Hand of the Hunter (Chosen of Nendawen) by Mark Sehestedt

Author:Mark Sehestedt [Sehestedt, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-12-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THIDREK WAS NOT THE SAME MAN WHO HAD RIDDEN out of Helgabal some tendays ago. His family had been noble for only three generations, but unlike many young aristocrats, Thidrek had never grown soft. He knew power came to those who seized it, and once attained, he could never let his guard down. In the conflict that brought Yarin to the throne, Thidrek’s father had backed the usurper. That gamble had paid off, and Thidrek had become one of the king’s most favored advisors.

And so when word arrived that Highwatch had fallen, that the High Warden, who had never loved Yarin nor received any love in return, lay dead, the king wasted no time. Thidrek led a delegation out of Helgabal two days later. He rode with forty warriors—a healthy mix of men loyal to the king and mercenaries loyal to the king’s gold.

Thidrek had almost felt a king himself. He carried power and authority, and every man and woman in his company answered to him. Thidrek bore the king’s good will and offer of friendship to the new rulers of Highwatch. Securing that relationship would help to solidify Yarin’s precarious power. But more importantly, securing this alliance would forge Thidrek’s own future in the Damaran court.

The Gap had been the first sign of trouble. Its reputation was grim even in the best of years, and it was the first time Thidrek had been more than a few miles in. But with forty armed horsemen around him and the authority of the king in his hands, he had not feared any real trouble. Yarin had given them plenty for the “tax”—silver coins and the cast-off weapons no longer fit for Damaran knights. Four days inside the Gap they had seen their first hobgoblins—scouts watching them, bold as you please, from distant heights. On the sixth morning, they had woken to find their night watch in the hands of hobgoblins.

Thidrek had not been particularly worried. Concerned, yes. But such was not atypical behavior for the more aggressive mountain tribes. And so he came forward and addressed the foremost hobgoblin, offering the usual tax.

The goblin grabbed the hand of the watchman being held between two of his fellows. As the Damarans watched, the goblin cut off one of the man’s fingers, tossed it to Thidrek, and said, “He loses one each time you insult me.”

In the end, the goblins left after taking four times the usual tax and two of their pack horses. For just a moment, Thidrek considered fighting—it galled him to give in to such foul creatures—but a quick count showed a score of hobgoblins, all armed. And if he could see twenty, there were probably fifty. He knew his seasoned fighters would probably make short work of the rabble, but they still had many miles of hard country to cross, and he didn’t want to fend off attacks the whole way. So he’d paid.

There had been three more such incidents—each one costing more. Thidrek knew that if Highwatch did not resupply them, they would not have enough food to make it back to Damara.

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