“As you wish.” He shrugged, picked up his sword, and walked away. Uncle watched him until he was out of sight, then looked up at Hweilan.
She returned the wolf’s gaze, and neither of them blinked. “Why won’t you talk? Why won’t you-” she struggled for the right word, then gave up-“change? Or can you not change?”
She’d asked Gleed, and the old goblin had confessed he didn’t know. Living, Lendri had been able to change from wolf to elf whenever he wished. But he wasn’t living any more. Not dead either, but some state in between. Not even undead, though Gleed had explained to her it was something like it. Ken kucheh, he had calling it. “Living dead.” Even though the wolf’s heart did not beat and he only breathed to make a sound or find a scent, the spirit in him moved the body. Gleed did not know if this new state of being kept Lendri in his present form, if his mind and spirit had somehow been damaged, or if he was keeping this form out of pure spite. And if Gleed didn’t know, Hweilan could only guess. She had named him Uncle out of spite, that was certain. If he would not speak to her, she would not grace him with his given name.
She kneeled so she could look him in the eye. “Tell me of my mother’s father.”
Uncle blinked. Nothing more.
“A name,” said Hweilan. “That’s all I want.”
Nothing.
Hweilan ground her jaw, thinking, then said, “I’ll tell you a name, then. Someone I met on the dream path. Haerul.”
Uncle growled. That low rumble from deep in his chest. Close as he was now, Hweilan could feel the ground trembling with the force of it.
“Tell me my grandfather’s name,” said Hweilan.
Uncle snapped at her, his teeth closing less than an inch from her nose. But she didn’t flinch. The wolf turned and walked a few paces away.
Hweilan stood and called after him. “If you won’t speak, at least keep watch while I prepare.”
The wolf padded off to guard the path.
Hweilan sat down next to her mother’s body, facing it. Even though she knew it was a corpse and the demon that had used it was long gone, she could not bring herself to turn her back on it.
Rhan had done a masterful job of wrapping the body in the cloth, then binding it. The hobgoblin champion had taken great care, and Hweilan had to admit she was touched. It almost made her feel guilty for severing the tendons in his leg the night before.
Hweilan closed her eyes and prayed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When the thing had first seized Menduarthis, he had never before been so afraid. Over the years, he had learned the value of caution, though with the power he had gained in Ellestharn, there were few things that he truly feared. But the one that still haunted him, the one secret he told absolutely no one, was the one that had been with him the longest. Since childhood. More than anything, being confined in a tight place terrified him. Small rooms made his skin feel too tight, and he could not even abide heavy blankets while he slept.
On Maaqua’s doorstep, he thought he had done a reasonably good job of hiding his growing panic. When the rotten thing had gouged her yellowed fingernail into his forehead, even then he had held on to reason-he’d suffered far worse wounds in his days than a little ripped skin. But then-so quickly he hadn’t even had time to resist-that wound had opened a doorway into his mind, and some thing had entered him.
That had been his worst moment. It had been confinement not just of his body but of his mind as well. Every movement, every sensation, taste, touch, sight, all of it had been taken from him. It had felt like drowning, pressure, sinking, blackness-but it had burned like fire.
Since then, awareness had come to him in broken images and sounds. Like dreams. Only they were all confused. He tasted light, felt sounds, heard smells-all of them tinged with the reek of flame. Now and then, the dream splintered, and he woke to fight. But every time the black fire returned.
Menduarthis was growing weaker, and he knew it. He could no longer put names to many of the images in his dreams, could not remember the feel of winter or the smell of flowers. But always the fire burned in his mind.
And then it was gone. All at once the substance of Menduarthis’s reality-fraught with hundreds of cracks and fissures-shattered entirely.
He fell to the ground, fighting to breathe, and only then remembered what ground and breath were. Dry grass rasped between his fingers, and he could feel wind-real wind and not the foul miasmas of his dreams-stirring his hair. His tongue felt swollen, his skin dry and cracked.
“It’s awake,” said a deep voice from nearby.
Menduarthis opened his eyes, and the sheet of silver stars overhead struck him as the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, their light pure and unsullied. Then a deeper darkness moved between him and the sky.
It took most of his strength and all of his will to raise his head. He was outside. It was full dark, but the starlight seemed very bright, and Selune, riding a third of the way up the sky, was only a few days from her fullness. The wall of cliffs in the distance told Menduarthis where he was. He’d never been here, but the place had a reputation. Nar-sek Qu’istrade, the grass-covered valley at the foot of Highwatch, hemmed in by the last embrace of the Giantspires.
“I know you,” said another voice.
The sound that hit Menduarthis’s ears cracked with the effort of speaking. But under it he sensed a will that was far stronger than anything he had ever faced. Kunin Gatar’s power would melt and steam away before this flame.
“I know who you are. I know what you are. And what you tried to become. You reached far, grasping at mist. And when true power came into your reach … you let her go. I know what you are. And I name you: fool.”
… her? Her who? Hweilan.
The name floated up out of the darkness to settle in Menduarthis’s mind. And around it, more of reality solidified. Beyond the sensation of his surroundings, Menduarthis remembered who Hweilan was, who he was … and who was speaking to him.
He raised his head. Other figures stood nearby. Not pacing. But every one of them swayed or twitched with nervous energy, and Menduarthis was reminded of cocoons twitching as moths struggled to break free.
Beyond all of them was a deeper shadow that the moon and starlight seemed unable to touch. It gave off a presence-not one Menduarthis could feel on his skin, but it burned his spirit. Jagun Ghen. Menduarthis knew it beyond a doubt. He had scoffed at Lendri’s tale to Hweilan. But his derision had only been to mask his own fear. Even he had heard of the Destroyer. The Burning Hunger from the Abyss.
Menduarthis knew he was doomed. However, now that he could see starlight and feel the wind again, it didn’t seem so bad. And even though he did not have the strength to rise, neither would he cringe.
So instead he laughed. It was little more than a rasping croak, and it hurt so badly that it brought tears to his eyes. But he clenched his jaw against the pain and forced words out of his mouth. “Let … her go. You make it … sound easy. You’ve been chasing her. For months. Me? I wasn’t even trying. Not much. And I still came closer to her than you. Me a fool? Heh. Name thyself.”
He felt the shadow stir, but nothing more. He cursed his luck. Infuriating others had always been one of his greatest talents. He’d hoped to stir this monster to a rage, to provoke the demon into killing him before the fire returned to bind Menduarthis and pull him back down to darkness.
“The spider,” said Jagun Ghen.
“What?”
“Your … little flower. She fancies herself a hunter. She learned from the Old Spider. All the lore and knowledge of her people. But she missed the most important lesson. Of all the hunters, the spider is the wisest. It never leaves its lair. It spins its web … and waits for the fly.”