Mark Sehestedt - The fall of Highwatch

Gratitude filled Lendri, but he said nothing.

This night, under the Hunter's Moon, I will hunt. Those sniffing your trail will not survive to see the sun. But when the Hunter's Moon sets, I may hunt no longer.

"Wh-why are you telling me this?"

Jagun Ghen cannot be allowed to roam free. In the Hunting Lands, Jagun Ghen almost conquered. Only hundreds of years of blood and sacrifice vanquished him. Here, in this corrupt world beneath its cold stars, Jagun Ghen could become a god. This cannot be allowed. You know the pact. In our holy places, within the shrines, I may enter this world, but beyond… only my sight may roam, except under the Hunter's Moon. Other nights, and days beneath the sun… another must hunt in my place. My Eye requires a Hand.

"What has this to do with me?" Lendri said, though he feared he already knew the answer.

Thunder shook the sky, and a deep rumbling filled the earth, and Lendri realized that Nendawen was laughing.

You are not to be the Hand of the Hunter. You may have ties to this world, but you are of the Hunting Lands… heart, soul, and blood. To hunt Jagun Ghen, I require one who is of this world.

Lendri swallowed. He could feel a trickle of blood running down his neck from where Nendawen's spear had pierced it.

You will bring me my chosen Hand, said Nendawen. Do this, and you may return to the Hunting Lands. When next the Hunter's Moon rises, I will have my Hand, or I will have your blood, Lendri, killer of kings.

"How will I find this… Hand?"

Hunt.

"And how will I know him?"

She carries death in her right hand.

"Hweilan?" the lady Merah looked up, her gaze catching the young woman in the shadows. "Hweilan, is that you?"

Lady Merah was sitting on a bench near the far wall of the garden. Her long hair wafted unbound in the morning breeze, save for a braid over each ear. Scith leaned against the wall behind her, his thick arms crossed over his chest. Where she was lithe and fair to the point of paleness, he was dark and thick, giving the impression of immovable stone. Deep lines creased the corners of his eyes, and a bit of gray had begun to pepper the hair over his temples, but middle age had not softened him.

Hweilan stood in the corridor that led from the eastern towers to the garden. Clear sunlight bathed the garden. It gave little warmth. Her breath steamed in the air before her. The priests' calendar proclaimed that spring was here, but one would never know it. Both Merah and Scith wore heavy cloaks, rimmed in fur. But Hweilan wore only her 'rough" clothing-suited for a day spent outside the castle walls: thick breeches, her heaviest tunic, jerkin, and boots. She had left her room in such haste that she hadn't donned a coat or cloak.

"How long have you been standing there?" said Merah. Her voice was firm, but Hweilan saw the look of guilt on her face. She was trying to hide it, but Hweilan knew her mother too well.

"I saw nothing I shouldn't, if that's what you're worried about," said Hweilan. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" said Merah.

"That I am being sent away," said Hweilan. She walked across the courtyard. It was broad as a tourney field, surrounded by a low wall not far from the edge of a fifty-foot drop to another courtyard below. A grove of windbent pines, frosted in snow, grew in the middle of the garden, surrounded by bushes and shrubs that sprouted bright white and blue flowers in the summer. Their branches were bare and sparkled with rime. Ivy clung to the walls, forming a ring of green about the place.

The Garden of First Light. So called because it was the best place in Highwatch to watch the rise of sun and moon. Merah often came here for the latter. Though she worshiped in the temple of Torm along with the knights and the rest of the household, her heart had always tended more to Selune. Hweilan had vague memories of other rituals dedicated to the minor gods of her mother's people. The Lady Merah was only half human. Raised among elf "barbarians" (a term Hweilan's grandmother was fond of using until her grandfather had put a stop to it) in the east, Merah had clung to her people's faith even after wedding Hweilan's father. But after her father's death, things had changed. Too many things.

Merah sighed and said, "Who told you?"

"Grandmother. I called her a liar. But it is true. Isn't it?"

Merah looked away, and it gave Hweilan a small flicker of hope. There was little love between her mother and her father's mother. If this was the doing of her grandmother, then her mother might "You will apologize to your grandmother," said Merah.

"What?"

"She should not have told you yet, but you will show her-"

"It is true!"

"You are not being "sent away,' Hweilan. In these troubled times, alliances are important. You are going to accompany a delegation to Soravia where you will be-"

"Married off! To the highest bidder, is that it?"

"No one is forcing you."

"Really? Then I will stay here."

"You will not," said Merah. "Your family has decided-" "Who?"

The first hint of anger entered Merah's voice. "Who what?"

"You said our family has decided." Not true. She had said your family. Not our. But Hweilan knew that sting-had felt it herself. "Was it grandfather or grandmother? I know Uncle Soran would never-"

"Hweilan, calm yourself." Merah moved over to one side of the bench-away from Scith-to make room. "Please sit. We will-"

"I don't want to sit," said Hweilan.

"Hweilan!" Merah stood to her full height. She was a formidable woman, her beauty undiminished by middle age, and she looked down on her only daughter. "You will not interrupt me again."

Hweilan ground her teeth, breathing heavily through her nose, and held her mother's gaze. She gave Scith a sidelong glance. He looked elsewhere.

Hweilan looked away. "I won't go," she said.

"And what will you do? Spend your days wandering the wild and hunting with Scith? You're not a little girl anymore. You will serve your people and your family."

"How? By bedding some fat lordling's son? How does that serve my people?"

"No one is forcing you into marriage, Hweilan."

"Really?"

"A delegation is going to Soravia to solidify relations between our houses. Your Uncle Soran is going as well."

"But he isn't staying," said Hweilan.

"You will be fostered there for at least one year in hopes-"

"I know what hopes are. The duke's son-and heir, grandmother was quick to point out-is ready to marry."

"Your grandmother… misspoke," said Merah.

"Did she?"

Merah sighed. "Hweilan, you're seventeen. You're a member of a noble house. Did you really think you were going to spend the rest of your life wandering the wilds?"

"I can serve my people here."

"How?"

Hweilan scowled. She had no good answer for that, and it made her even angrier.

"Perhaps you will," said Merah. "But for now, you will go. As soon as the Knights deem the Gap safe for travel-"

"The Gap is never safe, no-"

Merah's voice rose to override her daughter's. "-you will go west, and you will conduct yourself in a manner worthy of your family. You will not shame me or this house." Her mother closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and softened her tone. "I will not lie to you, Hweilan. Your grandmother hopes that you will marry this duke's son. It would bring a strong alliance between our houses. And who knows? He might be a fine man. But your grandmother does not rule Highwatch, and she does not rule my children. You are going. If things warm between you and the duke's son… well and good. If not, I promise that you will not be forced into anything."

Hweilan could feel tears welling in her eyes, but she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, forcing them back.