She set the orb on the bed of owl feathers, then adjusted the crown on her head. The gold circlet had two points rising above each temple and a third above her forehead. Three rubies sat in the circlet, just above Maaqua’s eyes, and they reflected the light of the orb. The Crown of Whispers, which Maaqua had taken from the hands of Soneillon herself. Maaqua hoped it would give her the edge she needed.
She closed her eyes and continued the incantation. Something flickered over Maaqua’s head, the barest bit of light, no more than the spark from touching metal after rubbing dry wool. But the green spark grew in brilliance. It shot off tiny jolts of jagged lightning in every direction, each slightly larger than the last, until it was the same size as the red orb in front of Maaqua. The green fire flared a final time, then settled into a steady glow. A crack formed across its middle, widening like the lids of an opening eye.
Maaqua smiled, though her words did not falter. The eye looked eastward, over mountains and valleys, needing no light and piercing every shadow, until its gaze settled upon Nar-sek Qu’istrade and the castle that looked down upon it. Highwatch lay dark under the night sky, no fires burning in its stone chambers. The queen burrowed deeper, seeking the mind of her enemy.
There.
In what had once been the chambers of the High Warden’s family, a mind of fire and hunger burned inside the failing body of a mortal. There were others throughout the fortress, but they were only flickering torches against the mountain heartbeat of this one. Jagun Ghen.
Maaqua’s smile widened.
From below the tower came the sound of horns. Someone had raised the alarm. Maaqua dismissed the sound. She balanced on a razor’s edge now. The slightest misstep …
The queen burrowed deeper with her magic, her vision going beyond mere sight to the will and intent of the thing that lurked in Highwatch. If it was aware of her presence, it gave no hint. Pleased, she fathomed the outer whispers of the thing’s mind, learning a thing or two and confirming much of what she already expected. Then one thing surprised her so much she actually gasped and opened her eyes.
No. She had learned too much. What else might there be? Her curiosity unsated, she closed her eyes, concentrated, and went deeper.
Then Maaqua screamed.
Hratt sat in the pitch black chamber, with his back and head resting against the door. After he’d told the warrior outside who had the other key what had happened, he’d been left alone with the still-unconscious Drureng. It gave him time to think.
Which way to go? Which way to run?
For run he surely must. He’d betrayed his queen.
When Hweilan demanded the key to the room, he had of course refused. But then she’d raised her hands, showing one of the forge hammers in her left and the red knife in the other, and said, “Please.”
Hratt had been a warrior for almost ten years. After watching her fight, though, he knew he stood little chance against her. But it wasn’t in him to give in. He lunged at her with the torch, hoping at most to get past her and run for help.
She smirked-actually smirked!-at him, batted the torch away with the hammer, then brought the flat of its head into Hratt’s belly. He folded over, all breath gone, and from the edge of his vision saw the knife coming for him. He clenched his jaw and prepared for the worst.
He felt the edge of the knife slide down his torso-but not stabbing or even cutting his flesh. Hweilan sliced neatly through his belt, kicked his feet out from under him, then yanked his trousers down around his knees and twisted, tangling his feet. Her full weight came down on his back and he felt cold steel rest against his thigh.
“Now, Hratt,” she said, “I know you have that key. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. I am not stealing. Everything in that room belongs to me, and I want it back. You’re going to give me the key, then you’re going to tell me where Maaqua is.”
Hratt gave a quick look around. His torch was well out of reach, as was the spear Drureng had dropped. Nothing but his bare hands.
“Well?” she said.
“To the Hells with you!”
“Hratt!” The knife didn’t move, but she gave his trousers a sharp yank. “Not all that long ago, I sliced Rhan’s legs so he couldn’t follow me. But I’m done slicing legs.”
The sharp steel moved up his inner thigh until he felt the edge rest against his groin.
“I’ll have to find something else to slice. Something I think you’ll miss.”
He reached inside his shirt, grabbed the key from where it hung on a leather cord, and yanked it off. He handed it to her.
She snatched it. “Very good. Thank you, Hratt. Now, where is Maaqua?”
He closed his eyes and swallowed. “No.”
She brought the knife up, just slightly, just enough to draw blood.
He shrieked, then said, “She’ll kill me! The queen will kill me!”
“Probably,” said Hweilan. “But she’s not here. I am. You should worry about what I’ll do, don’t you think? You can tell me what I want to know, then wait here for your queen to kill you. Or you can hold your tongue, and …”
A little more pressure on the knife.
Hratt was a sworn blade of the Razor Heart, his life pledged to protect queen and clan. But he was also a male. And so he talked. A little more pressure on that knife, and he would have sung.
Now here he was, locked in a dark store room, contemplating how he would get away and where he would go. Because if that girl didn’t kill Maaqua, then Hratt was most certainly due a painful death.
He’d heard rumors of a renegade Razor Heart and a Nar-Urdun and Gyul-living in the Giantspires, making what living they could by guiding caravans through the Gap. But no, joining up with them would put Hratt in too great a danger of running into the Razor Heart. South and east were nothing but trouble these days, and the north was no place for a lone vagabond.
“West it is, then,” he said to himself. “Damn all humans.” He used the bit of cloth he’d torn from his finest cloak and daubed at the blood leaking from the shallow cut in the fork of his legs. “And twice damn human females.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Avoiding the hobgoblins had been no more than a minor nuisance. Hweilan had just emerged from the lower levels of the fortress when she heard the horns and figured Rhan had likely been found. No matter. The hobgoblins were like a pack of hunting hounds who suddenly had a fox dropped in their midst. Angry and surprised, they were so eager to move, to be doing something, that they were mostly just making noise and bumping into each other. Buureg and their other leaders would get them organized eventually, but most everyone in the fortress was more than half drunk. Compared to an afternoon’s training with the Fox, this would be easy.
She had no doubt Hratt had told her what he knew about Maaqua’s whereabouts. Very few warriors could think up a good lie when facing imminent emasculation. And Hweilan had to find Maaqua first. She might make it out of the fortress, but she couldn’t have Razor Heart hunting her the whole way through the mountains. Otherwise, she might never reach Highwatch. But for that, she’d need help.
So Hweilan made her way to the upper regions of the fortress where its high walls became one with the mountain. She had spied this area the day before when Hratt had taken her to Mandan. One side trail had looked promising, though so steep that its steps were more ladder than stairs and overgrown with tough brush with roots that burrowed into the rock itself. Her unstrung bow and quiver riding on her back, Hweilan swiftly made her way up.
Her instincts served her well. The trail led up to a higher shelf of rock. She could tell by the detritus of bones and an old wineskin that the place was sometimes used as a watch post, but there were no permanent chambers there. The remnants of an old trail twisted a bit farther upward, but it was choked by weeds and an old rockfall. Someone might come from that way, but not without Hweilan hearing them first.