Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [89]
Do they? said a voice in his mind. That old, nagging voice that had plagued him all these years. He knew it well: his own deepest heart and conscience that always gave the hardest counsel, the one thing he didn't want to hear, but which had always proved right. Every time he'd ignored that still, small voice, he had brought pain to himself and others. Part of him, that part that had felt fear since his first journey to Hro'nyewachu, prayed that the voice would be silent. But it wasn't. Do they? it said. Do your people need your protection? Or do you need theirs? You know your duty.
The belkagen cradled his staff close, huddled inside his cloak, covering even his head, and spoke the words of power.
* * * * *
Eyes clenched tight, Amira knew her spell had worked. One moment she was in the midst of the cries of men, elves, and wolves, and the wind howling through the valley, rattling the bare branches. The next, she stood on the bare hillcrest, knee deep in snow, back in the storm with the wind shrieking and the snow hitting her with a million tiny hammerstrikes.
She opened her eyes, but away from the belkagen's spell all was darkness. She could not even see her hair blowing into her face or the snow striking her skin. Straining her ears, she could just make out the distant cries of battle below her and to the right. Then… something else. Something large headed right for her. With the realization of what it was, her heart skipped a beat. She'd placed herself too well.
Amira raised her staff and shouted, "Amalad saisen!"
Heat flared in the staff and flowed up her arm and through her body. She felt it build in her, permeating blood and bone, then golden light shone around her as if she had become a fragment of the sun, and the entire hillside was bathed in its heat.
The winter wolf bearing down upon her-now only a half-dozen paces away-yelped as if it had been scalded. It tried to stop, but so great was its momentum that its own weight caused it to slide and tumble in the snow. In her mind Amira cried-Jalan!-and then the wolf slid past her so close that the cloud of snow its fall produced fell over her like a wave. Still the power of the staff flowed through her, causing the snow to evaporate even as it touched her skin. She felt the unearthly cold radiated by the dark sorcerer strike the aura of light around her and rebound.
The huge wolf regained its feet and turned to face her. She was awed by the sheer size of the beast. Its hackles, raised and trembling, stood as high as the mane of the finest stallions in her father's herds, and its fangs were longer than her hands. Its growl was like tumbling boulders, and its eyes narrowed to slits so that she could see only an ember of fire reflected in its gaze.
The instinct of years of battle-training took over. Holding her staff high in hopes of distracting the beast's attention, Amira thrust her other palm outward and said, "Dramasthe!"
A bolt of energy shot from her hand and struck the wolf's face. There was the briefest sound of sizzling flesh, then even the howl of the wind was drowned out by the wolf's shriek. It half-turned and half-fell, then stumbled up the hillside, dragging its scalded face in the snow.
Amira focused her attention farther down the hill. Something lay there, unmoving, and through the gaps in white where the fall and storm had not yet covered it in snow, Amira saw a tattered cloak, set in a pattern of waves. She could not see them at this distance, but she knew those waves were etched in a gold-colored thread. She'd stitched them herself.
"Jalan!" she shouted, and ran down the hill.
But just beyond Jalan another form rose, and the snow seemed to gather and cling to its ash-colored cloak. It took two steps toward Jalan, then bent down to grab him.
"Dramasthe!" Amira