Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [11]
Jalan scrunched down into the log, wincing at the noise he made. The sniffing stopped. The near darkness just outside his hollowed hiding place moved. Jalan fought the urge to cover his face. He stared, willing his eyes to drink in the meager light. Something was there. Although Jalan could make out no features, he could feel it-something large that kept low to the ground-watching him. It moved again, startling Jalan, but then it was gone. Jalan heard it padding back into the darkness.
He took a cautious breath, confident that he had escaped certain doom, when a voice said, "Boy?"
Quiet as he could, Jalan fumbled about, searching for some sort of weapon-a rock, a stick, anything-but his fingers found only moss and the wet ashy feel of old rot.
"Boy, I know you are in the log," said the voice.
It was not Walloch, nor any of the other slavers. Jalan had never heard this voice before. A man's voice, though light of timbre. Jalan could easily imagine the speaker singing. The accent was careful, precise, and Jalan suspected that Common was not his native tongue.
"You need not fear me," the voice said. "My brother and I saved your mother, but she is hurt. My brother has taken her to a friend. Come. I will take you to her."
Jalan saw movement again, only this time the lighter shade of darkness was not low to the ground like the first shape, but standing like a man.
"Will you not come out? Are you hurt?"
"I'm cold," said Jalan.
"Then come out, and we shall find a fire."
"How do I know you aren't lying?"
"If I wanted to harm you, I could have done so by now."
Jalan did not move. "I… saw something. Before you came."
"Where?"
"Right where you're standing," said Jalan. "Only lower to the ground."
"You have an elf's sight to see so well in the dark," said the man. Jalan could hear the smile in his voice.
"What did I see?"
"You saw it. Not I. Will you come out, or shall you ask me questions till morning? Either you stand, or I shall sit."
Jalan stood.
* * * * *
Holding Jalan by the hand, the newcomer led them up the slope away from the water. They topped a low bluff. The wind was stronger up here, a biting breeze out of the north that pushed back the mists, and in the moonlight that fell between the trees Jalan got his first look at his rescuer. He was not a man at all but an elf, only slightly taller than Jalan but built of a leaner strength. Sinuous tattoos covered his body, but the skin between them shone almost white in the moonlight, and his hair was the silver of starlight on clear water. Despite the cold, he wore only a wraparound loincloth and shoes made of some animal hide.
"How did you know I was out here?" asked Jalan.
"We ran across some slavers with hounds. And we heard their master shouting for a boy."
"My name is Jalan."
"I am called Lendri."
"I didn't know there were elves in the Wastes."
Lendri said nothing. He led Jalan east, skirting the lake. Their trail occasionally dipped back into banks of fog in the shallow valleys and back out again on higher ridges. In the woods, Jalan heard small animals in the brush, and twice he heard the screech of an owl.
"How much farther?" Jalan asked after they'd walked for a league or more by Jalan's guess.
"We must pass four more coves, though I doubt we'll see them in the fog. Past the fourth, a stream enters the lake. At the mouth of the stream is a great rock jutting out of the lake. An island. Your mother is there."
"She isn't my mother."
Lendri frowned at that but said no more.
They descended an easy slope and re-entered the mists. Halfway through, Lendri stopped.
"What-?" asked Jalan.
"Shh!" Lendri released Jalan's hand and crouched, listening, his