Cry of the Ghost Wolf: Neverwinter NiChosen of Nendawen, Book III (32 page)

The councilors slapped their knees in approval as the priestess sat down.

“You speak for the High Chieftain, yes?” said Hweilan.

“I am Nesh,” said the priestess. “I read the omens and slake the Battle Lord’s thirst for blood.”

“Then read his will now,” said Hweilan. “Does the High Chieftain not love treachery when it preserves the strength of his people?”

The priests gathered nodded their assent, while the elders pointedly looked away from Maaqua. Elret’s eyes narrowed, and she still had not lowered the wand.

“He does,” said Nesh.

Hweilan turned her gaze on Maaqua. “Then tell the council, Maaqua, what would have happened had I not found you in your tower and taken you … where I did?”

“Sit down, girl!” said Elret. “The queen has already decided.”

“And you!” said Hweilan. “You were the one who asked me to do it.
Begged
me.”

All eyes turned to Elret, but the disciple said nothing. Her nostrils flared wide, and Hweilan could actually hear Elret’s teeth grinding.

Hweilan continued, “And I would never have been there—
couldn’t
have been there—had Hratt not told me the way. His …” Hweilan twisted her lip in an expression of utter disdain. “His ‘treachery’ saved your queen. Saved the Razor Heart. I ask you, Nesh, was this not the will of Maglubiyet?”

The elders and guards all looked to the queen, but every representative from the priesthood turned their eyes on Nesh.

Maaqua stared murderously at Hweilan. Finally, she smiled thinly, shrugged, and looked up at Elret. “Lower that wand and sit.”

Elret stood her ground.

“You defy your queen?” said Buureg.

Elret lowered her wand, then turned and spat. But she sat.

“Read the signs, Nesh,” said Maaqua, though she was watching Hweilan. “Read very carefully.”

The old hobgoblin pulled up the sleeve of her robe, revealing a scrawny arm that seemed more veins and bones than muscle. The forearm was a mass of old scar tissue. She took the axe head medallion, held it up to her forehead as she whispered a prayer, then drew the sharp blade across the back of her arm. She reverently placed the medallion back on her chest.

As she raised the bare arm for all to see, dark blood ran down it in four long rivulets. Nesh closed her eyes, whispered another prayer, then ran her tongue through the blood. She lowered the arm and studied the bloody pattern on her skin.

“Well?” said one of the elders.

“The omen …” Nesh’s voice sounded old and very, very tired. “Unclear. The omen is unclear.”

Behind Hweilan, Hratt was stirring. He groaned and tried to push himself up, but the nearest guard planted his foot on the scorched bit of skin between his shoulders and pressed him back down.

“Get your foot off him,” said Hweilan.

The guard pulled his lips over his teeth in a malicious grin and tightened his grip on his spear. “Make me.”

Hweilan looked to Buureg for support, but the warchief only raised his eyebrows. Hweilan was no expert in reading hobgoblin expressions, but his meaning seemed clear enough:
Your move
.

She turned her gaze back to the guard. “Last chance.”

The guard twisted his right foot, putting more weight on Hratt’s wound. The other three guards lowered their spears. Two of them were behind Hweilan, and she could feel the nearest spearpoint just above her waist.

Hratt’s right hand shot out, sweeping the guard’s left foot out from under him and rolling before the hobgoblin’s weight could come down on top of him.

Hweilan seized the moment of surprise and turned, grabbing the spear away from the nearest guard behind her. The other was already stabbing for her. She struck the spear aside with the shaft of her own weapon, then followed through, bringing the butt end around in an arc to crash into the weaponless guard’s helmet, sending him staggering into his companion. She brought the shaft around again before either could regain their balance. The guard’s iron braces saved his hand, but the sheer force of Hweilan’s strike broke his arm and he dropped the spear.

“You dare!”

Hweilan glanced aside to see Elret had raised her wand again, but Maaqua seized the disciple’s arm and twisted it aside. The other councilors were simply staring at the show. Even Buureg stood aside, his arms crossed over his chest.

Stepping well away so she could keep an eye on the two guards and members of the council, Hweilan returned her
attention to the fight. Hratt held the spear of the first guard, who was on his feet again, but standing well out of reach. The other guard held his own spear in front of him. He kept his eyes fixed on Hratt but called out, “Orders?”

“Kill him,” said Buureg. “If you can.”

Hratt gave the guard no time to consider. Roaring in fury, he charged, swinging his spear to knock aside his opponent’s. The spearless guard barged in behind him. But Hratt continued his charge. With his opponent’s spear out of the way, Hratt brought his own around in a circle, reversing it so that the iron spike sliced behind him while the butt end slammed into the fork of the guard’s legs. Breath and every bit of strength whooshed out of the guard, and he collapsed. The onrushing guard tried to stop before impaling himself on Hratt’s spear, but his feet slipped and he skidded onto his rump. Hratt planted the spearpoint under the guard’s chin and pressed until the hobgoblin’s head was on the ground, the sharp iron making a bloody dimple in the cleft of his throat. Hratt’s chest was heaving, spittle flying from his lips. Hweilan saw the great effort it took him to press the spear no further.

“Warchief?” said Hratt through clenched teeth.

Buureg looked to Maaqua.

Maaqua released her hold on Elret and called to Hratt. “You chose death, did you not?”

“If my warchief wants my throat, I’ll bare it,” said Hratt. “If he wants my heart, I’ll plunge the steel myself. But no one is gelding me.”

Hweilan saw several of the elders nod in admiration. Maaqua saw it, too, for her eyes almost disappeared in the depth of her scowl.

“This human girl wants you as her slave,” said Maaqua. “Would you change you mind and choose that?”

Hratt glanced up at Hweilan, and his gaze lost none of its anger. “I am no one’s slave. Not today. Not ever.”

Maaqua sighed. “Alas, Hand of the Hunter, it seems you will not add another Razor Heart to your collection. Do you renounce your claim?”

Hweilan wasn’t aware that she had made any true claim. She’d been trying to save Hratt’s life. Nothing more. But she said, “I do.”

“The omens are unclear,” said Maaqua. “It would be foolish to rush to judgment, since Hratt did play a part—however small—in helping me to spy out our enemy’s intentions.”

No mention of saving her life, Hweilan noted.

“So, Warchief,” said Maaqua, “do you not agree that we should place Hratt’s fate in the hands of the High Chieftain? If his treachery was indeed tied to Hweilan, and if that treachery did help the clan, then do you not think it best that he continue?”

Buureg shook his head, confused. “What do you mean, my queen?”

“Send him with this girl,” said Maaqua. “Let him prove that his actions serve the Razor Heart.”

Buureg looked to Hratt. “What say you?”

Hratt looked at Hweilan, then to Buureg. “I agree.”

“So be it,” said Maaqua. “But know this, Hratt. If you betray the Razor Heart in this, I’ll do far worse than geld you.”

After the council, Maaqua returned to chambers she kept in the middle regions of the fortress. Not her private chambers, in which only her disciples were permitted to go, but a series of comfortable caves where she received visitors and supplicants.

Maaqua had to drink one of her least favorite potions just to keep her eyes open long enough for the one she had summoned to arrive. She was still weak from her ordeal with that demon sitting in Highwatch. Weaker than she had been in as long as she could remember. The years were catching up with her. Had it not been for Gleed …

Thinking on that put Maaqua in a murderous mood, but she had to handle this matter carefully.

A knock at her chamber door, followed by Elret’s voice. “My queen?”

“Open,” said Maaqua.

The door opened and Elret led in the warrior Maaqua had summoned. There was certainly no lack of warriors in the Razor Heart willing to do what she needed, but those who had the cunning to accomplish it … that was a small list.

“Thank you for coming.”

The hobgoblin kneeled, his head low to the ground.

Maaqua looked to Elret. “Leave us,” she said. “Wait in the outer chamber and see that we are not disturbed.”

Maaqua did not miss the look of wounded pride on her disciple’s face. That was another gnat Maaqua might have to swat soon. She did not doubt Elret’s devotion, nor underestimate her ambition, but the girl was a sycophant. That made her weak. And Maaqua could not afford a weak ring in her armor. Not at her age.

Elret closed the door. The sound of her footfalls receded.

Maaqa placed her right hand on the orb in the bed next to her and muttered an incantation. A minor cantrip, but it ensured they would not be overheard.

“Strange days,” said Maaqua. “Strange days for the Razor Heart.”

“Yes, my queen.” The hobgoblin still had not risen from his bow.

“It seems they will grow stranger still,” she continued. “A time of great change is upon us. Highwatch will soon be empty of our enemies for the first time in generations. Damara is weak because of the squabblings brought on by their usurper. The Razor Heart will triumph, but we will need strong wills to conquer. Yes?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Times of change … times of struggle … such times reveal things to the wise. In such times do we find our strengths in unforeseen places—and reveal our weaknesses.”

The hobgoblin said nothing. His head was still bowed, but he had raised his eyes. Curious eyes. A hungry gaze. Good. Just what she needed.

“It pains me to say this, but these strange days have shown to me that those I thought strong are weak. This
girl, this”—Maaqua’s lip twisted into a sneer—“Hand of the Hunter, this Feywild witch has captured the devotion of the Champion of the Razor Heart. Even Warchief Buureg has fallen under her spell.”

“It pains me to hear it, my queen.”

“I am old, but I am no fool. This witch is going east with the dawn, to destroy the demon in Highwatch. I have no doubt that Rhan will go with her, as will more of our warriors. I don’t know if she will succeed, but I do know that she has the strength to weaken our enemy. If she dies in her struggle, I will finish off this monster. I will bind him to serve me. If she survives … well, she will have served her purpose. But I cannot allow her to spread further sickness among the Razor Heart. Do you agree?”

“I do, my queen.”

“You will go with her,” said Maaqua. “You will serve her in any and every way. You will guard and protect her. Until the demon is vanquished. And then … then you will do what needs to be done. You understand?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Do this for me. Do this for the Razor Heart. And when you return in triumph, the Razor Heart will need a new champion. And perhaps a new warchief.”

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

A
FTER LEAVING THE WAR COUNCIL
, H
WEILAN
returned to the cavern where she’d last seen the Damarans. She thought the hour was past midnight. Their fire had burned down to embers, and all four men were snoring in their pallets. Hweilan used her pack for a pillow and curled inside her own furs. Uncle stood over her, still, absolutely silent.

Hweilan closed her eyes. It was the first moment of absolute quiet she had enjoyed in days. With it came the faint but steady beat in the deep part of her mind, the pulse that let her know the presence of the Enemy. Even with her eyes closed in the cave, she could have pointed straight to Highwatch. The relentless rhythm of that connection reminded her of the danger she faced. But the action of the past days weighed on her, and she could not longer resist the exhaustion.

She did not dream. Not in images, anyway. But something else joined the drumbeat in her mind. It was like a fading echo, with music that brought other sensations—