The music and light faded. For a moment Hweilan was alone, in the darkness of her mind.
And then she opened her eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
MOONLIGHT STAINED BY SMOKE FELL ON THE mountainside, but it was still more than bright enough for Hweilan to see. She lay on the ground, and for a moment she could see into both worlds-this one and the invisible spirits around them all-
Jagun Ghen, a massive thing of fire and darkness, hurt and weakened but still raging and strong.
And the Hunter, a green light of fangs and claws.
Seeing his ancient foe, Jagun Ghen fled into the nearest refuge-the body of Nendawen.
And then the spirit sight faded, and Hweilan saw only the carnage around her-
Her wolf lay broken and bloody not three paces away. His paws scrabbled at the ground as he tried to rise, but he was too weak.
Menduarthis was sprawled not far from the wolf. He had tried to crawl away, but found only the sheer drop-off beyond, and he was looking to the others for his next move.
Darric stood several paces away from Hweilan, looking down at her with some sort of medallion dangling from his raised hand.
Behind him, Valsun lay in a pool of wet darkness.
Mandan and Hratt were scrambling to their feet.
The young hobgoblin Urlun was sitting up, his wide, fear-filled eyes taking in the scene before him.
She just caught sight of Jaden fleeing back into the mountain doorway.
And then she saw Nendawen rising, the spear still protruding from him. But Hweilan knew the truth of it. This was not the Master of the Hunt. This was his ancient enemy stealing his body, profaning it. The symbol gouged into her forehead, a mass of pain, suddenly felt cool, as if she had been splashed with cool water.
Urlun screamed, for he was the closest to Jagun Ghen. The others turned at his cry and saw the dead man standing up.
Hweilan pushed herself into a sitting position. Her limbs trembled. She felt utterly wrung out.
Darric began approaching Jagun Ghen, the medallion held before him. But Hratt ran past, and Hweilan saw he held something in his bare hand-the stake she had prepared for Jagun Ghen.
“Hratt, no!” she called out.
He stopped and looked at her, confusion on his face.
Jagun Ghen raised himself to his full height, facing them. The eyes in the ruin of his face were no longer green, but glowed red and hungry. They locked on the stake in the hobgoblin warrior’s hand.
Hweilan pushed herself to her feet. “Hratt, run!”
Too late.
Jagun Ghen raised one hand, his eyes blazed, and the stake in Hratt’s hand erupted in fire. The hobgoblin screamed and flung the burning wood away, but flames were already licking their way up his sleeve. He flung himself down, falling on his own arm in an attempt to quell the fire.
Darric held the medallion higher and renewed his advance. “By the Loyal Fury-!”
Jagun Ghen grabbed the haft of the spear, one hand in front, one in back, and snapped it with no more effort than a man snapping a dry twig over his knee. The breeze off the mountain swept over Nendawen’s body and carried with it the scent of flowers, and Hweilan couldn’t help but laugh at the mad absurdity of it. He pulled the broken shaft out of his front and the end with the spearhead out his back.
Mandan ran to help, holding Hweilan’s red knife. Darric was almost within reach of Jagun Ghen.
“No!” Hweilan screamed.
Jagun Ghen swiped the spear haft outward. Bone cracked and the talisman went flying. Darric fell to his knees, grasping his shattered arm.
Hweilan stumbled forward on trembling legs, tears streaming down her face. The wind swirled around her, and for a moment she thought-
But no, Menduarthis had fallen back to the ground and wasn’t moving.
The scent of flowers grew stronger, and brought with it something else-a wetter, iron-tinged flavor in her mouth. Blood. But not dead, reeking blood. Alive.
Tasting that, it all came to her.
Gleed’s words-Nendawen is the Hunter. He has always been the Hunter. He will always be the Hunter. It is his nature.
The vision she had seen of another Hand, who had watched as his teacher and friend was killed. That Hand had fulfilled his calling, giving himself up to the Master, becoming the new host for the Hunter so that the Hunt might continue.
Yes, Hweilan understood. And she recognized that bloody sweet breeze and the tingling on the rune in her forehead, seeking a way inside.
Jagun Ghen raised the black iron spearhead and took a step toward Darric.
Hweilan understood, and she gave in.
Darric saw the monster coming for him, spear raised. He started to rise, but then thought better of it. If he ran …
No. A knight did not run, and a knight did not die on his knees. He could at least buy his brother time.
He stood, let his broken arm fall to his side, and reached for his dagger.
The horror before him had the pointed end of the spear raised to strike-that jagged black iron barb was as long as Darric’s forearm-but the monster instead threw the broken shaft. It tumbled past Darric’s head so close that he felt the wind of its passage, then heard a thunk! as it struck something behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Mandan falling, one side of his face a torn and bloody ruin.
When he turned again, the monster was upon him. Jagun Ghen grabbed a bloody fistful of Darric’s tabard and shoved. Darric fell onto his back, the impact on his arm shooting such agony through him that lights flashed in his vision.
Jagun Ghen planted one foot on Darric’s hip, pressing down, then jabbed the point of the spear into Darric’s stomach.
“You have changed my mind, boy.” His words were slurred as he spoke through the torn lips. Blood dribbled onto Darric’s tabard. “I will no longer kill you last. But I will kill you slow.”
He leaned on the spear, and Darric felt the point break through his mail, piercing his skin. Desperate, he brought his good hand up to try to grab the shaft, to push it away-
But another hand grabbed it first. Smaller than the bloody hand that held the spear, smaller even than Darric’s hand, it gripped the shaft with such strength that the wood creaked. Darric could feel the trembling of opposing forces, one pressing down and another pulling it away.
Darric’s gaze moved from the hand up the arm to the face. Hweilan-!
– only … not. Not any Hweilan he had ever seen. He had seen her fight before with a savage bloodlust that both sickened and-he had to admit-attracted him. The gaze of a beast overtaking its prey. But even that Hweilan was gone.
Her eyes burned with a green fire, and the mind looking out of them did not belong to Hweilan, nor even to a beast, but instead to something primal, an ancient gaze that had seen Faerun’s first sunrise.
Jagun Ghen looked up at her at the same time. “You!”
“I end this,” said Hweilan. The voice was hers but not hers. “I end you. Now.”
Jagun Ghen screamed and struck at her, tearing the spear away from Darric. She caught his arm and held. He tried to bring the half-spear around, but she caught his wrist and held it as well. The body the demon wore was at least three feet taller than Hweilan, his frame corded in tight muscle, but as they grappled it was obvious Jagun Ghen was weaker. His red gaze no longer looked hungry but afraid. Where Hweilan’s hands held him, the skin sizzled and steamed.
The breeze off the mountain strengthened, becoming a strong wind. It scattered the fumes lingering over the fortress, and for the first time the light of the moon shone unsullied on them. Even the stars seemed to bathe them in their cold, hard light.