The ground soon smoothed out, becoming less rocky, and the tall woods gave way to a scrubland of thick brush and squat trees, their branches still winter bare.
Hweilan fell into a steady jog, and her long legs ate up the ground. The pulse at the back of her head was still there, but it was no longer a hammering pain. More of a tingling just under her skin, an itch, a buzzing on the brain. Very much like the feeling of being watched she'd experienced on her way back to Highwatch the day before. But this feeling had an undertone of anger, sharp and hot. It didn't make her want to look around to see who might be watching. And even though there was a hint of danger, it didn't make her want to run or hide. It made her angry
Hweilan suddenly found herself with the urge to hit something. To pound it again and again until it couldn't move any more. Standing here in the cold afternoon, Hweilan felt positively hot with fury.
A wolf howled behind her, the sound beginning low, rising high, then dropping again to fade into something just shy of a growl. Brief silence, then the same howl. Hweilan had learned enough from Scith to guess at what it meant. Wolves howled for a reason. Usually to communicate with the pack over vast distances, and sometimes just for fun when the pack was gathered. But when one pack encroached on another's territory, the lead male would sometimes howl like the sound she'd just heard. It was meant to warn off the invaders.
Hweilan stopped to listen, and she heard something else. At first she thought it was just her own heartbeat, but as she stood there in the path, taking deep, steady breaths, there was no mistaking it. Hoofbeats. Coming up behind her. That could only mean Nar.
Her hand seemed to search for her knife of its own accord. The anger in her was seething to come out. But her rational mind forced that down. Had she been able to use the bow, had she even a few arrows… maybe. But on her own, with a knife, against mounted men… no.
She looked around, searching for a place to hide. Squat trees and bushes everywhere. If she could take care not to leave any tracks…
The hoofbeats were getting closer. At least three horses. Perhaps more. And moving just shy of a gallop. The fools were risking breaking their mounts' legs on the icy ground, which meant they were pursuing something.
Hweilan leaped off the path, going from rock to rock or the thickest ice as best she could. Only once did her boot crack the frost. She passed the first bushes and trees, fearing they were too close to the path. When she had put at least a dozen yards between herself and the path, she threw her father's bow under a large bank of scrub brush, then wriggled under it. With the thick Nar cloak and both packs still riding her back, it was no easy task.
Lying on her belly under the bush, she pushed herself up just enough to bend back an outer branch and peer out on the path. Other foliage was in the way, but between them, she caught her first glimpse of the rider.
A large horse-larger even than that of a Nar chieftain's war mount. One of the huge Carmathan stallions that Damaran traders sometimes rode through the Gap in summer.
Trees hid the rider a moment, and when he came back into view, he had slowed his horse to a canter as he cast his gaze about. Hweilan's breath caught in her throat.
"Soran!" she cried. "Uncle Soran!"
Grabbing her father's bow in one hand, she scrambled out of her hiding place as quickly as she could, heedless of the branches scraping her face. The rider reined in his horse with such ferocity that it screamed and skidded to a halt on the frosty ground.
Hweilan ran to him, but the first good look at Soran stopped her in her tracks. She wasn't sure what she'd expected to see on his face. A look of utter relief perhaps. Joy. Grief that they were the last of their family. Or maybe even anger that she was all the way out here while the good people of Highwatch and Kistrad were suffering. But there was nothing. Not even a sign of recognition. The look that he turned on her was completely blank, like…
Just like Scith had looked after he took his last breath. Soran looked dead.
Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or maybe only a sign of Hweilan's exhaustion and frayed nerves, but as Soran turned his horse toward her, she thought she saw a flicker of red in his eyes.
"Uncle Soran?"
More riders came into view. All were Nar, save one. Kadrigul. One of Argalath's lackeys-and Jatara's brother.
Kadrigul followed Soran's gaze, saw Hweilan, and reined in his own mount. The Nar behind him did the same. The other riders urged their horses off the path, right for her. All were reaching for weapons.
The tingling in Hweilan's head suddenly spread through her body, like being woken from deep sleep by a splash of cold water. The anger was no longer just an emotion. It was a physical force, making her muscles tremble with a sudden irresistible urge to hurt all the men before her. The world around her became sharp and clear, perfectly focused, every sound sharp and distinct. Every sensation, every breath, every beat of her heart screamed at her to lash and rend and kill. So sharp were her senses that she thought she could hear the beating hearts of the horses and the men on them-though not Soran's.
A blur of gray ran among the Nar horses, barking and snapping at them. Hechin! The horses screamed and tried to scatter, but their riders reined them around and brought their weapons to bear against the wolf. But he was too quick, evading their spears and the swipes of their swords.
Soran reached over his shoulder and drew a sword-a huge, ugly thing of black iron-then urged his mount forward. Hweilan could feel the ground shaking as the huge horse surged toward her.
"Soran!" It was Kadrigul, calling out as he spurred his horse toward her. "Soran, no! We need her alive!"
Hweilan couldn't move.
An arrow struck Soran in the back. He didn't even flinch.
"Run, you stupid girl!" It was Lendri, reaching for another arrow as he ran from cover on the far side of the trail.
"Soran!" she shouted. "Uncle, please!"
Still no recognition in his face, and then her mind caught up with what her instinct had known all along. This was not her uncle. She didn't know why and could not fathom how, but this horror bearing down upon her was not her uncle.
Hweilan screamed in defiance and charged.
She heard Lendri scream, "No!" and another arrow hit Soran.
Hweilan was less than five or six steps from the horse when it screamed and reared. Whatever it was about her that spooked horses-some effect of her Vil Adanrath heritage, she now suspected-it worked on Soran's horse. The stallion's eyes rolled back in its head as it fought to scramble away. In its panic, its hooves slipped on the uneven, icy ground, and the horse fell, smashing Soran's leg. Even over the noise of Hechin's barking and the screaming of men and horses, Hweilan heard a crunch of shattering bone.
Soran's mount fought its way to its feet, then bounded away. Soran tried to push himself to his feet, but his right leg folded beneath him.
"Hweilan, run!"
Lendri stood his ground just this side of the trail. He dodged a spear from one of the Nar, planted an arrow in his attacker, knocking the man from his horse, then reached for another arrow.
Soran regained his feet, and he lumbered toward Hweilan, leaning on the sword like a cane and dragging his shattered leg.
The breeze shifted, just for a moment, and the thing's scent washed over her. Worse than a charnel house, it made Hweilan's gorge rise to the back of her throat.
Hweilan's hand fumbled for the knife at her belt.
"Run!" Lendri called. "These aren't the only-!"
Another arrow hit the Soran-thing, lodging in his good leg. A pure white arrow-shaft and fletching all white as snow, and smaller than Lendri's arrows. Where had it-?