And such trees. Hweilan craned her head upward. Pines of some sort, branches powdered in snow and trunks coated with frost, their lowest branches far overhead. The bases of the trees were larger than the topmost towers of Highwatch, and several had roots that broke up through the soil and twisted in arches that under which she could have walked upright.
She could only assume it was daytime, for soft gray light filtered down from the pines, but she could not see the sky through their branches. Most of the light came from the campfires.
Flowers grew amid the frost-in the dim light their petals looked silver, their leaves dark blue. Above she heard the songs of birds and cries of animals, but none she recognized.
All this she absorbed in one glance, then pain broke her concentration.
Cold hit her like a slap. Hard enough that she gasped. The sharp intake of breath froze the insides of her nostrils and slid like a razor down her throat. Her exhale plumed like a geyser in front of her, froze into a miniature storm of frost, and fell with a whisper on the ground. The skin on her face tightened, and she thought she could feel the blood just under her skin freeze solid. Both eyes seemed to turn to round stones of ice in her head. She squeezed them shut.
She'd lived in snow-covered, ice-bound Narfell all her life, where winter winds howled down the mountainsides like tormented dragons. But she had never felt cold like this.
"Bit of a chill in the air this morning, isn't there? "said Menduarthis, and when Hweilan opened her eyes a crack, she could see he was looking at her with that insolent smile. How could he be standing there bare-faced, no hat or hood, and seem so at ease?
He rattled off a string of words in the lilting language of the uldra, and Nikle proffered a small wooden bottle.
"Let me help you,' Menduarthis told Hweilan. He upended the bottle on his thumb and reached for her face.
She flinched back out of reach.
"Easy. This is halbdol. A bit scenty, but the fumes will keep your eyes from freezing in your skull.' "Why aren't you wearing any?"
"I don't need it. Take it or not. You can walk around all squint-eyed and grow icicles off your nose if you like. Yes or no?"
She gave him a curt nod and stepped forward. He smeared a thick coating of the black paste over each eyelid, coated the skin around her eye, and smeared a line below each eye. Then he drew a stripe down her nose and around each nostril, and coated her lips, chin, and cheeks. "Scenty" had been an understatement. The halbdol gave off wonderfully warm fumes, enabling her to open her eyes fully and breathe without pain. It had a heady scent of mint, flowers, and… something she couldn't quite place.
"What is that made of?"
Menduarthis chuckled. "Probably best you not know. There!"
He stepped back and his chuckle turned into a laugh. Even Nikle and the other uldra smiled.
"You look like a very sad skull," he said
Hweilan scowled.
"Forgive me," said Menduarthis. He handed the bottle back to Nikle, then bent and cleaned off his thumb in the snow. "It's quite becoming on you. The halbdol, I mean. Not the scowl." He turned on his heel and began walking away. "We must be off. Mustn't keep our lady waiting."
Hweilan stood her ground. The uldra behind her crowded in close. Even Nikle scowled, and the others had taken tighter grips on their spears.
When Menduarthis noticed he was walking alone, he turned and raised his eyebrows. "Problem?"
"Where am I?" she asked.
"You'll be in the bad graces of your hostess if you don't come along."
"I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers."
Menduarthis grimaced. "We shall talk while we walk, yes?"
Hweilan spared the uldra another glance. The look in their eyes made the decision for her.
"Very well," she said, and followed Menduarthis.
"This isn't the Giantspires," Hweilan said as they threaded their way through the scattering of tents and fires amid the trees.
"Very good," said Menduarthis. "You have a talent for noting the obvious."
They passed into a part of the camp where the fires were fewer, the trees closer, and all around her the world was a mixture of snow amid dark blue shadow. The trees seemed an army of towers that disappeared into a foggy murk overhead. But amid the murk, Hweilan caught glimpses of glowing eyes. More uldra? Perhaps. But if so, they could climb like monkeys.
"So where are we?"
"Frightened?"
"No,' she told Menduarthis, and was surprised to realize it was true. Everything around her looked, smelled, and sounded completely… other. Completely foreign to everything she knew. Still, something about it seemed right. Not quite comfortable exactly, but…
"Home,' said Menduarthis.
"What?"
"The short answer to your question. This is home. I've lived here many years. The uldra call it ban Meidan, which in their tongue means 'our land.' "He chuckled. "Very imaginative folk, the uldra. But those people in your world who know enough to know of this place, they call it the Feywild."
Hweilan's heart skipped a beat, and she gasped before she could catch herself.
The Feywild.
She'd heard bards' songs of the place, and Dorim's stories. Of all the dwarves who lived in Highwatch, Dorim was the only one to whom Hweilan had ever been close. Master craftsmen, his family crafted the bows for the Knights, and Dorim himself had crafted her father's bow. But more than a master of weaponry, Dorim fancied himself a loremaster-though Hweilan's grandmother had always called them "foolish dwarf nonsense.' But Hweilan had loved his stories-the ones he'd tell her over a fire on the coldest winter nights, his bare feet propped next to the fire, his favorite pipe dangling between his lips.
All the lore and songs and fireside stories agreed on one thing-the Feywild was a place of peril, of beauties that would break your heart and horrors that would eat it. Some who wandered into the Feywild returned to the real world half-mad. And some never returned at all.
She didn't know what to think. Her senses couldn't deny her present location, no matter how much her reason tried to fight it. She'd somehow stumbled into a bard's tale.
"Where is Lendri?" she asked.
Behind her, the uldra hissed. She turned and saw the hunters staring at her through narrowed eyes.
"Hmm," said Menduarthis, and though his back was to her, she could hear the frown in his tone. "Best not mention that name around our little friends. Your pale pet doesn't have the best reputation 'round here."
"Where is he? He isn't… dead?"
"No." He cast a sly eye over his shoulder and winked at her. "But the day's not over yet."
The darkness pressed down on them. Even with her keen eyesight, Hweilan could make out little except pale swathes of snow amid patches of shadow. They passed under a great arch of a tree root, icicles and silvery moss drooping from it like a ragged tapestry, before she saw the tundra tiger lounging atop the root, watching them.
Menduarthis caught her wide-eyed stare and said, "You behave yourself and so will the uldra's playthings."
She hurried under and past the root. The tiger watched them leave but did not follow.
"Why am I here?" she asked. "Why have you brought me to this place?"
"You'd rather we left you in the Giantspires to freeze or starve?"
"Of course not. But why bring me here?"
Menduarthis was silent a while. Long enough that Hweilan was beginning to think he wouldn't answer. But then he sighed and said, "I was bored."