Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [81]
"There!" he said.
"What is it?" said Lendri, and behind him he heard the Vil Adanrath rustling among the trees.
"A light."
Lendri saw it then-a faint greenish glow down in the cave that grew stronger with each passing moment. Before long, it was quite bright, staining even the snow outside the entrance the color of new spring leaves.
Mingan hopped around the entrance, barking and yipping, and Durja emerged from the folds of Gyaidun's cloak to alight upon an outcropping of stone beside the entrance.
They saw the belkagen first, his staff held high, the flames at its tip the source of the green glow. Behind him walked Amira, huddled in her cloak, her long hair still damp. Her left hand held her cloak closed against the chill, but her right held a staff almost as tall as Gyaidun.
The pair emerged from the cave. The belkagen stopped just outside the entrance, and Mingan came to lick his fingers. Gyaidun stepped to the entrance to take Amira's hand and help her up the final step. She gave him a smile of thanks. Lendri noted the weariness around her eyes.
"Are you well?" Gyaidun asked her.
"Well enough," she said. "Very tired."
"Hear me, my people!" said the belkagen.
Lendri turned and saw that the Vil Adanrath came as close as their honor would allow, hugging the treeline. His father stood just outside the nearest boughs, the falling snow dusting his head and shoulders.
"Hro'nyewachu guides our road," said the belkagen. "Lady Amira has sought her wisdom and lived."
The Vil Adanrath, both elves and wolves, let out a great howl, and even Mingan joined in.
"Gather your strength," said the belkagen. "For tonight we hunt!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Endless Wastes
Screaming. Jalan could hear it, made faint by distance or… something else. Some barrier or thickness. The voice was familiar. He knew it. He was sure. Then it hit him. It was his own voice, the screams and yells and shrieks finally fading to pleading-all that and more in the den of the dead wolves.
Another sound intruded. Howling. But not the malicious howling of the cloaked leader's pack that reminded Jalan of cold winter and empty places. This howling came from far away, and in it he heard the call of brothers.
Jalan opened his eyes. Again he was tied to the back of one of the great wolves. The sky was dark, but the fresh snowfall seemed to gather in the tiniest bit of light and reflect it back, giving the world a muted ghostly cast. He could make out the large forms of the other wolves and their riders milling about. They'd stopped. Why?
The howling. It came from the distant horizon in front of them. Jalan had once spoken to one of the rangers who patrolled around High Horn. The man told him that wolves have a language all their own, far more intricate than most people knew. They spoke not with words, but with movement, posture, the cant of ears and tail, a look of the eye, yips, barks, growls, and over great distance they howled. What they were saying now, Jalan did not know, but the wolves of the cloaked leader's band obviously did. They seemed agitated, and Jalan could feel the growling deep within his mount's chest.
The barbarians were shouting back and forth in their own tongue. Their leader allowed it for a few moments, then cut them off with a harsh command. The barbarians stiffened, and Jalan could see that they did not approve of their lord's command but were too frightened to disagree.
The leader shouted something, and the company set off again, heading northward, straight into the chorus of howls.
* * * * *
Amira found Gyaidun just under the northern lip of the ridge. The broad valley, now filled with snow, spread out beneath them. She sat down beside him and huddled into her cloak. Gyaidun glanced at her, then continued watching the land beneath them. There was an agitated stirring inside his cloak that Amira knew was Durja, huddled up and trying to keep warm.
"Where is Lendri?" she asked.
"He walks the dreamroad." Gyaidun motioned up the rise, but Amira could see nothing up there but grass and bushes covered in