Wake now, said the music. You have to fight.
“I can’t! Too strong. He’s too strong.”
You do not fight alone. You don’t have to be strong enough. You only have to do your part.
And then Gleed’s words came back to her-You were chosen. By Nendawen himself. But there’s something about you that even the Master had not planned on.
The dream was no longer a road. It had become a river, and Hweilan knew it would be all too easy to drown. Indeed she almost took that path, almost let the river carry her to … wherever. She was so tired.
But then she saw her father’s face again, and those of her mother, her grandfather, Scith, Lendri, Soran, Menduarthis, and Darric. The river tried to push her down to silence, but Hweilan fought to the surface and swam.
She could hear a voice. Not only in her mind, like the visions, but filling her ears. The words were beyond her understanding, but the very sound of them was foul, blasphemous.
She could not move. It was an effort even to breathe. She opened her eyes.
She lay in shadow, and the day’s light was dying in the sky. Not two paces away stood Jagun Ghen, his arms outstretched, his back arched, his head whipping back and forth, as if Menduarthis was fighting the profane words that were being forced out of his throat. But Hweilan could sense their power. Each syllable tore at her mind, like claws rending flesh. And through each rent she could feel Jagun Ghen’s will seeping through, infecting her soul.
Hweilan screamed, but Jagun Ghen ignored her. She looked down and saw that she was bound at the wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles. She lay in the midst of a circle that had been gouged into the stone itself. Every sacred arrow she had put into a baazuled since coming to Highwatch had been planted in the grooves of the pact circle. The runes along their shafts still held a green light, but it flickered and was shot through with bits of molten metal. A fresh body lay next to each arrow. Other baazuled, some undead and some living with the glowing runes etched into their foreheads, stood beyond the bodies. They kneeled and joined in their master’s chant.
She looked beyond them all, searching for any sign of hope or help. It was a place she’d never been before, a high shelf of rock overlooking the fortress. The wall of the mountain rose to one side, broken by a doorway. The sun had long since sunk behind the mountain. In the east …
Hweilan could feel it, as she had felt it that evening in Vaasa with Ashiin. The very air held the tautness of a drumskin. And then she saw it.
The sky over the fortress was thick with smoke, and when the first rim of the full moon rose over the far grasslands, it was red as blood. In her mind, Hweilan felt the BOOM as a presence older than the fabric of Faerun entered the world. The mountain shook, and stones and dust rained down on them from above.
Jagun Ghen laughed.
The baazuled around the pact circle stood up. The symbols on their foreheads blazed. Their fingers twisted into claws, and those few holding weapons raised them. All of them looked to the doorway in the mountain.
Hweilan felt it, too. The Master was coming.
Jagun Ghen’s chant rose to a scream, but he did not turn to face the threat. The symbol on his forehead leaked smoke that hung round his thrashing head like a black halo.
Hweilan writhed and tugged at her bonds but succeeded only in tearing her skin. She felt blood mixing with the sweat under her clothes. The runes in the arrows were leaking tiny tongues of flame, and the wooden shafts were beginning to catch. The ground beneath her trembled.
Huge shapes burst from the mountainside door. Wolves almost as large as bears, three gray and one black as obsidian. They leaped for the baazuled, teeth and claws rending, their growls shaking the ground. The baazuled fought back with blade and fist and claws. Ravens descended on the combatants.
Jagun Ghen’s chant broke-just for a moment-and wind roared down the mountainside, sweeping the ravens away. Hweilan saw one of the gray wolves leap onto a baazuled, her jaws closing on the monster’s throat, and both of them tumbled over the edge.
The arrows around the pact circle exploded, and Hweilan felt the spirits within pass over her like a fiery wind. The other gray wolf went down under the blades of three baazuled and did not get up again. The black wolf burst into flames, but still it fought. It pushed three baazuled over the precipice, and took another with it when it fell.
The dead bodies, several of which had been torn or dragged away in the attack, stood. They spared their master a glance, then every one of them leaped over the side. Hweilan was alone with Jagun Ghen.
The wind died, and Hweilan felt the presence. She turned, and there in the mountainside stood Nendawen. Inside his mask, his gaze burned like green suns, and emerald flames danced along the length of his spear.
Jagun Ghen turned to face him, and the air between them sizzled and sparked.
Nendawen raised his spear and charged. As soon as he stood fully in the light of the moon, he threw the weapon. It cut the air like a falling star, but Jagun Ghen slapped at the air in front of him, and the wind swiped it away. The spear tumbled through the air, riding the current, then turned. Jagun Ghen held out his hand, caught the spear, and planted it on the ground beside him.
“Your time is over,” he said.
Nendawen charged, both hands outstretched into bloody claws-and ran full force into his own spear. The long iron barb tore through his stomach and came out his back. But he didn’t stop. He grabbed the shaft with his left hand and pulled himself up the length of the spear. His blood steamed in the air. He struck out with his right hand, but Jagun Ghen caught it, almost casually, and twisted. The sound of breaking bone hit Hweilan with the force of a slap.
Still holding the spear with one hand, Jagun Ghen struck Nendawen’s bone mask with his other. It cracked. He struck again and again, shattering the mask, then the skull beneath. The antlers fell to the ground. The face beneath the mask was broken and tattered, a bloody ruin pierced by Nendawen’s green gaze.
Jagun Ghen grabbed his ancient enemy by the throat, squeezed, then pulled. Nendawen’s head fell forward, and the light in his eyes died. Then Jagun Ghen released the spear, and the lifeless body slumped to the ground. The primal spirit of the Hunter fled the dead flesh. Hweilan felt it rise and try to flee, but the symbols of the pact circle blazed, flames leaping from them, and a power reached out, seizing the spirit like a fish on a hook. It was caught inside the pact circle.
Jagun Ghen turned and looked down upon Hweilan.
“Now,” he said, “we finish.”
He bent down, grabbed the ropes, and broke them with no more trouble than a seamstress snapping an old thread. First those around her ankles, then working his way up. When the last of them snapped, Hweilan screamed, kicked, punched, used every skill Ashiin had taught her. But she might as well have been striking the waves of the ocean.
Jagun Ghen seized her, pinning her arms to her side, and lifted her. Hweilan thrashed, then slammed her head forward, smashing his nose. Blood flowed down his chin, but he smiled through it.
“Break it all you like,” he said. “I am through with it.”
He grabbed her head and used his thumbnail to gouge a symbol into her forehead. She shook her head and tried to get away, but he was too strong. Blood ran into her eyes.
He clutched a handful of hair and pulled her head back. The force of his power and will pressed on her mind, smothering her. Looking into his eyes was like walking into a forge fire.
Jagun Ghen opened his mouth and forced it onto hers. It was nothing like a kiss. More of an invasion. He inhaled, drawing her own breath out of her, and as it left, Hweilan felt her awareness being pressed down. She tried to scream, but her breath was gone.