Black spots filled her vision. She closed her eyes, still thrashing but unable to free herself. When she opened her eyes again, she could see nothing. And then the sheer force of Jagun Ghen’s mind buried her.
The river took her again, and this time she was too weak to fight against it. Memories flowed over her-childhood, the fall of Highwatch, all the visions of Kesh Naan, learning from Gleed and training with Ashiin. Jagun Ghen tore through them all, opened them up, and poured himself in, like dye staining the weave of a cloth.
Every secret thought, every desire and shame and hidden guilt he ripped apart, consuming them, making them a part of himself. But for every one he swallowed, it only made him hungrier for more.
One vision ran through all the others, and she saw each memory through two images at once. There were the remembrances of her past and those of her ancestors, but above them all she saw the mountainside over the fortress. She saw the broken baazuled finding fresh prey among the hobgoblins in Highwatch, killing them, taking their life essence to heal their wounds, then running, scattering to the four winds.
On the shelf of rock, in the midst of the pact circle, Jagun Ghen clutched Hweilan in a profane parody of a lover’s embrace, his jaws locked over her mouth, his essence pouring into her, filling her.
Something glimmered within the darkness of the doorway in the mountainside. Just a hint of light at first, but then it became fire. A makeshift torch appeared, held high by a young man dressed in a filthy knight’s tabard and mail. Darric … that was his name. Hweilan had to struggle, but eventually she recognized him. Mandan and Valsun ran behind him, Hratt and Urlun following, and then Jaden, wide-eyed and frightened. Darric had brought them. He’d done as she’d asked. But late … too late …
They ran onto the shelf, their mouths open in screams, though Hweilan could not hear them, could hear only the beating of Jagun Ghen’s heart, in perfect unison with her own.
Darric raised his sword and ran for them.
And then Hweilan fell into darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A burning brand in one hand, his sword in the other, Darric hurtled out of the tunnel. A strong breeze off the mountain reduced his torch to a flicker, but there was enough light from the moon and stars to reveal the ruin of battle before him. The hacked corpse of a massive wolf lay near the edge of the precipice, and beyond the doorway lay the body of a large man, his face a ruin, a massive spear run all the way through him. Flames burned in a circle cut into the rock floor of the wide shelf. But it was the spectacle in the midst of it that drew all Darric’s attention.
Menduarthis held Hweilan in a tight embrace. Her arms were pinned beneath his, and the first thing that went through Darric’s mind was the memory of the eladrin’s playful lechery. For an instant he dared let himself hope. If Menduarthis had been freed of the demon-free enough to cajole more kisses-then Hweilan had won.
Then both figures dropped to the ground, like puppets whose strings had been cut. The flames in the circle flickered out. Still, an oppressive presence bore down on the shelf. The wind was no more than a strong breeze off the mountain, but Darric could feel great forces moving, brushing against his mind.
Darric cast his torch aside and ran to Hweilan, falling to his knees beside her. Her entire body trembled as if with fever. Her forehead was a mess of torn skin and blood. He reached out one hand to touch her face. Her skin was cool to the touch, and he saw that both her eyes were twitching back and forth beneath the lids, as if she were caught in a deep dream.
“Is she-?” Valsun came to a halt behind Darric.
“Not dead,” said Darric. “But-”
Menduarthis moaned.
Darric raised his sword, ready to strike, and he heard the clatter of armor behind him. He grabbed Hweilan by the elbow. “Help me get her away from him!”
Menduarthis rolled over and looked up at them. Mandan was standing over him, club raised to strike. Darric spared a quick glance over one shoulder and saw Jaden and Urlun backing away, but Hratt stood his ground. The hobgoblin had his bow raised, an arrow pulled to his cheek and pointed straight at Menduarthis.
“What …?” said Menduarthis, then he blinked. His head fell back on the ground, and he looked up at Mandan and said, “Where …?”
Through the filthy tangle of the eladrin’s hair, Darric saw the rune carved into his forehead. It was scabbed over and smeared with dirt and dried blood, but it was just a wound now. No fiery light leaked from it. And the eladrin’s muscles were not pulled taut as harpstrings. His skin sagged over the sharp bones of his cheeks and chin, and under the smoky light of the moon, he looked downright ghastly.
“Burns …,” said Menduarthis. “It …”
Under his hand, Darric felt Hweilan’s arm stiffen, hard as steel, and she thrashed out of his grip. Her boot struck his shoulder, sending him sprawling, and it was all Darric could do to keep hold of his sword. Valsun screamed something, but Darric didn’t catch the words.
Darric pushed himself to his feet and looked. Hweilan crouched several paces away, her arms held out and low, her fingers twisted into claws. The rising moon was at her back, her face in shadow, and the lines of a jagged, twisting symbol glowed from her forehead. Darric felt his heart stop, just for a moment, then he gasped, “No!”
Valsun cast aside his sword and grabbed the talisman hanging from a chain round his neck. Both the chain and the talisman, crafted in the shape of a gauntlet, were no more than steel, but they had once been blessed by a high cleric. Darric hoped the talisman might suddenly blaze with holy light. It didn’t. But as Valsun held it before him, Hweilan flinched and took a step back.
“By the True Resurrection,” Valsun said, “in the name of the Loyal Fury, Torm the Just, I re-!”
Hweilan growled and took a step forward. There was nothing human in the sound, and it confirmed Darric’s fear. Jagun Ghen had taken Hweilan.
Valsun held his ground. “You have no place in this world, demon!”
“Try this!” Hratt stepped forward to stand beside Hweilan. He had dropped the bow. In one hand he held the stake that they had found in the courtyard below. Hratt had insisted he recognized the symbols carved on it to be in the same style as the inks on Hweilan’s skin. In his other hand he held the red knife they had also found.
Hweilan laughed. “Those hold no more fear for me. All their power I left to rot.”
It was Hweilan’s voice but … not. Something in it wasn’t just wrong but absolutely profane.
“Let her go,” said Darric.
She turned her gaze on him. “I will kill you last. I will eat you, and she will watch. She will taste your blood.”
Valsun took a step forward, the talisman held before him. Hratt was right beside him, the red knife raised to strike, the stake held low. Mandan had moved around to approach her from behind.
“Don’t hurt her!” said Darric.
Mandan ran forward, his club raised crosswise in both hands. But he didn’t hit her. He brought the length of the club in front of her and pulled her to him.
“Now, Valsun!” He shouted.
Hweilan grabbed the club, stepped forward, and threw Mandan over her back. He was much taller and more than twice her weight, but he flew through the air and struck Hratt, sending them both crashing to the ground. Hweilan whirled, and when she came around she threw Mandan’s club.
Had Valsun been wearing full plate, he might have only been knocked down, but he wore only mail over his clothes. So when the thick end of the club struck him in the chest, Darric heard a crunch! of bone. The talisman went flying as Valsun landed on his back. Hweilan was on him in an instant. One swipe of her right hand, and a fountain of blood washed over Darric.