That was when the smell hit her. Flowery almost. But not quite. It had the sharp tinge of cold, like the autumn winds off the Giantspires-the breezes that promised the first storm of the season, bringing days of howling winds, bitter cold, and darkness even at midday.
Another tiger had come in behind them, and in the woods all around, more glowing eyes watched them. The nearest was no more than five or six paces away-two pale diamonds seeming to float in the air. But even as Hweilan watched, a form materialized around the eyes-whatever magic had hidden the creature dismissed. This one held a sword, but not like any she had ever seen. It drank in the little light off the snow and seemed to amplify it, so that the cold steel seemed a shard of ice. Jagged edges and protrusions angled off the blade near the hilt, giving it a thorny appearance. And although the creature would have had to stretch up on tiptoes to reach Hweilan's head, it held the sword with an easy confidence.
"Lendri," Hweilan rasped, "what do we do?"
"Do not reach for a weapon," he said. "Don't even move."
"Very good advice," said a voice from the darkness, "coming from a fool such as you, Lendri."
A fierce gust swept down the hillside, rattling branches and snow into a stinging tide that washed over them. The air caught and swirled next to the little swordsman, forming a small cyclone of snow and shadow. When it settled, another figure stood there, much taller than the hunter, snow and frost wafting off his armor like tiny cataracts. The armor itself was more elegant than anything Hweilan had seen-a breastplate, spaulders, and tassets made of many layers of fitted metal, which gave off their own unearthly sheen. A long cloak hung from the spaulders, and in the dark it rippled like a living shadow as the wind died away. The man wore no helmet, and his long hair played in the breeze. He rested one hand on the head of a tundra tiger and scratched it between the ears, as if it were a favorite lap cat.
Lendri still hadn't lowered his hand from his quiver. "Your skills have improved, Menduarthis."
"Your sense has not." The man spoke in Common, though with enough of an accent that Hweilan could tell it was not his native tongue. "I always hoped you'd come back. But I never actually believed you so stupid. I must say, I am most pleased to have been proven wrong. You and your friend are going to surrender your weapons now." He motioned to the little warriors all around them. "Valdi sinyolen."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hweilan stood dumbfounded. Had Lendri just called the man by name? The man had definitely called Lendri by name. But was he a man? His skin was pale as Lendri's, but his breath wasn't steaming in the frigid air, and he seemed quite comfortable in the cold, with no cloak, coat, or hood.
Two of the little hunters came toward her, weapons held ready in one hand, the other reaching out to take her bow.
She pulled back. "No!"
The hunters stepped back, and a dozen spears lowered in her direction.
"Voi!" Lendri shouted. "Ele vahat sun!" He had already been disarmed. Even his quiver was gone.
"Now, now, Lendri, you don't give orders to the Ujaiyen," said the armored man. He sounded amused. "Not anymore."
He walked off the slope, pushing his way through the brush and past the hunters to approach Hweilan. She stiffened and stood her ground.
The man looked her up and down, and reached one gloved hand toward her.
She stepped back, raising the bow before her and reaching for her knife.
"Easy, easy," said the man. "Don't be skittish. You've got nowhere to skit."
Hweilan risked a glance over her shoulder and saw two of the little hunters behind her, both holding spears.
"Menduarthis, please-" said Lendri.
"I'm not going to hurt your friend," Menduarthis told Lendri, though he kept his eyes fixed on Hweilan. He smiled. "Not yet, anyway."
Before Hweilan could react, Menduarthis's hand shot forward and pushed down her hood.
"Well!" His eyebrows shot upward and he smiled. "I go out for a night of hunting beasts and instead happen upon a rare flower."
He stroked her cheek with the back of one finger. Hweilan stepped back and brought her knife out and forward in a quick swipe. Menduarthis pulled back in time, her blade barely missing his finger.
"Ho!" Menduarthis laughed. "This flower has thorns, I see! Don't worry, little one. I'm not out to peel your petals."
"Leave me alone," she said.
Menduarthis chuckled. "Not tonight. Why so unfriendly?"
"Menduarthis, please!" Lendri called. "Allow me to explain!"
Still watching Hweilan-she couldn't tell if his gaze was lecherous, curious, or simply amused; a little of all three she suspected-he called out something in a tongue she didn't recognize. Two hunters lowered their spears at Lendri, and all around her Hweilan heard many blades leaving their scabbards.
"Know what I told them?" said Menduarthis.
"No," Hweilan replied.
"I told them that if your friend over there opens his mouth again, my friends are to kill him." He pushed at the inside of one cheek with his tongue, thinking, then said, "A shame, really. Truth be told I always liked Lendri. I don't suppose you've seen his little wolf friend around, have you? What's its name? "Itching'?"
Hweilan glared at him. "Hechin."
"No matter. Let's talk about you. What's your name?"
Hweilan's glare deepened to a scowl. She didn't lower the knife.
"Not very friendly, is she, Lendri?" Menduarthis called out. When Lendri didn't answer, he looked over his shoulder at the elf and said, "Oh, yes. You aren't to speak. So glad you're paying attention."
When Menduarthis turned back to Hweilan, his gaze had hardened. The hint of lechery and curiosity was gone. The amusement was still there, but it was peeking from behind a very dark curtain.
"Let me tell you something, little flower," he said. "The world is not a nice place. Fools say it's unforgiving, but that's why they're fools. The world doesn't forgive because it doesn't blame. And the world doesn't blame because it doesn't care. So here's my little lesson for you tonight: You can name yourself, or others will name you. And you might not like what they call you. So I'll ask you one more time." He leaned in closer, just beyond the point of her knife. "What's your name?"
Hweilan's grip tightened around her knife, but her hand was shaking. Something about the tone in Menduarthis's voice-she felt as if Kelemvor had just placed her in his scale, and her next words would decide which way she swung.
She licked her lips and said, "H-Hweilan. My name is Hweilan."
Menduarthis straightened, closed his eyes, and breathed in deep through his nose. "Ah… Hweilan," he said, pronouncing it very carefully, savoring each syllable. "A flower indeed. And I even like the thorns." He bowed. "Well met. My hunters tell me that a band of frantic Nar ride not a half-mile from here, and one of the Frost Folk leads them. Friends of yours?"
"No! They attacked us."
"And what do you know of the thing that rides with them? Big brute with black eyes."
"I know it attacked us."
"And the ravens? A whole murder of them coming to your rescue?"
She shuddered at the memory. "I don't know."
Menduarthis held her gaze. "Don't know or won't tell?"
"Ravens hit the man. I ran. We ran. Lendri and me. We thought we'd lost them, and then you arrived."
"And here we are, yes?"
Hweilan shrugged.
"Back to the matter at hand, then," said Menduarthis. "You were about to hand over your weapons."
Hweilan looked to Lendri. The elf kept his jaw clenched, but he gave her a careful nod.
"No," she said.
"No?" said Menduarthis.
"I'll surrender the knife," she said. "But the bow belonged to my father. It's all I have left of him. I'll give my life before I give the bow."