Cry of the Ghost Wolf: Neverwinter NiChosen of Nendawen, Book III (31 page)

H
WEILAN HEARD THE CONFRONTATION LONG BEFORE
she saw it. Voices raised in argument—and one voice above all the others. When she walked up to the campfire, Valsun was holding Darric, who was screaming and facing down five hobgoblin warriors, all of whom had clubs in their hands and looked eager to use them. Jaden stood several paces away, eating a bowl of stew. His gaze flitted between the confrontation and four other warriors keeping an eye on him. All too easy to read him. If a fight broke out, Jaden was ready to run.

“Take me to him
now
, damn you!” Darric screamed. “You take me or I’ll—!”

“Darric!” Hweilan shouted as she approached the fire.

Everyone turned to look at her and the wolf and hobgoblin warriors walking behind her.

“Hweilan?” said Darric.

“What do you think you’re doing? You really think you can threaten them into giving you what you want?”

“They
still
won’t let me see Mandan! Hweilan, my—”

“Mandan is fine,” said Hweilan. “I just left him. Kaad was seeing to him. I expect your brother will be here before long.”

A look of almost comical bewilderment passed over Darric’s face. “I … I don’t understand. They said—they told me Mandan was to be killed.”

“He was,” said Hweilan. “But we made a deal.”

“A deal?” said Valsun.

“What kind of deal?” said Darric.

Hweilan kept her face still. “The Razor Heart have agreed to release Mandan … if Jaden will marry the queen’s daughter.”

“What?” said one of the hobgoblins near Darric. “Maaqua has no daughter.” But he spoke it in Goblin, so none of the Damarans understood him. But his companion seemed to have caught on and nudged him to silence.

“Your friend here offers his congratulations,” said Hweilan to Jaden.

That did it. Jaden let out a squawk, then ran for it.

None of the hobgoblins bothered to try to stop him. Indeed, none could have. Not only was Jaden surprisingly swift for someone so small and thin, but the hobgoblins all began laughing so hard that they had trouble standing.

Hweilan looked down at Uncle. “I supposed you’d better go get him before he does something stupid.
Wutheh
Jaden.”

The wolf bounded off into the dark. Hweilan picked up the bowl and finished the contents.

“I still don’t understand,” said Darric. “Jaden married?”

“Who would want to marry that git?” said Valsun. “Poor girl.”

Hweilan smiled. “There’s no marriage. A little fun on my part, I’m afraid.” She set the bowl back down by the fire.

Darric’s jaw tightened in anger. “My brother—!”

“Is fine,” said Hweilan. “We bargained for his life. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when he gets here.”

“He’s really coming, then?” said Valsun.

“As I said, Kaad is seeing to him now. I’m sure you’ll be one of the first things on his mind. So don’t do anything stupid until he gets here. I’m done trying to rescue people for the day.”

She turned and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Darric called after her.

“War council.”

Maaqua held her council in a chamber deep inside the mountain. The vast cavern, wider than a tourney field, overwhelmed the small gathering. Witchlights fluttered around the chamber like down on a breeze, giving a bluish-green light to the proceedings. Those attending sat in the very center of the chamber so that no one could approach without being seen.

Maaqua and Elret were there, as were a few others in rune-decorated robes that Hweilan took to be priestesses or disciples of some sort. Warchief Buureg attended with his favored warriors, and the elders of the Razor Heart’s most prominent families finished the roster. All told, there were only two dozen hobgoblins and Hweilan assembled in the chamber.

When they were all settled, Maaqua looked around the room and scowled. “Where is Rhan?”

Buureg gave Hweilan a warning glance, but she ignored it.

“The Cauldron of the Slain,” said Hweilan. “He stands vigil.”

Maaqua’s scowl deepened, but she said no more.

The queen laid out her intentions to the council. She would send Hweilan and the Damarans on their way with whatever warriors wanted to accompany them. The old schemer phrased it as if Hweilan was going out at Maaqua’s behest to fight the Razor Heart’s enemies. But Hweilan said nothing to contradict her. If the queen had to embellish a bit to get her people on her side, so be it. Maaqua would also send other parties of warriors throughout the mountains in hopes of distracting Highwatch’s attention.

“That won’t matter,” said Hweilan.

“Eh?” said Maaqua.

“Jagun Ghen”—Maaqua flinched at the name—“can sense me. You could send every warrior you have to light fire to the mountains, and he would still know I’m coming. He’ll know right where I am.”

“So what do you intend?” said Buureg. “To just walk right in to Highwatch and challenge him?”

Hweilan shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Fool,” one of the elders muttered.

Hweilan ignored him and fixed her gaze on Maaqua. “But I know where he is. Finding him isn’t the trouble. Getting to him … that is where you could be of help.”

“What do you mean?” said Maaqua.

“Send your warriors. But not to harry any baazuled in the mountains. Attack Highwatch with every warrior you can spare. It won’t be easy. In fact, it will be bloody and brutal. But if your people can keep enough of Jagun Ghen’s forces busy … perhaps I can get to him. And if I can get to him, I can end this.”

None of the councilors balked. They had either seen the baazuled apparate on their doorstep or heard the tale from those who had. There was no question they had to take action. And if they could send an outsider to do the work for them … all the better. Hweilan explained where she needed them to attack and when.

“Very well,” said Maaqua. “It shall be done.”

Hweilan thought the worst of the talking was over and was about to get up to leave—the
gunhin
was finally wearing off and she actually felt sleepy—when Maaqua said, “There is one other matter.”

The hobgoblins looked at each other, all of them obviously at a loss as to what she meant. Except for Buureg, Hweilan noted.

The warchief motioned to the guards who were standing at the edge of the chamber near the entrance. “Bring him!”

Four hobgoblin warriors in full armor led another. Walking between them, this one wore only a ragged pair of trousers. Even his feet were bare. He didn’t quite limp, but walked very carefully, as if—

It was Hratt, and Hweilan knew exactly why he was walking that way.

The procession stopped just shy of the council. One of the guards behind Hratt raised his spear and struck him behind the knees, knocking the hobgoblin to the floor.

Buureg said, “Hratt, you know why you are here. You were a sworn blade of the Razor Heart. A good killer who served our people well. Until now.”

Hratt raised his head, but his eyes were downcast.

Maaqua cleared her throat and began the accusations. “You beat the guards assigned to watch the condemned Damaran—one of them nearly to death.”

“He saved their lives,” said Hweilan.

“Eh?” said Maaqua. “How in the fuming Hells do you figure that?”

“If Hratt hadn’t beaten them, I would have killed them. They were torturing my friend—and stealing from Ruuket and her children. Whichever way you look at it, what Hratt did to those rats, he did to serve the Razor Heart.”

Maaqua started to reply, but Buureg spoke first.

“I agree.”

The queen shot him a venomous look, and several of the others shook their heads in disappointment.

“I know those Hratt beat,” said Buureg, “or know of them. It is no accident that warriors their age are still doing midnight guard duty. They are worthless curs. Hratt did right.”

Maaqua waved it away. Hweilan caught the slight tremble in the queen’s hand. It seemed she still wasn’t entirely healed after her ordeal with Jagun Ghen.

“As you say, warchief,” said Maaqua. “But what this one did … that I cannot forgive.”

Buureg nodded. “On this, I also agree.”

The warchief stood and drew his knife. “Hratt, you betrayed your oaths. You betrayed your queen. You betrayed the Razor Heart.”

He paused, letting the gravity of the accusations sink in. Hratt did not move. Did not even look up.

“You know the punishment,” said Buureg. “You are condemned to the life of a slave—to continue your service to the Razor Heart as the worthless skulker you are—or to death. You choose.”

Hweilan groaned. She only thought she was done rescuing people tonight.

Hratt stood. Glaring at his guards, daring them to strike him again, he said, “I choose death.”

“So be it,” said Buureg, his tone approving, even proud. He stepped forward, knife raised.

Hweilan surged to her feet, but before she could speak, Maaqua said, “Stop! Warchief, a moment.”

Buureg looked to Maaqua. “My queen?”

“When your warriors found this one trying to flee, what was it he told them?”

“He told them nothing.”

“Ah,” said Maaqua, a mischievous glint in her eye. “But what was it he told you? Afterward?”

The warchief swallowed and cast a sidelong glance at Hweilan. “Hratt said—”

“She threatened to geld me,” said Hratt, pointing at Hweilan. “Subdued me like a lost lamb, stuck my crotch with her knife, and told me she’d finish the cut if I didn’t talk.”

“And you talked?” said Maaqua.

Hratt looked at Buureg’s knife, which he still had not lowered. “I did.”

“Hm,” said Maaqua. “So you betrayed your people to save your manhood. Then death it is. A most just judgment, warchief. But I am not satisfied.”

“What do you mean?” said Buureg.

“Hratt the rat chose to betray me to save his manhood. I demand satisfaction. Take your knife and bring me his manhood. Now.”

A low moan escaped Hratt, and his knees buckled. For a moment Hweilan thought he was fainting, but his collapse turned into a lunge. He barreled into the nearest guard with his shoulder, throwing the hobgoblin into Buureg, then lunged at the next.

The air sizzled, and a flash of light shot past Hweilan, striking Hratt between the shoulder blades. He screamed and collapsed.

Hweilan turned to see Elret standing behind her queen, a wand in one hand, still giving off faint sparks.

Maaqua yawned, then said, “Get up and do your duty, warchief. I’m growing tired.”

“No,” said Hweilan.

Maaqua rolled her eyes. “You aren’t starting that again, are you? Ruuket isn’t going to kill your big friend, and your three idiots are out of their hole. Why do you care what happens to that one?”

Hweilan did care, but it didn’t surprise her. She’d known Hratt only a day and had no strong affection for him. But this wasn’t about Hratt. Maaqua was still stinging from Hweilan tricking her and then having the audacity to save her life. Though she couldn’t strike Hweilan directly, she’d indulge her cruelty for all to see, all the while making it Hweilan’s fault. It was the queen’s way of getting back at the Hand. And her petty cruelty angered Hweilan. But she’d learned—from Gleed, from Ashiin, and even from Buureg today—that the best way to strike an enemy was with reason.

And so she said, “It’s my fault he betrayed you.”

“Don’t be an idiot, girl,” said Maaqua. “He made his choice. He will face the consequences.”

“No.”

Elret pointed the wand at Hweilan.

“Her wand won’t kill you,” said Maaqua. “But it will ruin your evening. I remind you that you are a guest here, girl. You make no demands on me. You are not Razor Heart. You have no say in our judgments.”

“Hratt can come with me.”

“Eh?”

“He chose death. You heard him. Let him come with me to Highwatch. Chances are very good that is a death sentence. And if he does live, will that not prove his loyalty to queen and clan?”

“No,” said Maaqua. “That would only prove he’d do anything to save his danglies.”

“Then I’ll buy him.”

Maaqua threw back her head and laughed. Several of the council joined in. Not Elret. She still held the wand steady on Hweilan.

Buureg pushed himself to his feet. “You heard Hratt. He chose death, not slavery.”

Hweilan looked down at Hratt, who still lay senseless. All four guards stood over him, their spearpoints lowered at his back. “I think,” said Hweilan, “he chose your knife between his ribs or a quick slash across the throat. Not death by gelding.”

One of the elders pushed herself to her feet. The old hobgoblin didn’t look as old as Maaqua, but Hweilan had no doubt it would have taken all ten fingers and then some to add up her decades. Her robes bore many of the same markings and runes of Maaqua and her disciples, but the medallion around her neck gave her away. A double axe head made of steel, its edges stained in what Hweilan was sure was real blood. A priestess of Maglubiyet. Hweilan was no expert on the rituals of goblin religion. But growing up in the shadow of the Giantspires, she and her people would have been fools not to learn the ways of the enemy.

“What he
intended
doesn’t matter,” said the priestess. “He made his choice. We all heard him. Only a coward turns his back when the rocks grow sharp.”