"Not much farther, my lord," said Argalath.
Guric ground his teeth. How many times had the man said that already?
"Gods, Argalath, what is that reek? It smells like-"
The light washed over a demon, standing in the middle of the tunnel, and Guric started. The thing stepped forward, and Guric saw that it was not a demon after all, but one of Argalath's special Nar. The man's head was shaved in a fashion uncommon to the Nar: completely bald save for a topknot, in which were knotted bones and teeth. His face had all the expression of a death mask. Bare from the waist up, his torso and arms were covered with inks and scars of leering eyes and tongues slathering around sharp teeth. The red and green inks had looked very much like scales in the torchlight, which was why Guric had first taken him for a demon.
The Nar bowed and said, "Ka bar khorluk."
Shielding his eyes from the torch, Argalath stopped beside Guric and said, "Ka bar khor," followed by a long string of words that Guric could not follow.
The Nar answered, then turned away, the darkness swallowing him.
"All is ready, my lord," said Argalath.
They walked on, and within a dozen steps Guric could see light ahead. Low and purplish, like the dying light of evening. Another scent mixed among the stench. Smoke that smelled of spices.
The tunnel turned to the right, and beyond, Guric's torch was no longer necessary. The tunnel ended and opened into a vast stone chamber, lit by coals burning in braziers so large that he could have bathed in one. The coals piled high within them glowed sickly purple and gave off a scent that seemed sweet but still tickled the back of Guric's throat, threatening to make him gag.
But the light they cast, though it seemed weak-so much so that even Argalath did not flinch-went very far, lighting up a chamber in which a hundred people could have milled with room to spare. Carvings and symbols decorated every wall, and the five columns of natural stone that joined the floor to the ceiling at least fifty feet above them had been left unmarred, though fine bits of gold wire had been wound around them in intricate, interlocking patterns so that they seemed to have been dressed in metal lace.
On the far side of the room was an altar half the size of Guric's council table. Two dwarf-sized statues flanked it, and one three times the height of a man looked down from behind, but all three had been hacked, defaced, and smeared with soot and a darker, wetter substance.
The Nar guard that had startled Guric stood just inside the room with four others that might have been brothers to the first. So alike were they in dress, build, and the designs etched into their skin that Guric would not have been able to tell one from the other.
Beyond the Nar, the stone floor sloped down into a sort of bowl, and Guric gasped at the sight. It was a charnel house. Bodies had been torn and spread apart. All of them human. Broken bones, shredded skin, flesh, and offal lay everywhere. Rats and other vermin crawled over the remains.
But other corpses, whole corpses, stood among them, looking at Guric.
"Behold your new army," said Argalath.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Queen stepped toward Hweilan. The rustle of her robes reminded Hweilan of the sound of Deadwinter wind in the eaves outside her window at Highwatch. Looking into the eyes of the queen, Hweilan felt a presence rattling around in her mind, any barriers she might have had against it long since ripped away and discarded.
Kunin Gatar stopped, leaned in close and Hweilan heard a deep intake of breath. The queen pulled away, her head back and eyes closed, her nostrils flaring as she took in Hweilan's scent. The presence in her mind did not leave but seemed to settle in. Quiet. Lurking, watching like a predator in tall grass.
"Hweilan, is it?" said the queen.
"It is… uh, Queen." The last word ended in the tone of a question.
Kunin Gatar gave her a tight smile, showing no teeth. "Address me with only the truth," she said. "We are not so caught up in titles as you mortals. Your petty lords… they drape themselves in titles like face paint on a whore, hoping it will make her a lady. I know who I am. What you name me says more about you than me."
Kunin Gatar turned and walked away, and Hweilan saw that a throne now sat in the middle of the room. Had it been there before? She could not remember. It was like no chair she had ever seen, all jagged angles and sharp protrusions, save for the seat, back, and armrests, which were smooth as polished glass.
While the queen's back was turned, Hweilan took the opportunity to risk a glance at Menduarthis. He stood several feet behind her, watching and waiting. He gave her nothing but a small raise of an eyebrow.
The queen sat and said, "Would you sit?"
Hweilan turned and saw that a chair of sorts now rested behind her. She was quite certain it had not been there a moment ago. It looked very much like an arm rising from the floor, made completely of ice, the hand bent back flat so that the palm formed a sort of seat, the fingers curling up into a backrest.
"N-no. Thank you," said Hweilan. She could imagine those icy fingers closing into a fist all too easily.
"As you wish," said the queen. She regarded Hweilan a moment, glanced at Menduarthis, then continued. "You are Hweilan, daughter of Ardan of the Damarans and Merah of the Vil Adanrath. Yes?"
"Yes." Hweilan could not recall telling anyone the names of her parents. Had they beaten it out of Lendri?
"I know of Highwatch," said the queen. "A pile of stone set on the mountains' last grasp. Nar used to winter there like cockroaches scuttling away from the light. Then came the Damarans, hoping to rape riches from the rock. Your fathers sat in their houses of stone and scattered favor to any too weak or stupid to seize it for themselves. And for this, they fancy themselves lords. You mortals know little of true power."
Hweilan said nothing. The queen's words poked at the fire of her anger, but mostly because Hweilan, as a girl, had often thought the very things Kunin Gatar had just spoken. Hearing them come from her, Hweilan felt shame and anger.
"I care not for the Damarans," the queen continued, and Hweilan saw a girlish glee in Kunin Gatar's eyes. "Like flies in the Melting days, they will serve their purpose, then die. And not even the stones will remember them. I will remain, and I will remember them as no more than an occasional itch I was forced to scratch."
The queen gripped the arms of her throne with a sudden fierceness, and Hweilan thought she heard cracks running through the ice.
"But these"-the queen's lips twisted into a snarl-" Vil Adanrath they name themselves. That itch is long since scratched, save for one. So I would hear it from your own lovely lips, little Hweilan. Why are you running with that kus itaan sut?"
"You mean Lendri?"
Gale force wind shook the chamber, knocking Hweilan onto her hands and knees. Frost and ice stung her exposed skin, and through the howling air she heard the queen's voice, seeming to come from all directions at once.
"I mean that murdering traitor! That-" the queen's words fell into a stream of words in a language Hweilan did not know.
The wind abated as the queen's tirade died away, and when Hweilan ventured to look up, Kunin Gatar was standing again, her throne gone. Hweilan looked behind her as she pushed herself to her feet. Menduarthis was standing in the same place, covered with frost. But it didn't seem to bother him. He rolled his eyes and brushed it off his face.
"Answer me, girl," said the queen, and when Hweilan turned, Kunin Gatar stood only inches away, cold radiating off her like heat from a forge. Hweilan hadn't heard her approach.