Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [97]
The sorcerer clutched his staff to his chest and leaned back, breathing deep of the storm's fury. Slowly at first, but gathering strength as he found his rhythm, the sorcerer began an incantation.
What little warmth still gripped the air lost its hold. No longer did the snow fall in great, wet clumps. The flakes shrank and froze, hard as minuscule diamonds. Even the gray daylight dimmed to a thick gloom.
A silver eldritch light flickered around the sorcerer. Beyond the sound of his voice, the hiss of driving snow, and the hard slap of the waves on the rocks below, came the sound of voices riding on the wind.
* * * * *
Amira finished stuffing the last of her supplies into the pack and pulled the straps tight. Jalan lay beside her, still sleeping beside the fire. She'd have to wake him soon. He'd awakened a while ago, but only long enough to have a few bites of food and swallow a mouthful of water. She had held him while he ate, and the fact that he let her filled her with a mixture of relief and dismay.
Jalan had not let her hold him like this for years. He was on the verge of manhood, and though she missed holding her son, she understood why it made him uncomfortable. She'd welcomed holding him this morning, but doing so only emphasized how deeply Jalan had been hurt. Not so much on the outside-he looked underfed and exhausted, but other than the torn and bruised skin from too-tight ropes, his captors had done him no real harm. But his spirit had been hurt. Pensive and sometimes sullen Jalan had been replaced by a scared little boy who jumped at sudden sounds and huddled away from shadows.
Amira heard footsteps behind her-heavy and deliberate, so unlike the furtive tread of the elves-and she knew at once who it was.
She stood and turned to look up at Gyaidun. She almost didn't recognize him. His countenance had lost all vitality. His features, which she had first seen as hard and chiseled, now seemed merely haggard and tired. Even his eyes seemed fragile and hollow.
"Amira," he said. He stopped, his mouth hanging open as if he meant to continue, but then he shut it and shook his head.
"Gyaidun," she said, and was ashamed to hear the accusation in her voice. Her head knew she should feel pity for the man, but her heart was angry. "Did you come to say your farewells?"
"Farewells?"
"Lendri told me you aren't coming with us." No, she thought, you are staying here while your blood brother goes off to face certain death.
"I can't, Amira," he said. "I can't come and… and try to kill my own son."
Amira stood and hefted her pack. She felt no pity for that monster in the ash-gray cloak, not even a little, but still she tried to force some gentleness and warmth into her voice. "Gyaidun, he… he isn't your son anymore. You know that, don't you?"
Gyaidun looked away.
"I am sorry," she said. "I really am. What happened to your son, to Erun, it's… unforgivable. Monstrous. It's… blasphemous. But it happened. That thing you saw may have been wearing Erun's body, but the heart of what made him Erun isn't there anymore, Gyaidun. I know."
"You learned this," he said, his voice raw, "in Hro'nyewachu? She… she told you this?"
Amira hesitated. The belkagen had warned her of the dangers of sharing the secrets of the oracle. "Told me?" she said. "No. I saw it, Gyaidun. I saw it happen again and again through the centuries."
Gyaidun stood there, letting that sink in, then said, "You're going to kill him."
Amira took a deep breath and looked Gyaidun in the eye. He towered over her. Still, as he was now,