Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [4]
"Where are those damned skulkers?" said Walloch.
"If the boy made it to the water, the hounds might've lost his scent," said the Nar.
The flickering hope in Amira brightened at this. The men and hounds had been gone a long time. Amira whispered another prayer, "Azuth, keep him safe. Please. Mystra, watch over him. And Kelemvor, if you're listening, give me a chance. At the least, let me die well. And if you want me to take any of these bastards with me, I am your humble servant."
"What are you muttering about?" Walloch had come back over, and the tip of his sword hovered not far from her face. "I see even a flicker of green fire and I'll do more than hit you with a rock this time."
The man guarding her took a step back.
"How much longer do we wait?" asked the Nar. "Those three know the way back to camp. Why must we sit out here freezing when we could be back at the fires?"
"We aren't leaving until I have that boy," said Walloch. He looked down at Amira, and the torchlight put an evil gleam in his eye. "But my friend here has a point. I'm tired of waiting. You"-he motioned to another of his men-"help him hold her up again. You others stand close with those torches."
The man seemed hesitant to get too close. "What about the green fire?" he asked.
"You think she'd be sitting quiet if she had any spells left?"
"Maybe she's trying to trick us," said the other.
Walloch turned the point of his sword in the man's direction. "You worry about me. Pick her up, damn you."
The men did so, but the man on Amira's right was trembling.
A sudden rustling shook the branches overhead, and a cry broke through the fog.
"What's that?" said the man on Amira's left, and his grip loosened.
"Just a raven," said Walloch. "The lake is thick with 'em this time of year. Now be quiet and hold her good."
The man's grip tightened. The raven cawed again.
Walloch stepped to within a pace of her and put the tip of his rapier beneath her left breast. "You're lucky he wants the boy unharmed, or I'd lop off a few of his fingers to show you what happens to those who cross me. But you? My buyer says whoever else I snag is mine to keep. I might sell you. Pretty western wench like you ought to sell well. Or I might keep you and teach you some manners. Eh, bukhla?"
Walloch chuckled and shook his head. "I'm through being nice," he said, then raised his voice to a booming shout. "Boy! Hey, boy! I got your mother! Come back now, boy! Come back and I promise you no harm will come to your mother! You have the word of Walloch! You keep hiding and… well, I may have to start cutting!" The slaver brought his waterskin to his lips, took a long drink, then leered at Amira. "Or maybe something else, eh?"
Amira wanted to spit in his face, but her mouth was dry as dust, and cold and weak as she was, she was half afraid it might come out a whimper. She clenched her jaw and looked away.
"Come back, boy!" Walloch shouted. "Come back and we go to the fires for some food, eh? I give you to twenty, then I start on your mother!" He took a deep breath. "One!"
The raven cawed again, and Amira heard branches rustling overhead.
"Two!"
The raven cried out twice. Walloch looked up. "Damned bird," he muttered, then-"Three!"
The count continued, Walloch pausing for a few breaths between each shout and drinking from the skin a few times. The raven continued its cawing, but Walloch ignored it.
"Eleven! Come on, boy! Hurry! Your time's half gone!"
Still the raven cawed.
"Twelve!" Walloch swallowed the last of his water, then looked to Amira. "Little bastard does know how to count, doesn't he?"
The men holding her laughed, and the raven called again. The bird seemed to be making the Nar and Tuigan nervous.
"Thirteen! Thirteen, damn it