Swallowing, Harrach drew his long sword. He’d stand point guard, then fall back as they approached. Harrach spotted Captain Evann, following after the skeletons, holding the hand of a beautiful, pale woman. He and his escort were walking a few inches above the waves.
“Magic!” he breathed. Evann looked alive and well, but that might be a trick of some kind.
Hesitating, Harrach considered what their best course would be. They could fall back, retreating to the forest, but that might be what the Hag wanted. On the other hand, if they stood here, they might be able to rescue Captain Evann.
As the skeletons set foot ashore, they began lying down on the sand. Harrach glanced to the east. The sun had just begun to pale the sky with the morning twilight … perhaps they marched only in darkness.
Captain Evann set foot ashore just as the sun broke over the mountains to the east, flooding the land with light. He stood there, looking around him as if half bewildered. A trap? Harrach hesitated, then cautiously advanced.
“Captain?” he called. “Is that you?”
“Aye,” Evann said wearily.
“What happened?”
“We have to bury them,” he said. “I promised.”
Bowspear allowed himself to be dragged through the mountain and out a small cave on the other side into daylit forest. There, the mail-armored man released his leg shackles so he could walk. He found it hard to care anymore, though. His men were dead. Eaten. A numb shock filled him.
The man half led, half dragged him down through a small pass to a grassy plain, where a squad of ten men waited with horses. They all wore helms with the insignia of Drachenward on the front… though the markings had been all but obliterated by scratches.
Rapidly, the men saddled the horses. They had an extra one, which they led over to him.
“Get on,” said the man who had dragged him.
The horses … the Drachenward helms … suddenly it all made sense to Bowspear. He almost laughed with relief.
“You’re Orin Hawk, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes.” Hawk’s voice was low.
Perhaps everything wasn’t lost after all, Bowspear realized. Perhaps sacrificing his. men wasn’t such a great cost.
Licking his lips, he began, “I need to talk to you—”
Hawk whirled and struck him backhanded across the mouth. “Shut up. Get on your horse. You’ll talk plenty before the day is through.”
Stung by the blow, Bowspear did as Hawk commanded. Once Bowspear was in the saddle, Hawk turned and, without a word, mounted his own horse, spurred it on, and rode to the head of the line of men.
They rode for perhaps two hours, skirting the mountains, until they reached a small camp. Bowspear noticed with growing unease that not one of the soldiers around him spoke during the entire trip. There seemed to be little human about them except their forms.
Their camp, nestled between two low hills, consisted of a dozen tents, several long, low buildings, and a few pens that held more horses. A large natural cave opened up in one of the hills.
Hawk rode up to the cave and dismounted. “Mistress!” he called. “I have him for you.”
Seconds later, Bowspear saw movement in the shadows.
A hideous creature emerged—a hideous pockmarked woman from the waist up, a mass of huge, writhing serpents from the waist down. An unreasoning terror like none he had ever felt before filled him. He wanted to run screaming from her camp and never return.
Hawk chuckled, a low, evil sound. Bowspear managed to tear his gaze from the Hag long enough to look at the man.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said, awe in his voice.
He really felt that way, Bowspear realized. He swallowed. She had bewitched him.
The Hag made a gentle clucking sound deep in her throat. Bowspear faced her and tried to keep his fear and revulsion from showing. Perhaps all was not yet lost. He’d found Hawk, after all. If she’d make a deal with him …
“Well, pretty-pretty,” she said. “So you thought you could fool me, did you?” She gave a cackle and stretched out her hand to stroke his cheek.
Bowspear couldn’t help himself—he recoiled in revulsion.
“Take him inside,” the Hag said to Hawk, and then she retreated into the cave, vanishing in the deep shadows.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said.
Hawk dragged Bowspear from the saddle, then marched him into the cave. Bowspear tried to keep from vomiting. The place had a thick foul odor, like something had died in here and begun to rot.
“Have mercy!” he gasped, trying to breathe.
“Mercy? What’s that?” Hawk hooked Bowspear’s manacles to a steel chain. It ran through a thick iron ring hammered into the cave’s ceiling, then over to a hook set into the far wall.
Slowly, drawing the process out, Hawk began to pull the chain tight. They were going to torture him, Bowspear realized suddenly. He began to struggle, trying to slip his arms free of the manacles. He could barely breathe, barely think. Panic filled him, and he began to flail his limbs like a drowning man.
Hawk gave the chain a long jerk, and Bowspear felt his arms fly up over his head. Hawk gave a second jerk, this time hauling Bowspear upward. He dangled by his wrists six inches off the floor. The heavy iron manacles bit into his wrists, and blood began to trickle down his arms.
“Her pleasure,” Hawk said with a smile, “is almost always fatal.”
Harlmut quickly assembled twenty of his guards, then personally led them into the city in search of the assassin. It had been many years since he’d been to the Temple of Ela, but he remembered the way well enough. With quick gestures, he sent half his men to one side of the building and half to the other, surrounding the temple. Only when they signaled their readiness did he step forward.
“Come out, Haltengabben!” he cried.
Instantly, she appeared through the front doors. She’d been watching them, he realized. If their actions concerned her, she did not show it. Her features remained smooth, calm, impassive.
“What is the problem, Harlmut?” she asked in a soft voice.
“An assassin tried to kill one of my guests in the market this morning,” he said. She would have no way of knowing how much he knew, so he might as well go for everything. “Witnesses spotted him fleeing here. You will surrender him to me now.”
“An assassin! Here?” She shook her head, looking bewildered. Harlmut wasn’t surprised— of course she would deny it. “Surely you are mistaken.”
“Do you have any visitors staying here?” he demanded. “Anyone new to Grabentod?”
“Well …” She hesitated. “There is one man visiting us, though I haven’t met him yet. If you’d like to interview him, I see no harm in that. I am certain he’s not the assassin you’re looking for. He’s a trader from Grevesmühl, and he’s offering rare spices that we use in some of the temple ceremonies.”
Harlmut motioned to four of his men. “Get this trader,” he said. “Bring him out to me. But take caution—if he’s the assassin, he may prove dangerous.”
“Aye, sir,” they said.
Haltengabben turned to lead the four soldiers inside. When they disappeared from view, Harlmut began to pace, a trifle nervous. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like whatever they found.
A few minutes later, one of the guards returned, wearing a disgusted look on his face.
“He’s dead, sir,” he reported to Harlmut. “Killed, it looks, by his own hand.”
Sighing inwardly, Harlmut accompanied him into the temple, through the entry hall, into the altar room, then into back rooms. He should have expected something like this. Haltengabben knew enough to cover her tracks.
He found her standing in the doorway to a small guest chamber, shaking her head as though in disbelief.
“I cannot believe it,” she said softly to Harlmut. “Suicide in the temple … it’s unheard of.”
He brushed past her.
The assassin had hanged himself with a rope. The man’s black tongue protruded from his mouth, and his eyes bulged hugely in their sockets. On the desk sat a pair of knives.