Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [42]
The bottom rim of the sun was a finger's width over the horizon when Lendri first noticed the long shadows in the distant grass-several of them headed right for the pack. It wouldn't be long now.
Leren, pacing not far away, saw them as well. He was one of the few in camp with a weapon-a long knife that he held naked in his hand. He watched the shadows a while, then turned and looked down on Lendri. "They are coming," he said.
"Thank you, Brother," said Lendri.
"Don't call me that, hrayek," said the warrior, and he spat on the ground beside Lendri.
Mingan raised his head, and a growl, more felt than heard, rumbled deep within the wolf's throat. Leren ignored him.
Hrayek, thought Lendri. Outcast. Oathbreaker. This was not going as well as he'd hoped. It was not altogether unexpected, but still it saddened him. He and Leren had been close once.
With full light bathing the rise, the Vil Adanrath stirred out of dreamwalk and sleep. The news spread quickly. The omah nin was coming. Several of the wolves sent up a song to greet him.
A pack of twenty wolves, led by a massive male with fur the color of new snow, ran among the gathered pack. The hunters greeted their lord and his guard, dancing about him, yipping and barking, the greatest of the pack licking his muzzle and bowing with lowered ears and tail. The huge wolf allowed it for a time, then snarled and barked till the others cleared a path for him. He walked up the slope to Leren, wolves and elves following him. Mingan circled Lendri a few times, then settled on his haunches beside his friend and watched.
Leren knelt, lowering his head and opening his palms. "Well come to the pack, Omah Nin."
The wolf looked at Leren, then glanced at Lendri and Mingan. His fur bristled, then began to ripple as if stirred by a hundred tiny breezes. Fur faded to a misty light, the pale shadow within stretching. When the light cleared, an elf stood in front of Leren. This newcomer was the tallest elf in camp. His snow white hair fell well past his waist, and his entire body was a maze of black tattoos and old wounds. Runes the color of fresh blood lined his arms and chest. Three scars marred his skin from scalp to cheek to chin, leaving empty tracks through his pale eyebrows. His eyes stood out like jewels burning with the light of a winter sky. This was Haerul, Omah Nin of the Vil Adanrath. Chieftain of chieftains. What the Tuigan would have named khahan.
Haerul knelt by the wolf next to him, which had a light pack on its back. He reached into the pack, removed a loincloth, and covered his nakedness before looking down on Leren. "Rise, my son," he said.
Leren stood, and together the elves turned to face Lendri.
"Hrayek," Haerul said, no warmth in his eyes. "You know the penalty for returning to the pack. There is no help for you here. You know that."
Lendri looked into the chieftain's eyes. "I know, Father."
For the briefest instant, sorrow clouded Haerul's countenance, then he suppressed it and turned to his younger son with his hand open. Leren slapped the blade into his father's palm.
"Then," said Haerul, "I suggest you speak quickly. I would like to know the reason I must kill flesh of my flesh."
Mingan growled at the sight of the blade, but Lendri shushed him to silence. The wolf quieted, but Lendri could feel his tension. His friend's muscles were taut as oak roots, and his hackles stood tall like summer grass.
Lendri kept his eyes low. To look his father in the eye would be seen as a challenge. If it came to the blade, then perhaps he would challenge his father. Until then…
Lendri told his tale, of the rescue of Jalan and the war wizard from the slavers, of others-though he did not say who-coming for the boy afterward.
"What does this have to do with the Vil Adanrath?" asked Leren. "Why lose your life's blood