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"Hush," said Gyaidun. "Dilit, Durja!"

The raven cawed once more, then settled down.

"What's the matter with him?" asked Amira.

"He's found something."

* * * * *

Under a cloudless sky quickly fading to black, Durja led them less than a quarter of a mile to a dry creek bed no more than five or six paces across and two deep. Amira dropped her pack to the ground next to Gyaidun's and sat on the edge of the gully while the big man climbed down.

"What is it?" she asked.

"They camped here last night," said Gyaidun. He was bent low, his gaze fixed on the ground, and he took the utmost care with each step. Durja perched on a nearby rock and looked to his master. "They lit no fire, but they bedded down here."

"They?"

"Your boy and his captors."

"Jalan?" Even through her bone weariness, proof that they were going the right way gave her a brief surge of excitement.

"Yes. Jalan. And at least four others. Maybe more. They rested here. I'd say they left at sunset yesterday."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Gyaidun stood straight. "I need to look around. You can start a fire?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then do it." He climbed out of the gully and stood over her. "Down there. And keep it low. We don't want to signal everyone for miles around."

"Where are you going?"

"I won't be long."

"Curse you, where-"

But he was already moving off. In moments, he had disappeared over the small rise.

"I hate the Wastes," Amira said. She stood, dragged their packs down into the gully, then set about looking for something to burn.

There was precious little, and all of it hard to find in the gloom. The gully obviously served as a stream in the wetter, warmer seasons, for the bank was lined with small bushes of hard, twisted wood with tiny leaves. Amira pulled at one and a small pain shot through her finger. The cursed things had thorns. Not large, but they were sharp. She considered lying down by her pack and letting the big oaf build his own fire. But now that the sun was gone and she'd stopped running, the chill in the wind had bite. She'd only spent a few days around the Lake of Mists, and she'd grown used to the heat it gave off. Out here on the open steppe, autumn was cold.

Taking more care, she grabbed the thing at the base and pulled it up by the roots. The soil was dry and the plant came up easily. She gathered five, threw four into a pile and one near the base of the gully wall. Her fingers twirled, she spoke an incantation, and flame funneled out of her fingers into the little bush. The dry leaves caught at once, flared a brilliant orange, and the flames caught in the wood.

It gave her enough light to gather stones to make a little firepit, and she used a larger rock to break up the other bushes without having to risk touching the thorns. She'd just thrown more wood on the fire when Gyaidun returned.

"Here, use these." He tossed several gray chips, each the size of a dinner plate, near the fire.

"What are they?"

"Dung."

Amira put a hand over her nose and scooted to the other side of the fire.

"It's dry," said Gyaidun. "It will burn slow and hot with little light."

"I don't suppose you found any water?"

"No water." Gyaidun crouched next to the fire. He looked grim. "I found something else. Not good."

"What?"

"More tracks besides Jalan's and his captors."

"More Frost Folk?"

"You know viliniketu? The Tuigan call them tirikul."

Amira shook her head. "I don't know the word, but tiri means 'ice,' does it not?"

"The viliniketu are like wolves, but larger and much more cunning. They live-"

Amira's heart skipped a bit. "You mean winter wolves?"

"As you say. A whole pack of them came here yesterday around sunset. No human tracks left."

"What does that mean?" asked Amira. She could not hide the tremor in her voice. "The winter wolves attacked them?" She'd encountered them once before, back during the war. They were dangerous, but she knew they'd be no match for that dark thing that had her son.

"It means that your son's captors are riding the viliniketu, and there's damned little chance of our catching them now, even if we ran