Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [35]
"But…"
"But what?"
"If your belkagen was right, if they are taking Jalan to Winterkeep…"
"Yes?"
"If I can take the time to rest and study, I might be able to take us there with a spell. We could get ahead of his captors. Not all the way to Winterkeep. Not with one spell. It's too far. But we could get ahead of them and set a trap."
"The two of us? Alone?" Gyaidun shook his head. "We should wait for Lendri at Akhrasut Neth and see if he comes with aid. Then… then I like your plan."
Amira smiled. "Gyaidun?"
"Yes?"
"What is 'the whispering of the stars?' "
Gyaidun seemed surprised at her question. "A term among the Vil Adanrath. In deep winter, on the coldest days your breath freezes so quickly that it becomes a fine snow-like little stars-right before your eyes. Listen and you can hear it fall to your feet. Like a whisper. 'The whispering of the stars.'"
Amira shuddered, lowered her staff, and wrapped the blanket back around her. She licked her lips and said, "You… do you think my plan will work?"
"Perhaps." Gyaidun shrugged and threw some more dried dung on the fire. "As long as we find them before the first snow."
* * * * *
Darkness on the open steppe. A haze, high but thick, shrouded the sky, and only the waxing moon and the few brightest stars managed to shine through, their milky glow pale and diffuse. Wind came from the north, and it held the scent of winter.
The pack trailed the elk for miles. Normally they did not hunt at night, but with the lean winter months coming, every moment not sleeping or caring for the young was spent on the hunt. The wolves had taken three young bulls from a herd numbering well over a hundred. They'd feasted in the dark and would sleep tomorrow.
The young-only off their mothers' milk for a few months-were just finishing when a howl wafted over the pack from the west. A moment later, another joined it from the south. The scouts.
Every hunter in camp stood still, ears held erect. Several surrounded the young.
The pack did not have long to wait before the scouts ran in, joining them. They spoke in the language of wolves-posture and movement and the flicking of the ears speaking just as much as the yips, whines, and occasional growls. The leader listened, a deep growl building in his throat even before his scouts had finished.
His mate barked, her head held high, looking at the low hills to the south. The short grasses were a black shadow under the iron-gray sky, but something flashed over them-two pale forms moving down the slope at a full run.
Most of the pack circled the young, who had sensed the tension among the group and stopped working at the slick bones of the elk carcasses. The leader led his hunters toward the intruders, his pack forming out behind him, moving silent as ghosts in the grass.
Just shy of the base of the slope, the newcomers stopped. Both were wolves, one a mottled gray and the larger one the color of starlight on new snow. The smaller threw his head back to the sky and let out a long, plaintive howl.
Forsaking silence for swiftness, the pack leader put on a sudden burst of speed. The newcomers did not retreat, though the larger of the two tensed, his muzzle low to the ground and his fangs bared.
The pack leader stopped in front of them, his hunters surrounding the intruders. He did not return the big one's threat. He could smell the southern soils on the newcomers. They had come far. They would be tired. Easy prey.
The largest of the newcomers shimmered in the dim moonlight. Shadows rippled over his fur, stretching and distorting, then disappearing. Where the pale wolf had been, there now stood a pale elf, naked upon the grass, his frost-colored hair falling over his shoulders. Lines and swirls, black in the dimness, covered his body, and three scars bisected by a fourth covered each cheek.
His palms held open, Lendri looked at the pack leader and said, "Greetings, Brother."
CHAPTER NINE
The Endless Wastes
Jalan woke to the feeling of warmth. It came as a shock, for he couldn't remember when he'd last been warm. Not since-