Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [108]
"What-?" the belkagen spoke his thought aloud.
Erun smiled. There was no humor in it, merely the baring of teeth. "My hold on him is no longer necessary."
"All this time…"
"I let you take him, old fool. You think that wench could have beaten me so easily? I let him go, and through him I watched you. Heard you. And so when I knew you'd be bringing him back to me, I… let you." He shrugged, though coming from the sorcerer it seemed an obscene gesture, unnatural. The shoulders moving beneath the tattered cloak and robes reminded the belkagen of a dung beetle flexing its carapace. "It has long been a weakness of mine," Erun continued. "I like to play with my prey."
The enchantment broken, Jalan, trembling from cold and terror, tried to scramble back down the steps, but the sorcerer bent and snatched him, quick as a scorpion. He held the boy by the hair and pulled him back. Jalan screamed.
"Jalan, no!" said the belkagen. "Erun, don't hurt him!"
The sorcerer shook the boy until tears leaked out of Jalan's terror-stricken eyes and froze on his cheeks.
"Erun?" said the sorcerer. "That is not my name. I merely wear that boy's skin. What was Erun has been sleeping for a long time-and having most unpleasant dreams. Oh, how the boy screams."
* * * * *
Amira stood on the black, ice-slick rocks of the shore, looking across the water to the island. Staring into the storm, snow and sleet stinging her face, she could just make out five figures standing beneath an old, long-dead tree. The wind off the Great Ice Sea tossed their cloaks, but through the waving fabric she was sure she saw Jalan.
She clenched her fist and punched her hip in frustration. The great pinnacle of rock was several hundred paces offshore, but it might as well have been a league. She'd tried again and again to use her magic to transport her out there, but something was blocking her spell. The core of her mind could feel the power hammering against some unseen barrier, and nothing she tried could break through. Even if the water hadn't been broken by tall white-capped waves, the temperature itself would've made swimming impossible. She'd freeze before she got halfway, assuming she didn't drown.
She turned to the elf who had accompanied her to the shore. It was Turha, one of the female omah from last night's council. "Is there any way out there?" Amira asked. "Boats? Anything?"
Turha shook her head. "Nothing. In summer, one must swim. In winter, we walk the ice. Now…"
Two other Vil Adanrath, one coated in blood, were coming toward them, three wolves at their heels. The bloody one had a bow.
"You!" Amira shouted. She pointed to the figures on the island. "Can you hit them from here?"
The elf looked at the target. "Not in this wind. Even if I could, my arrows would not stop th-"
"Damn you all!" Amira shouted. "Does no one have anything useful to say?"
Desperate, Amira peeled her gloves off with her teeth, dropped them, and began to work at the knot of her cloak.
"Lady," said Turha, "what are you-?"
Tears were filling Amira's eyes. "If I take off most of these damned clothes and the boots, maybe I can make it."
"The cold will kill you," said Turha. "Even the Vil Adanrath would not attempt this."
"I'm not one of the damned Vil Ad-"
A great commotion behind them cut her off. Elves shouting and wolves growling. Amira turned, fearing that more Frost Folk or winter wolves had found them. Three elves, their wolves milling about, were trying to restrain a huge figure, covered head to heels in thick, dark blood so that his eyes shone bright from his feral visage. The elves were armed, and their shouts and enraged faces showed their fury, but they did not attack the figure. They seemed to be trying to restrain him and were cursing him in their native tongue. But they were unable to slow him.
Amira's hammering heart skipped a beat and she held her breath, for as the figure drew close she recognized him. It was Gyaidun, his shirt