Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [3]
Amira kept looking at him, feeling the blood trickle off her forehead and down her cheek. She said nothing.
"That's how it's going to be, eh?" Walloch shrugged and turned to his men, pointing at the one holding the hounds and two others. "You three, after him. Don't let the dogs get to him. I want the boy back unharmed."
The men, taking two of the torches, bounded off with the dogs. Amira watched them go, following Jalan's trail. Maybe if he'd listened, maybe if he'd run and kept running, he'd have made it to the lake and then… what? Amira's heart sank.
"My hounds'll find him," said Walloch. He was looking at Amira, but his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Damned whelp's probably not far. All he's done for days is whine for his mother."
Amira tested the hold of the man on her right. Her feeble attempt only made him squeeze harder, and she let out a small hiss through clenched teeth.
"He hurting you?" asked Walloch.
"Yes."
"Good. You hold still, or I'll let him hurt you more."
Amira stared daggers at the slaver, but he merely smiled and turned away. At the slaver's orders, the two men sat Amira down and bound her wrists in front of her with a strap of raw leather. They pulled it tight until Amira couldn't help but cry out at the pain. Seeing her discomfort, Walloch walked back over and drenched the leather with water from his water skin.
"Feel better?"
"No."
"It'll feel a lot worse when that leather dries and tightens even more. If your boy comes back soon, I might cut the straps."
Walloch turned away and began to pace the area, restless as a hound that scents the fox but is kept at his master's leash. When he walked past the steaming body of the Tuigan that Amira had burned, the man let out a faint whimper.
"You still alive, eh? Eh?" Walloch nudged the man with his boot, and the Tuigan cried out. The slaver shook his head, said, "Nothing for you, then," and shoved the tip of his rapier through the man's temple. The charred form jerked once and lay still.
Two of the other men standing nearby were also Tuigan, and they scowled. Walloch cleaned the tip of his blade in the dry leaves, saw them watching, and said, "Nothing for him. I'm a wizard, not a cleric. You? No? Then turn your eye somewhere else. His gold can go to the rest of you now."
The Nar and the other men smiled at this, but the Tuigan's scowls only deepened.
Amira wiped at the blood that still trickled down her scalp. Leaves and dirt were matted in her hair in a grisly mud. "You know what I am." She looked at Walloch but raised her voice for everyone to hear. "Others will come for me. Better if you let us go now. I might try to forget where I left you when the war wizards come for justice."
Walloch laughed. "Come for justice, eh? That's nice. Is that what those three fops I killed had come for? Didn't look like it to me, and you didn't seem happy to see them." He looked to his men and spread his arms, his silver rapier still in his hand. "Let them come!" He spat on the ground. "That for your war wizards! Me and my men'll make belts from their hides."
"You caught them by surprise," said Amira. "That won't happen again."
Walloch shrugged. "And they won't catch me by surprise. Let them come. When our new friends come for your boy, our reward'll be far more than your pretty-robed war wizards can handle."
* * * * *
The evening wore on, and full dark fell. It was still early autumn, but winter often came early to the Wastes, and when a slight breeze set to rattling the boughs, Amira began shivering. Her hands pulsed from the tightness of her bonds, and she feared that before long she would no longer be able to feel her fingers. Not that it mattered. Her spells were spent.
Walloch kept up his pacing, restless as a caged lion. The Tuigan kept their blades handy and their backs to the torches so as not to ruin their night vision. The Lake of Mists had a reputation among the