Mark Sehestedt - Hand of the Hunter

Beyond Mandan, Jaden lay on his belly, a cackling hobgoblin straddling his legs and beating him with a cudgel while two others tried to pry the cleaverlike sword from his grip.

That quick glance cost Darric his advantage. He felt something strike his knee hard, then pull. Turning back around, Darric planted both feet and looked down. One of the hobgoblins had come in with a long pole, a wide, blunt crook on one end, and he had Darric's leg quite nicely hooked.

The hobgoblin pulled, and Darric stumbled. He struck at the pole with his sword, but the shaft was thick ash wood. He put a good nick in it, but nothing more. He used his free hand to grab the loop of the hook and pull. With such poor leverage, he knew he'd never pull it off, but if he could just hold it steady long enough to step outA tight grip closed over his sword arm. The huge goblin had his sword arm in one bony fist. The monster grinned and yanked. Darric lost his footing and went down. The hook of the pole slid up his waist and caught in his belt. But he kept the grip on his sword. Screaming, Darric thrashed and kicked, but the monster's grip only tightened.

"Hoy!" a voice called, and Darric looked up into the face of a hobgoblin, who had stepped forward. He held a curved sword but seemed in no rush to use it. "Drop that steel or Grunter here'll snap your arm like twig."

The huge goblin grunted as if to confirm his name, then gave a tug and a twist as if to drive the point home.

Darric thrashed harder. He managed to bring one foot around and drive the toe of his boot into Grunter's knee. It was like kicking an oak.

Grunter smiled, revealing tusk-yellow teeth. "Tickles," he said, and grunted again.

The hobgoblin with the sword shrugged and said, "Break it."

Grunter grabbed Darric's arm with his other fist, both tightened" Well done! That will be quite enough!"

The voice spoke elegantly accented Damaran, and the wind twisting through the field of boulders seemed to carry it. It was firm, confident, but no shout, though it carried to every ear.

The wind died, and a strange silence settled on the scene. Grunter's grip on Darric's arm did not lessen, but neither did it move. Darric had no doubt the brute could do just what the other had claimed-snap his arm like a twig. He risked another glance at his comrades. Valsun's position had not improved. Jaden was weaponless, had two grinning hobgoblins on his back and one standing on each arm. Mandan still held his club in one hand. The shattered remains of one of the hookpoles dangled from his waist, and two cords of braided leather were tangled around his left arm-the other ends held tight by four hobgoblins. Darric could see their wide yellow eyes through the slits in their helmets. They were obviously torn between trying to pull Mandan over and the thought of pulling him too close. Just behind them, another hobgoblin leaned against a rock, moaning and cradling his shattered forearm.

"Everyone just calm down."

A figure emerged from the forest-taller than every person gathered except for Mandan and Grunter, but he moved with the grace of a dancer. A long cloak and deep cowl hid his features. He stopped just behind the nearest goblin.

The cowl faced Darric. The voice had a mocking tone that seemed altogether at odds with the present situation. "Quite enough excitement for so early in the morning, don't you think?"

Darric goggled, no idea what to say. But he did take the opportunity to regain his feet and wrench the hookpole away. Grunter's grip tightened slightly, causing Darric to wince. He still held his sword, but he could no longer feel the hand gripping it.

"Easy there, Grunter," said the cloaked man. "We're just talking. For the moment."

"Who are you and what is the meaning of this?" Darric asked him.

"Where is she?"

Darric blinked, taken aback by the question, then said, "Where is who?"

A tense silence followed, and Darric could feel a heavy gaze from inside the cowl weighing him. "Her pet has been trailing my friends for miles," the man said. "I know she is nearby."

"Then you know more than I," said Darric. "On my father's name, I do not know where she is."

"Seeing as how I don't know your father, that oath holds little weight for me."

Mandan growled and yanked on the cords tangling his left arm. Those holding it stumbled but kept their feet. Standing atop the boulder in front of Mandan, a hobgoblin loosed his bowstring, and an instant later Mandan's club sprouted an arrow.

"Calm yourself," said the man.

Mandan kept his place, but Darric saw his hair bristling and the muscles in his face had tensed so much that his skin looked like a tightly bound drum. If this went much further, there'd be no controlling him. Keeping Mandan in check when he was afraid was hard enough. But when he went beyond fear and into a true rage…

The cloaked man chuckled, then said, "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already. Truth be told, I have no interest in any of you. But I am most eager to speak to the lady."

"And who are you?"

"I'll ask only once more," the man said. "Then I'm going to tell Grunter there to snap your arm. Urdu and Oluk over there will start poking holes in the old man. The little one who makes so much noise they'll save for later fun. Your big and bristly friend will start sprouting arrows, and then… well, and after that, do you really care?" All mockery left the man's tone. His voice went hard and solemn, and he said, "Where is she?"

"I told you I don't know."

A long silence. Darric and Mandan exchanged a glance.

"Would you tell me if you did?" said the cloaked man.

Darric told the truth. "No."

"Very well," the man said, his voice all false regret. Then he raised it to a shout. "Razor Heart! Have your-"

"Stop!"

Everyone looked up.

The cliff was not an unbroken face. Ledges and cracks riddled its side where years of ice and tenacious roots had broken through the rock. A few dozen feet over them, two figures emerged on the ledge, one moving very stiffly.

The foremost was a hobgoblin, his helmet gone, blood leaking from his mouth, his left eye swollen shut. His hands were unbound, empty, and he held both out. Even from the distance, Darric could see they were trembling. Standing behind him, another figure held a fistful of the hobgoblin's hair in one hand and a naked blade under his throat. As she stepped into the growing light, Darric recognized the fearsome bone mask.

She called down to the cloaked man, "This fellow says he's your second, and war chief of the Razor Heart clan. If your war chief is this easy, the rest of you shouldn't be much of a problem. Let these four idiots go. I'll release your chief and you can all skulk off."

The cloaked man was staring up at her, obviously considering. He shrugged and said, "I don't skulk. You kill the chief and your friends will join him."

"They aren't my friends," said Hweilan.

And then Darric heard the growling. Everyone else did too, for every eye turned to look behind the cloaked man. The wolf stood only a few paces beyond the hem of his cloak, its hackles raised and trembling, its black lips pulled back over fangs longer than arrowheads.

"You'll join them as well," Hweilan told the cloaked man. "You can all sit on the rim of the Abyss and argue over whose fault it is while I go off to breakfast."

The man looked back up at Hweilan, then faced his men. "Oh bells of the Hells, this isn't going how I planned at all. Let them go."

The hobgoblins cried out in protest.

"Oh, calm down the lot of you. They aren't going anywhere. Hweilan would never leave an old friend behind. Besides, she's deep in debt to me."

"And who are you?" she called down.

The man lowered his cowl and pushed his cloak back over his shoulders. He held no weapon that Darric could see. His armor was very fine-finer than any Darric had ever seen, in fact-a breastplate, spaulders, and tassets made of many layers of fitted metal, that still managed a silvery sheen despite the layer of dust. He wore no gloves against the cold, and even his clothes seemed fitted more for elegance than warmth. He wore no helmet, and his long black hair was an unkempt mess. His features would have had an almost feminine beauty if not for his strong chin, but there was something disconcerting in the gaze. And then Darric saw it. His eyes had no pupils. An eladrin. Why in the unholy Hells was an eladrin running with a band of mountain goblins?