Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [80]
"Enough?"
Jalan found himself looking up into the dark confines of the hood, though he had no memory of being picked up.
"Stop struggling," said the leader, "or I will begin truly hurting you."
Jalan tasted blood, snow, and grit in his mouth, but he swallowed it, afraid that spitting it out would be seen as a sign of defiance. Again his mind scrabbled for the power inside him. He found it, but it was dormant, and nothing he did could rouse it.
"This is the very behavior we are about to correct," said the leader, and he set off through the snow, dragging Jalan behind him.
Jalan could see little more than the hem of the leader's cloak and boots and the snowy ground beneath, but judging from the general direction, he knew where they were headed.
The leader ducked into the entrance of the wolf den and pulled Jalan after. As the darkness closed over him, panic set in, and raw instinct almost took over and set Jalan to kicking and streaming, but the last of his conscious mind and will held on. He closed his eyes and tried to prepare for the worst.
The tunnel was short, turned upward near the end, and ended in a fair-sized burrow. It was dim but not altogether dark. The all-covering snow outside reflected the light quite some way into the tunnel. Scraps of bone and tufts of hair littered the ground. Roots from the grass on the surface hung down from the ceiling. Then the light winked out-someone had covered the entrance-and Jalan found himself in complete darkness with the thing inside the ash-gray cloak. His nose was overwhelmed with the thick, musky scent of animal, and what little warmth had been left in the den fell into the presence of the cloaked leader like water funneling down a drain. Jalan shivered.
"Long, long years it has been," said a voice from the darkness. "Long years since we found one where the blood runs as pure as it does in you. I almost wish it were my time. Gerghul will be pleased with you. You will last a long time."
"D-don't make me hurt you," Jalan said, but even he heard the empty threat. His hoarse whisper, just on the verge of tears. "I can, you know. I w-will. D-don't-"
"Yes, you can. I know you can. And that is why we are here. We'll have no more of that."
Hands cold as tomb frost seized Jalan and pulled him close. He kicked and tried to pull away, but the thing's strength was implacable. He could feel breath, cold and fetid on his face, and he choked. Bile rose to his throat and tears streamed down his cheeks.
In the darkness before him, less than a hand's width away, he saw two rings of cold fire, like a starlight nimbus filtered through frost. Eyes. They were eyes rimmed in ice, vast and empty. Portals to nothingness, and Jalan felt himself falling in, trying to find something to hold onto, but there was nothing. Drowning. He was drowning in emptiness.
Then something was with him. In his mind. Something hungry and very much aware of him. He could feel its full attention bearing down on him, coming closer.
Jalan could no longer feel his body, but in his mind he screamed. Then the thing had him.
* * * * *
Hro'nyewachu
During the night, the mists froze on the steppes below Akhrasut Neth, and the sky let loose a great cascade of snow-thick, wet flakes that fell harder with each passing moment. By the time the first hint of dawn-no more than a lightening of the dark curtain in the east-struck the sky, Akhrasut Neth and all the surrounding lands lay beneath new snow.
Still Gyaidun, Lendri, and the nearby Vil Adanrath kept their vigil. The wolves found shelter beneath the boughs of the nearby trees-all save Mingan, who stayed with his master near the entrance to the cave. But he was restless, partially from the weather that kept trying to give him a blanket of snow he didn't want, but also from something else, perhaps some scent or sound coming from the cave.
It was Gyaidun, who paced only a few feet from the entrance,