Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [15]
"Attacked? By who?"
"Gyaidun first thought it was Walloch, come back. The woods where Gyaidun found Lendri were coated in frost. But Lendri said it was… he said he thought some of them were Frost Folk, but there was… something else. Something foul and cold."
Dread, kept at bay these many days, filled Amira's stomach. Oh, no, she prayed. Not again. We were so close!
The belkagen was watching her, his eyes piercing. Under his gaze, Amira felt like a rabbit under the scrutiny of a hungry wolf.
"Where is this… Gyaidun?" she asked. "The big one?"
The corner of the belkagen's mouth lifted in a smile, but his eyes remained sharp. "Yes, Gyaidun the big one. I'm afraid my friend has gone and done something foolish."
"He's gone for Jalan?" Hope flickered in Amira-she'd seen the man fight last night; he could've given a Purple Dragon Knight a challenge and then some-but her sense knew it was a feeble hope. No matter how formidable the big man was, the fool had no idea what he was up against.
"No," said the belkagen. "He and Lendri are rathla, what the Tuigan call anda. Blood brothers. When he found Lendri near dead, a steel rage filled him. I've only seen him like that a few times. After bringing Lendri to me, he went after Walloch."
"But you said it was Frost Folk and… something else."
"So Lendri said. But Gyaidun suspected that the slaver was after you two for a reason, and that reason came looking for you and almost killed Lendri." The belkagen shook his head. "I could almost pity Walloch when Gyaidun finds him."
* * * * *
After leaving Lendri with the belkagen, Gyaidun gave serious consideration to picking up the trail of whoever had attacked Lendri and taken the boy. But he knew he'd be outnumbered at least five to one, and they had nearly killed Lendri. Furious as he was, Gyaidun was no fool. But his blood was up, and he could not just sit by the campfire and wait.
He'd picked up the slaver's trail easily enough. That many men and dogs had torn up the woods chasing the woman and her boy. Gyaidun kept a steady pace but didn't hurry. Lendri's people had a saying: Besthunit nenle. "Hurry slowly"-go fast, but not so fast that you miss your prey. The slaver had a loud bark, but he had the bite to back it up, and Gyaidun didn't want to rush into an ambush.
Dawn's first light was burning in the east. Gyaidun had left the forest proper behind and was now walking through the beginnings of open steppe, though there were still frequent copses and islands of brush. He knew he was getting close. He could smell horses, dogs, goats, and all the things that came out of them. The smell of cooked food hit his nostrils, though it was old. Apparently none of the slavers were early risers. The stench of the midden pit struck him so hard that he knew they hadn't taken the time to dig it deep enough or bury what was in it. But something else tickled his senses, more taste than smell. Moisture. That was nothing unusual around the Lake of Mists, where half the lake seemed to escape as a cloud every day. But this had a flavor, sharp and hard. He knew it, but it took him a moment to place it, for it was far too early in the year: snow.
Gyaidun stopped long enough to string his bow and nock an arrow. He crept in nice and slow, going low to the ground from cover to cover.
There was no need.
He crested the small rise above a jagged hollow that a stream had cut through the hills. Gyaidun looked down into the remains of the slaver's camp, every bit covered in a thick blanket of snow. Not even the soft, wet snow that could sometimes fall in the autumn. This was a fine, hard snow. It sent up little clouds as he walked and muffled all sound. Nothing in the camp moved, and he knew that the dozens of snowy mounds scattered throughout the camp were bodies.
* * * * *
"Where are my clothes?"
After eating some dried venison and drinking a great deal of water, Amira finally managed to sit up without