Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [91]
The muscles in Gyaidun's shoulder were a mass of pain from swinging the heavy iron club, his legs felt both heavy and empty, and every breath of frigid air was like needles in his lungs.
Still, Gyaidun fought, swinging his club and long knife. For the first few strikes, it was attack, if only in hopes of buying Amira enough time to get away. But then every swipe became an effort to keep the sorcerer at bay or to parry a thrust of his sword. Gyaidun retreated, half-stumbling back up the hill and away from Amira and Jalan.
* * * * *
In the confusion of the fight, Amira had lost her bearings, and it took her a moment to relocate Jalan. When she saw him, her first thought was that he had not moved since she'd seen him, her second that the blanket of snow was so thick on him now that he would soon be covered completely, and the third was to wonder at the dark shape that emerged from nothingness over Jalan.
Amira screamed.
But then the shape unfolded and she saw it for what it was-a huge cloak made up of many animal hides and painted in arcane symbols.
The belkagen emerged from the folds of his cloak and stood over Jalan. "Go help Gyaidun! I will take the boy!"
"No!" Amira said as she slid to a stop over her son. "I'm not leaving him again."
"You must!"
"I won't!"
"Lady," said the belkagen, and though he had to shout to be heard over the wind, there was tenderness in his voice. "Hro'nyewachu does not give such weapons of power lightly. The staff was given to you for a reason. Do not let it be in vain."
Amira knelt over her son. She brushed the snow away and pulled at the fabric until she could see his face. His eyes were closed-he looked so thin and worn!-but she could see his chest rising and falling. He was alive. If he had been hurt in the fall, it did not seem serious.
"I will see to him, Lady!" said the belkagen.
She rose and looked the old elf in the eye. "Your blood if you don't."
The belkagen flinched, but something told Amira it was not at her threat but at something else her words had hit.
"On my blood!" said the belkagen.
Amira took two steps up the hill, then turned again. "Tell him…" she said. "Tell Jalan I love him."
She looked down at her son, then spun and sped up the hill.
* * * * *
Flickers of light, like minuscule bolts of cold lightning, flashed along the sorcerer's blade. Gyaidun stepped out of range and swung his own weapon, putting every bit of strength into it. The sorcerer's blade flicked down and then up, and Gyaidun felt the leather connecting his wrist to his club part. The heavy weight of black iron flew into the snow-stitched darkness.
Gyaidun scrambled backward, the sorcerer advancing on him, and on the fourth step his heel struck a rock or tussock buried under the snow and he stumbled. He hit the ground but kept going, struggling like a crab on all fours.
The thing in the ash-gray cloak lunged, his cloak flaring in the gale, and grabbed Gyaidun under the chin. The grip was beyond cold. It seemed to leech every bit of warmth from Gyaidun's skull, and he could feel his bones and the fluids in his ears freezing.
The sorcerer stood, and although the arm that gripped him was thinner than a starved cadaver, he lifted Gyaidun's thick frame off the ground and brought him close. Even with his elf-blessed sight, Gyaidun's vision could not penetrate the depths of the sorcerer's cowl, not even when the sorcerer pulled him close. The wind was at the sorcerer's back, and Gyaidun could smell the stench of tombs and worse from the thing's robes.
The sorcerer inhaled deeply-Gyaidun could just hear it over the wind.
"Yes," said the sorcerer. "I know your blood. You might have been the one. Might have-"
Gyaidun thrust his knife into the robes. He kept the blade sharp enough to shave with, and the point punctured through the layers of cloth. Gyaidun felt the steel hit a rib, turn, and plunge deep. The sorcerer gasped, but his grip did not weaken.
"You have bite,"