Read Online Cry of the Ghost Wolf: Neverwinter NiChosen of Nendawen, Book III by Mark Sehesdedt - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Sehesdedt
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look in his eyes told Hweilan she had him. He had not decided yet, but he was considering.
“You’ll be dead tomorrow,” said Kaad.
“Not if you help me.”
“I cannot help you escape,” he said. His hands were shaking. She was losing him. “It would mean worse than death for me. Maaqua …”
“I’m not asking you to cut me loose,” she said. “You are a healer, Kaad. I just need you to bring me something.”
“Bring you? Bring you what?”
“
Drakthna
,” said Hweilan. “It’s a mushroom that—”
“I know what it is.” And by the look in his eyes, he obviously knew what it did as well. “I have some.”
“Good,” said Hweilan. “I need only a little. And do you know
iruil
?”
“White or green?”
“White. But I need the root, not the flower.”
The sound of heavy boots came from outside. Heading their way.
Kaad leaped to his feet, and Hweilan saw his skin go pale. He was trembling even more now, guilt written all over his face. Hweilan could hear the clink of armor along with the heavy tread of boots, and the breeze coming in through the door brought the mingled stink of oiled steel, leather, and unwashed hobgoblins.
The room darkened as two hobgoblin warriors filled the doorway. One held an iron studded club in one hand, and his companion had a jagged-edged dagger. Their helmets hidmost of their faces, but she could see a wariness in their eyes as they stared at her.
Hweilan kept her face still, emotionless, but she looked the larger one directly in the eye, and the warrior dropped his gaze first.
They came inside and walked behind her, one to each side. Kaad scrambled to the far corner and stared at the floor. Hweilan tried to turn around to see what the warriors were up to, but her bonds held her too tight. More shadows fell across the floor. Maaqua shuffled back into the room, with another hobgoblin behind her.
Hweilan recognized him. She’d last seen him in armor, and now he was dressed only in furs and skins, but the scar that ran diagonally across his face, pulling the corner of his mouth into a permanent frown, and the left ear that was only half there gave him away. She’d seen him on the mountainside when she’d held the point of her knife under his throat.
Maaqua looked down on Hweilan. “You have met Buureg, Warchief of the Razor Heart.”
Buureg blinked once but otherwise displayed no emotion whatsoever. Then he looked down on her and said, “Rhan, Champion of the Razor Heart, wielder of the Greatsword of Impiltur, demands the right of Blood Slake. With you, Hweilan of Highwatch.”
None of them had yet spared Kaad so much as a glance. Hweilan had to keep it that way.
She growled and spit on the warchief’s boot. “I am not of Highwatch. You will call me by my right name or I will demand Blood Slake of you after I have eaten your champion’s heart.”
Kaad gasped, and even Maaqua’s eyes widened at Hweilan’s words.
“Stop!” Buureg raised his head, and Hweilan figured that the warrior behind her with the club had raised it to strike her.
Then Buureg stared at her, long and hard. He lowered his hand and said, “What would you have me call you?”
“I am the Hand of the Hunter. You will address me as such or hold your tongue.”
Maaqua was leaning on her staff and studying Hweilan through narrowed eyes. Not much got past the old toad, Hweilan knew. The old crone sensed Hweilan was up to something. Let her. She had brought this on herself.
Buureg called, “Slave!” and pointed at his boot. Kaad scrambled over and went to his knees, his tendons popping like snapping twigs. He pulled his ragged sleeve down over his hand and scrubbed Hweilan’s spittle off the boot. Buureg pulled his foot back, examined the boot, and grunted. Kaad crawled back to his corner, and the warchief returned his attention to Hweilan.
“Proud words,” said Buureg, “for someone who just came out of a hole and is tied at my feet.”
Hweilan hung her head. Her hair fell
“You’ll be dead tomorrow,” said Kaad.
“Not if you help me.”
“I cannot help you escape,” he said. His hands were shaking. She was losing him. “It would mean worse than death for me. Maaqua …”
“I’m not asking you to cut me loose,” she said. “You are a healer, Kaad. I just need you to bring me something.”
“Bring you? Bring you what?”
“
Drakthna
,” said Hweilan. “It’s a mushroom that—”
“I know what it is.” And by the look in his eyes, he obviously knew what it did as well. “I have some.”
“Good,” said Hweilan. “I need only a little. And do you know
iruil
?”
“White or green?”
“White. But I need the root, not the flower.”
The sound of heavy boots came from outside. Heading their way.
Kaad leaped to his feet, and Hweilan saw his skin go pale. He was trembling even more now, guilt written all over his face. Hweilan could hear the clink of armor along with the heavy tread of boots, and the breeze coming in through the door brought the mingled stink of oiled steel, leather, and unwashed hobgoblins.
The room darkened as two hobgoblin warriors filled the doorway. One held an iron studded club in one hand, and his companion had a jagged-edged dagger. Their helmets hidmost of their faces, but she could see a wariness in their eyes as they stared at her.
Hweilan kept her face still, emotionless, but she looked the larger one directly in the eye, and the warrior dropped his gaze first.
They came inside and walked behind her, one to each side. Kaad scrambled to the far corner and stared at the floor. Hweilan tried to turn around to see what the warriors were up to, but her bonds held her too tight. More shadows fell across the floor. Maaqua shuffled back into the room, with another hobgoblin behind her.
Hweilan recognized him. She’d last seen him in armor, and now he was dressed only in furs and skins, but the scar that ran diagonally across his face, pulling the corner of his mouth into a permanent frown, and the left ear that was only half there gave him away. She’d seen him on the mountainside when she’d held the point of her knife under his throat.
Maaqua looked down on Hweilan. “You have met Buureg, Warchief of the Razor Heart.”
Buureg blinked once but otherwise displayed no emotion whatsoever. Then he looked down on her and said, “Rhan, Champion of the Razor Heart, wielder of the Greatsword of Impiltur, demands the right of Blood Slake. With you, Hweilan of Highwatch.”
None of them had yet spared Kaad so much as a glance. Hweilan had to keep it that way.
She growled and spit on the warchief’s boot. “I am not of Highwatch. You will call me by my right name or I will demand Blood Slake of you after I have eaten your champion’s heart.”
Kaad gasped, and even Maaqua’s eyes widened at Hweilan’s words.
“Stop!” Buureg raised his head, and Hweilan figured that the warrior behind her with the club had raised it to strike her.
Then Buureg stared at her, long and hard. He lowered his hand and said, “What would you have me call you?”
“I am the Hand of the Hunter. You will address me as such or hold your tongue.”
Maaqua was leaning on her staff and studying Hweilan through narrowed eyes. Not much got past the old toad, Hweilan knew. The old crone sensed Hweilan was up to something. Let her. She had brought this on herself.
Buureg called, “Slave!” and pointed at his boot. Kaad scrambled over and went to his knees, his tendons popping like snapping twigs. He pulled his ragged sleeve down over his hand and scrubbed Hweilan’s spittle off the boot. Buureg pulled his foot back, examined the boot, and grunted. Kaad crawled back to his corner, and the warchief returned his attention to Hweilan.
“Proud words,” said Buureg, “for someone who just came out of a hole and is tied at my feet.”
Hweilan hung her head. Her hair fell
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