Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [79]
He searched for that thing inside him, that living otherness he'd felt so strongly not long ago. When the power had shot through him, it had felt… beyond good. Wonderful. Intoxicating. He could still sense it-see it almost, but no matter how hard he concentrated, it remained elusive and distant. It might as well have been the sun shining above the surface of the water, and he the drowning man, reaching out, the light forever beyond his grasp.
The hope that Jalan had cherished all night began to fade again.
He closed his eyes. Concentrating all his will, he prayed, Vyaidelon! Vyaidelon, help me!
Nothing. He hadn't heard a thing from Vyaidelon since the dream three nights ago. Maybe it had been just a dream. His heart knew better, but doubt was beginning to nag at him.
Jalan's heart lurched as the wolf on which he rode leaped into the air, then fell and fell. A scream was building in Jalan's throat-he was sure the stupid beast had gone snow-blind and run them off a cliff-when the wolf's paws struck the ground, causing Jalan to bite the inside of his cheek. The wolf ran on, and Jalan heard others making the jump behind him.
The flatness of the land was ending, the steppe beginning to rise and fall in long hills-some miles wide. Amid the rolling snowfields, fissures broke the earth. Most likely gullies where the spring rains gathered and ran on their way to the Great Ice Sea.
The wolves leaped down or sometimes all the way across the smaller valleys. The huge wolves were surprisingly sure-footed and found their way in and out of even the most treacherous of the snow-covered gashes in the earth.
The light was strong enough that Jalan could see several paces in every direction when they stopped at a wide gully with sides so steep that they were forced to search for a safe way down. Jalan watched as their cloaked leader spoke with his barbarian servants. Even a few of the wolves seemed to be attending to the conversation. Although Jalan could not understand their words, he guessed what they were talking about. If he could see this far in such a fierce storm, it meant the sun had risen. Every day so far they had stopped to camp before sunrise. Despite the cloaked leader's power, he seemed unable to abide the daylight.
Scouts scattered up and down each side of the gully, the great wolves pawing and sniffing. A small chorus of howls announced success, and shortly after the entire band was gathering about a small overhang on the northern side of the gully. The body of two wolves, both torn and mangled, their blood spotting the snow, lay on the ground not far away. Tracks led off eastward where more had fled. Jalan watched as one of the pale barbarians crawled out of a shield-sized hole in the gully wall, pulling the body of another dead wolf behind him.
Several of the wolves from the northerners' band began feasting on the remains of the pack whose den they'd just pillaged. Jalan grimaced and turned away. His gaze fell on the leader, snow dusting the ash-gray of his cloak, who had dismounted and was headed straight for him.
Jalan pulled away, but his mount lowered to its haunches, and the leader cut him loose. The wolf bounded away, and the leader grabbed Jalan by the rope around his chest and held him up with one hand. Jalan found himself staring into the darkness of the hood. He could make out no distinct features, just a pale blur hinting at the face within.
"Good," said the leader. "You're awake. It will make our business easier."
Rope still bound Jalan's wrists and elbows, but his legs were free and he kicked at the leader's torso. One blow connected, but it was like striking a tree.
The hand released him, and Jalan fell. After riding for so long in one position, his legs were stiff. Pain shot through his joints. He was halfway to his knees when he felt the leader's hand grabbing his hair. Jalan just had time to take a quick breath before his face was slammed into the snow. The first time was