Then Hweilan’s vision cleared, and she saw that there were no spiders. It was only rope. Thick, hairy twine wrapped round and round her arms and chest, binding her to some sort of ironwood rack. She was sitting on a dirty stone floor, but her legs were also bound, and a thick splint of wood ran down one leg to keep her from bending her legs to kick.
The only light came from a hearth fire a yard or so beyond her feet. And the near walls were gritty stone just a shade lighter than black.
“Forgive the accommodations,” said a familiar voice from behind her, speaking Damaran. Maaqua. “But the sun is still high, and if your medicine drinks in even a hint of sunlight, it turns to the most deadly poison.”
“Medicine?” said Hweilan, and looked more closely at the source of her pain. Her right sleeve was gone-not cut away but torn, judging by the ragged bits of cloth remaining at the edge of her shirt. Just below her shoulder were several links of the rope, and even more bound her from elbow to wrist. But in the bit of skin between the twine was a dark paste, glistening in the firelight and giving off a thin steam. As her heartbeat began to slow and her breathing calmed, Hweilan could hear the muck sizzling against her skin.
“Hurts, yes?” said Maaqua.
Hweilan just clenched her jaw and glared at the old hobgoblin.
“Such a thing you did, tackling me with an arrow in your arm. Tore the muscle quite badly. Brave and stupid. You should know better, girl.”
Someone moved past her toward the fire. Another hobgoblin-a scrawny thing in tattered fur robes covering clothes that looked as if they’d be relegated to rags upon their next wash. He was completely bald on top, but the sides and back of his hair were still black as onyx and lay on his back in a tight braid.
“This is Kaad,” said Maaqua. “My slave. He excels in the healing arts, whereas my own strengths are … elsewhere.”
The hearth fire caught in the hobgoblin queen’s eyes, giving her a malevolent aspect. Kaad returned to the fire and stirred something in a cauldron.
Hweilan took a deep breath through her nose, trying to pick up the scent of the concoction pasted over her wound. Most of the air in the chamber was filled with the dank scent of stone and the acrid smoke from the dung fire. But the steam wafting out of the black muck was very close to her head, and when she took in the second draught of air, she caught the distinct aroma of thistle root, mountain sweet grass, figwort, and dried blood. No … not dried. Burnt. Whether her own or from someone else, she could not determine.
Maaqua saw what she was doing. “Don’t worry. I told you. Just medicine.”
Hweilan ground her teeth against the pain, and said, “What d-day is this?”
She heard Maaqua chuckle behind her. “Counting the days until the fat moon, eh?”
Hweilan wasn’t sure how long she had been unconscious. But at most the full moon was a tenday away. She took a deep breath and steadied herself so that her voice wouldn’t shake, then said, “You’re going to die.”
Maaqua laughed at that, then said, “A common failing of mortals, I’m afraid.”
“You should be.”
Maaqua ran her hand through Hweilan’s hair, ruffling it like a matron might do for a favorite grandchild. Then the old hobgoblin shuffled around so that she stood between Hweilan and Kaad, who was still stirring the cauldron. The ancient crone bent and leaned in close until her nose was only a few inches from Hweilan’s.
Hweilan pushed her head back against the ironwood rack, not out of fear but because the old hobgoblin’s breath was absolutely foul.
“You listen good, girl,” said Maaqua. “I admire boldness. Even brashness I can forgive. But if you think I am going to swallow your disrespect, you are very much mistaken.”
Maaqua straightened, raised her free hand, and slapped Hweilan across the face. The blow itself wasn’t much, but one of the old hobgoblin’s nails raked a new gouge across Hweilan’s left cheek. Maaqua raised her hand again. Hweilan stared up through the hair that had fallen across her face and refused to flinch.
Maaqua slapped her again. She raised her hand for a third, but Kaad grabbed her wrist.
“Please, my queen,” he said. “I beg you. Don’t give me more scrapes to mend.”
Maaqua jerked her arm out of Kaad’s grip and shoved him away, then looked down at Hweilan. “You will speak to me with respect, and I’ll stop hitting you. What say you, eh?”
Hweilan smiled up at her, her gaze daring Maaqua to hit her again.
“Can’t speak with respect, so you won’t speak, eh? Eh?” Maaqua waited for a response. When none came, she said, “Very good. Better that way. If you want to get out of here alive, I talk. You listen.”
“Mistress?” said Kaad from behind Maaqua.
The old crone stepped to one side so that Kaad could kneel beside Hweilan. On his right hand he wore a thick rawhide glove, tattered and scorched, so that he could hold the steaming cauldron.
“This really would be better if she were asleep,” Kaad said to Maaqua in Goblin.
“Too late for that,” said Maaqua, then she looked down at Hweilan. “Just do it.”
Kaad removed something from his robe. Hweilan forced herself to look, half afraid it was going to be a razor or a long needle, but it was only a large spoon made from some reddish gold metal. Runes were etched along its length, but Hweilan couldn’t read them. They weren’t in Goblin or, for that matter, any language Hweilan had ever seen. Kaad held it vertically before his face, closed his eyes, and whispered an incantation. A shimmer of purple light ran down the length of the spoon, catching and sparkling in the runes. He dipped the spoon into the cauldron and removed another large dollop of the steaming muck.
“You might want to look away,” said Maaqua.
Hweilan didn’t.
With a half-apologetic glance, Kaad poured the contents of the spoon onto her wound.
The pain was worse than pouring hot oil on skin. Oil burned and slid away. This new muck reacted with the stuff already on her arm, sizzling and bubbling and burrowing into her wound. Hweilan felt her skin crisping away. She clenched her jaw shut and tears streamed down her cheeks, but she did not scream.
Instead, she looked up at Maaqua, staring at her through the blur of her tears. “Wh-where is my wolf? Where is my mother’s body? And th-those … Damaran … idiots?”
“Your damned wolf is gone. The monster got away. Turned tail and ran. Had two arrows in him last we saw, but no one has found a trace of him. Your mother’s body has been … taken care of.” A strange look flitted across Maaqua’s face at that. Hweilan thought the old queen almost looked annoyed.
“ ‘Taken care of?’ What do you mean my mother has been ‘taken care of?’ ”
“That isn’t your most grave concern at the moment,” said Maaqua. “Your three friends are still in their hole, though I had my soldiers throw some blankets down to them so that the scrawny one would stop his whining.”
Kaad returned to the fire and the cauldron. The end of the spoon was still glowing when he put it back in his robes.
What Maaqua’s brutes might have done to her mother’s body filled Hweilan with a cold rage, and she swore to herself that if she lived through this, every one of them would pay. But Maaqua’s words were not completely without merit. If Hweilan wanted a hope of seeing to her mother or raining bloody vengeance on anyone who had dishonored her, she had to get out of this first. Still, there was one more thing she had to know.
“A-and … Mandan?” said Hweilan.
Hweilan caught the careful glance Kaad gave his mistress.
“You mean the big one?” said Maaqua.
“That’s him.”
Maaqua leaned on her staff and looked Hweilan directly in the eye. There was no anger there, but neither could Hweilan miss the steel in the old hobgoblin’s voice. “This … Mandan … killed two of my warriors and kept Kaad here quite busy healing five others. One of the warriors he killed had a mate. And children. Mandan will be bound to the Stone of Hoar, and the dead warrior’s family will … do as they will, until the big one is quite dead. His body will remain there. Food for crows. After ten tendays, anything that remains will be thrown in the midden pits.”