CHAPTER ELEVEN

ONE OF THE GREAT DISADVANTAGES, IN GURIC’S mind, of a fortress the size of Highwatch was that it took so damnably long to get from one place to the next. All the winding stairways and halls of the outer fortress were bad enough, but Vandalar’s dwarves had burrowed dozens of tunnels through the western cliffs. It was into these that Argalath, after retrieving Jatara and Guric’s two guards, led them. Into the deep dark of the mountain itself.

The tunnel was tall enough for Guric to walk upright, but the walls and ceiling were still unfinished stone, broken only by occasional support beams.

Argalath had buried his face deep in his crimson cowl. Even now, he kept it up, for both of Guric’s guards—one leading, one trailing—held lamps, and in the close confines of the tunnel, their light was very bright.

“What is this place?” the lead guard asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

“A mine at first,” said Argalath.

He spoke like a host giving his guests a tour. The patronizing tone rekindled Guric’s anger. How could the man seem so damnably content when their plans had gone so wrong?

“When the mine turned up nothing,” Argalath continued, “the burrowers began expanding it for storage and future dwellings. See there.”

They passed a doorway on their right. A stout frame of worked stone supported the arch, but there was no door, and beyond the stone floor had been smoothed only a few feet. The rest of chamber was raw rock.

“See,” said Argalath. “Very new.”

“Enough talk,” said Guric. “Get this done.”

They passed two more such chambers when they saw light before them. In the middle of the floor, a large lamp filled the tunnel with yellow light and the strong scent of oil. More light glowed from a doorway to the left. This one showed no stonework whatsoever, beyond the cutting of the tunnel itself.

Argalath stopped. “My lord,” he said, “our men should wait here.”

Guric nodded at his own men and gave Jatara a look that told her that “our men” included her. He reached out for Argalath to lean upon him.

One of the strange Nar with the shaven head and single topknot stepped into the doorway. One quick glance took in their procession. His eyes settled on Guric and Argalath, and he gave a slight bow. The man and Argalath exchanged a series of words, then the Nar stepped aside.

“Ah,” said Argalath. “It seems we are just in time. Our hound is ready for the hunt.”

Another Nar stepped out of the doorway and into the tunnel. A third man followed. He was bare from the waist up, his chest and stomach smeared and spattered with blood, and his hands and forearms were covered with blackish gore.

Kadrigul emerged from the room, whispered, “It is done, master,” to Argalath, and then he too stepped aside.

Another figure stepped into the doorway, and all the breath escaped Guric in a gasp of utter shock.

The newcomer had to stoop to get through the doorway. He was taller even than Guric, who looked down on everyone else in the tunnel. The figure was naked, save for a ragged loincloth. His pale skin had a sickly yellow cast in the soft lamplight.

It was Soran. No mistaking that carved-from-granite visage, the square jaw and deep-set eyes. But now the eyes were black, whether from the unnatural light in the tunnel or something else, Guric could not determine. And the wounds that had killed him—he’d been gutted like a deer—were completely healed.

“Gods, Argalath,” said Guric. “What have we done?”

“What all strong leaders must do,” said Argalath. “What is necessary.”

Later that morning, Guric and Argalath, their guards keeping a respectful distance, stood behind the parapet of the outer bailey wall, watching the hunting party disappear in the distance.

“You’re certain it can find her?” Guric asked Argalath.

“Yes, my lord.”

“How?”

Argalath thought a moment before replying. “Soran’s flesh is dead. Still the flesh is of Hweilan’s family. His blood runs in her veins through Vandalar. What’s inside Soran can use that. He will be able to sense her.”

“Like a hound.”

“Something like that, yes. Furthermore, seeing her uncle riding after her, the girl might not flee. She might even run to his arms.”

Guric grunted. “Once she’s close enough … she’d never mistake that thing for Soran.”

Argalath smiled. “Once she’s close enough, it won’t much matter.”