric stood. “You can’t fight that monster!”

Hweilan opened her mouth for what looked to be an angry retort, but Kaad cut her off.

“If she doesn’t, you three won’t fare much better than your big friend. If Maaqua is in a generous mood, she will give you to some of the unblooded warriors for practice. A quick death, but still not pleasant.”

“But—” said Darric.

“Lady,” said Valsun, though he looked to Darric. “We are most grateful for your attempt to help us. But if what you told us is true, we cannot just leave while our brother is tortured to death.”

“So what is your plan?” Darric asked Hweilan.

“My plan? I plan to kill Rhan, get my things back, and go to Highwatch.”

“And what of Mandan?”

“I have other concerns.”

“Other concerns?” Darric screamed. He stood to his feet so quickly that he rapped his head against the stone ceiling. He noted that his outburst had caught the attention of the
warriors at nearby fires, but none of them had made a move to intervene. They were just watching the show. “What’s the matter with you, Hweilan? We can’t just leave him!”

Hweilan kept her voice low, but there was no less heat in it. “If you have an army on the way that you neglected to tell me about, now would be the time. I tried to bargain for Mandan, but even the warchief refused to intervene. Me beating the Razor Heart champion gets the four of us out of here. I can do nothing more.”

“They’re going to torture him. To death!”

For a moment, he thought he had her. Something in her expression, some crack in the mask … but then it was gone, and she said, “I know. There’s nothing I can do.”

“I …” Darric stopped. He didn’t know what. She refused to help and he didn’t know what to say.

“I fight, Rhan,” said Hweilan, “I leave. If you choose to stay … you’re on your own.”

“You won’t help us?”

“I
can’t
help you!” she shouted. All the hobgoblin warriors were watching now, intent on every word. “Not against the entire Razor Heart in their own fortress! And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I have more important—”

“More
important
? More—” Darric found himself completely at a loss for words. But then he found the one question that summed it all up. “What kind of monster are you?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment Darric was reminded of the night he first saw her on the mountain, that predator’s gaze staring out from the bone mask. He had thought her a monster then, too. It saddened and enraged him that he’d been right.

“I’m no monster, Darric,” she said. “But I’m not a child anymore, either. The world isn’t a court bard’s tale. Honor may help you sleep at night, but it won’t keep the dark at bay.”

“I forbid it,” said Darric, and as soon as he’d said it he felt an utter fool.

“Forbid?” Hweilan snorted. “You’re in no position to forbid anything.”

“Mandan is my brother,” said Darric. “If they won’t let
you
fight for him, I will.”

Hweilan studied him a moment, and for the life of him Darric could not guess her thoughts. But damned if she didn’t look … hungry. He felt the blood rising to his cheeks but forced himself not to look away. Perhaps the fire and smoke would hide his blush.

“They won’t allow it,” said Hweilan. “Your lives belong to the Razor Heart. If I defeat the champion, your lives are returned. Mandan’s life belongs to this … Ruuket. Besides, you wouldn’t make it through the crowd’s first cheer. Not against Rhan.”

“Oh, and you will?”

“You’re not a killer, Darric.”

“I’m a knight! I’ve killed more p—”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“What?” Darric looked to Valsun for support, but the old knight was watching Hweilan.

“You’re a knight,” said Hweilan. “You kill to defend yourself or others. But you don’t
like
killing.”

“And you do?”

The smile she gave him had no humor or good will in it. It was the bared-teeth look of a wolf warning a lesser member of the pack to step away and wait its turn. If there was anything left of the girl he had known years ago, he couldn’t see it. Not anymore. And he thought, Oh, gods, Hweilan, what have they done to you?

C
HAPTER
NINE

P
ART OF
H
WEILAN—A VERY SMALL PART, SHE
admitted—regretted being so hard on Darric. It was not her intention to shame him. But in their current situation, his sense of honor was only going to get him and all his companions killed. She didn’t doubt his courage, but neither did she doubt Rhan might spend a while toying with Darric for the pleasure of the crowd, then put a quick and bloody end to him.

Kaad completed his ministrations of Jaden and Valsun, confirming that Darric was suffering from nothing more than a few bruises and lack of sleep.

“Now,” Kaad said to Hweilan, “I’ll look at that arm.”

“It’s fine.”

Kaad glanced quickly over each shoulder, then said, “
Drakthna
is nothing to take lightly. Can’t let that fester.”

Hweilan caught his meaning. She stood still and presented her bare arm to Kaad. He bent close, seeming to examine the tattoo and new skin—and pressed a small bundle into her hand. It was soft, like lamb’s skin, but she could feel the contents. She shoved the whole thing into her pocket.

“
Drakthna
,” he whispered. “And three roots of white
iruil
. Hm?”

“Thank you,” she said, just as quietly. “I will not forget Gluured.”

Kaad nodded and stepped back. “Your arm is healing nicely. Try not to plant any more arrows in it.”

He turned away, but Hweilan caught his sleeve and said, “Kaad, Maaqua said my mother’s body had been ‘taken care of.’ I want to see her.”

Kaad looked away. “If you survive tomorrow, it will be done. If not …”

Then it won’t matter, Hweilan knew. No need to say it.

The healer packed up his things and left. The sky outside the cave mouth had turned black. After finishing their meal in an uneasy silence, the Damarans stoked the fire, huddled into their blankets, and lay down.

Hweilan waited until she thought they were asleep, then walked over to one of the other fires. The hobgoblins seated around it were passing around a skin of spirits so pungent that its reek was already leaking out of their pores.

“One of the warriors who brought us here,” Hweilan said in Goblin, “Kaad said his name is Hratt. Where is he?”

“Near the entrance,” one of them replied. He stood up. He wobbled on his feet and put a hand on his companion’s shoulder for support. “I’ll take you.”

“I can find him.” Hweilan walked away, not bothering to see if he followed.

With the coming of night, the air had gone from chill to cold, but Hweilan still felt the effect of the healing concoction, and even her naked right arm wasn’t bothered.

She found Hratt huddled close to a fire near the edge of the cave entrance. Three others were with him, all wrapped in blankets but still wearing their armor. This close to the entrance, the night breeze found its way into the cave and made the meager flames of their fire dance. All four warriors looked up at her approach, but none stood.

“You always sleep in drafty caverns?” Hweilan asked Hratt.

Hratt grinned around the bit of dried flesh he was eating. His companions raised their eyebrows at one another, seemingly impressed that she spoke their language so well.

“Maaqua said to feed and free your friends,” said Hratt. “She didn’t say to make them comfortable.”

“Are you my keeper?” she asked.

“Eh?”

“The one commanded to guard me?”

Hratt finished chewing and swallowed before he responded. “Buureg says you are oathbound. He says he thinks you will keep it. You may go as you please. Until dawn. Then you face Rhan. I am to take you.”

“And until then …?”

He shrugged. “As you please.”

“Good. Then it would please me to have my belongings returned to me.”

Hratt shook his head. “You haven’t won the Blood Price yet. You have no belongings.”

“Rhan chooses his weapon for the Blood Slake, does he not?”

One of the other hobgoblins said, “If Rhan fights with anything but the Greatsword of Impiltur, I’m a gnoll.”

His companions laughed louder than the comment warranted, which told Hweilan they’d started drinking long before she and the Damarans arrived.

“You know he does,” said Hratt. “Buureg warned me—”

“I have agreed to the Blood Slake. I will choose my own weapon.”

“—about you,” continued Hratt. “Said you were no typical Damaran. Said you knew our ways too well.”

“Too well for his liking, I’m sure. Will you take me or not?”

“You wish to prepare your weapon for the morning?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t wish to rest?”

Hweilan shrugged and gave them what she hoped was her most wicked smile. “
Gunhin
.”

The warriors laughed, slapping their knees in approval.

Hratt stood and let his blanket fall. “Come with me.”

Hweilan looked down at the remains of the warrior’s meal. “Is that mountain hare?” she asked.

Hratt followed her gaze. “Did the slaves not feed you?”

“Goat. And just the meat. It’s been a long time since I had a mountain hare, and I have a desire to gnaw a bone.”

The hobgoblins exchanged an amused look, then one of them handed Hweilan the remains of a backbone with a few other bones and bits of flesh dangling from it.

“No leg?” she said.

“A wise beggar makes no demands,” one of them said.

“Ah, give her a leg, Gunt. She’ll be dead tomorrow morning.”

The one called Gunt dropped his first offer back into the communal pile, then handed her a leg. All the flesh and most of the cartilage had been stripped away. She took it with a nod of thanks, then followed Hratt out of the cave.