Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [5]
Amira heard a faint rustling. At first she thought it was only the raven moving around again, but the sound grew stronger-and it was coming from the direction in which Jalan and his pursuers had disappeared. The flickering hope in Amira sputtered and died.
"Fourtee-ee-een!" Walloch roared.
The sound of someone running through the thick brush grew louder.
Walloch nudged Amira with the tip of his blade. "Seems he can count after all. Maybe we forget the cutting and get to the other, eh? Teach you a lesson. Maybe I let the others have turns and make your son watch."
The sounds of running feet came very loud now, perhaps amplified by the thick mist. Sick to her stomach, Amira forced her blood-caked eye open and watched. The raven cawed and cawed and cawed.
A figured emerged from the mist.
It wasn't Jalan. It was one of the men Walloch sent out-the one who'd held the hounds. His companion was nowhere to be seen, nor were the hounds.
"Iquai?" said Walloch, seemingly more confused than angry. "Where's my dogs, you worthless-?"
The man fell to his knees, one hand gripping his side and one hand holding on to the Nar for support. Even from several paces away, Amira caught the stench. The man had soiled himself. He twisted to one side, turning toward the torchlight, and Amira saw blood leaking between his fingers at his side. The Nar pushed the man away and he fell. An arrow-wood so pale as to be almost white but with fletching black as a raven's wing-stood out from the man's back. The man tried to speak but could not gather his breath.
"What-?" Walloch's jaw opened, shut, then opened again. He seemed more stunned than angry.
The breeze that had been whispering out of the north suddenly picked up to a full wind, setting the branches to rustling and stretching the mists into thin tendrils that fled like ghosts between the trunks. A pale, horned moon peeked through autumn-bare branches and bathed the little hollow in silver light.
A dozen paces or so behind the dying Iquai, standing just outside the shadow of a large tree, Amira saw two shapes. One was a man, tall and thick with muscle, his black hair corded in a long braid. He held a bow in one hand-not the short bows of the Tuigan, suited for loosing from a saddle, but a long horn bow at least a pace and a half in length. Standing to his left was another figure, his hair white as snow, bits of pale skin peeking out amid sinuous tattoos, but he was dressed like his companion in leathers and animal skins. The pale-haired one held a sword in one hand, single-edged and slightly curved near the end. Overhead, the cawing of the raven ceased.
"Release the woman," said the man. His voice held no anger, no threat. It was simply cold and unyielding.
"And who are you?" asked Walloch.
The newcomers said nothing.
"You feathered my man here, eh?" said Walloch, motioning with his sword at Iquai.
Still the newcomers stood silent.
"You an elf?" asked one of the Tuigan, motioning to the figure behind the large newcomer.
The pale-haired newcomer didn't look at the man who'd spoken. He kept his gaze on Walloch. Amira studied him more closely. His hair flowing in the wind seemed gossamer fine. In the merging light from the moon and torches, Amira could see ears that curved upward into sharp points. An elf. He glanced at her, for an instant only, but in that moment the torchlight caught in his eyes and they shone like embers. After first entering the Wastes so many tendays ago, she and her companions had camped on the open steppe. Wolves had come in close to the camp one night. The Cormyreans and their guides had kept the fires going, and the light from the flames reflected back from the wolves' eyes-exactly as they did from the elf's now.
"That's a vildonrat," said the other Tuigan. His eyes were wide, and even in the dim light, Amira could see his knees were trembling.
"Vildonrat?" Walloch smirked. "What's that? That mean 'pale elf' or something?"
"Your Tuigan sellswords have thick tongues," said the tall man. "He is Vil Adanrath."
The Tuigan tensed and exchanged nervous glances.