Frostfell w-4

by Marc Sehestedt

  "I have sought knowledge and chased every rumor, hoping and praying for any sign of Erun and the others. I only became more certain of the boy's fate, but I learned nothing of how to save him." "I'm going after my son," said Amira. "And don't you silence me again, elf. Not ever. I have half a mind to broil the lot of you for keeping me here all day. You promised me help, Belkagen. You said if I waited, you might give me hope. Where is it?" "I believe they are taking your son to Iket Sotha," said the belkagen. "For what reason? I do not know.

  But knowing what I have told you, we can go after him prepared.

  Perhaps we can rescue your son. You said you did so once before. If we can get him away-" "They'll only take him again," said a voice from the darkness. Gyaidun emerged from the mists. He looked down at the belkagen in disgust. "They did so once already. They traveled across half the world to get him." He looked to Amira. "Do you wish to spend the rest of your life-and your son's-running?" "I'm going after my son," said Amira, though the cold fear had returned to her heart. She had to force a steady calm into her voice. "I don't think I can kill this dark one who leads them. His powers are beyond me. But I'll get my son back or die trying. If I have to spend the rest of my life keeping him safe, so be it. I'm his mother." Gyaidun smiled, but it was one of the most frightening smiles Amira had ever seen. "Well said. Lendri and I will be going with you." "And me?" said the belkagen. "You can sleep in the Nine Hells for all I care," said Gyaidun. "Rathla!" said Lendri. "Chu set!" The belkagen said nothing, would not even look at Gyaidun. A spasm seized Lendri and he would have fallen had Gyaidun not rushed over and caught him. The big man helped the elf to sit. "Your anger is just," said Lendri. "Your disrespect shames us both, rathla. The belkagen's silence these years borders on deceit, but his words are not without some wisdom. If our foes are as dangerous as Lady Amira and the belkagen say, we will need help." "Who would-?" said Gyaidun the same time that Amira said,

  "There is no time-!" They both stopped and looked at each other.

  "Tonight I walk the dreamroad," said Lendri. "Tomorrow you two should follow the trail. I will seek out the Vil Adanrath." The belkagen hissed. "Foolish. They are more likely to kill you than help you. You know that." "This concerns Erun," said Lendri. "Haerul may well kill me, but he'd hunt the Beastlord himself if there were a chance of finding Erun. If I can find them. If not, I will meet you at Akhrasut Neth in three days." "Wait," said Amira. "Who is this Haerul? And who is Erun?" "Erun is my son," said Gyaidun. "He was taken eleven years ago. Just like Jalan."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Near the ruins of Winterkeep

  The old, old woman raised her head and sniffed into the wind. A northern wind, it bit with the promise of ice. Not hard. Not yet. The season was passing, but she still had a few nights before the first snow, a few more days of scrabbling through the ruins. Every evening darkness caught the land earlier and held it longer. She would have to leave soon. Very soon. Old and powerful as she was, even she was not foolish enough to be caught at Winterkeep when the snows came. As the first rim of the sun touched the western horizon, the old woman stood in a shadow cast by a massive stone. It had once stood tall and proud, and even now after all these years she could make out the remains of designs carved into the stone. They were rounded, smooth, some no more than faint indentations, but for those wise enough to know how to see, the designs had obviously been wrought by human hands. The men and mages who cut the stone and raised the temple had been bones and ashes for thousands of years. Their holy place high on the island had stood longer, but it too eventually succumbed to the never-ending winds off Yal Tengri, and fallen. The old woman looked to the far shore a few hundred paces south of the island. Only a few broken stones littered the foundations there. Most of once-proud Iket Sotha lay underground where the brightest day was dark as sleep and it never grew warm, even in high summer. She'd spent several days scrabbling through the ruins, as she did every autumn, searching for relics and any old thing that might hold power. This season's hunting had been particularly poor.

  Maybe she'd try the southern stair again tonight. The wind off the water gusted, and she sniffed again. Yes. Snow soon. In her bones she could feel the clouds gathering far away over the northern ice. This would be her last day on the island. The breeze died off, almost as if hushed, and inhaling as she was she caught a strange scent. She sneezed and muttered a curse. What was that foul stench? Almost like … flowers. Crouching low and leaning upon her staff, she looked through the jumbles of rubble at her feet. Nothing but moss lined the wet stones. A few stunted shoots had pushed their way through a crack in the stone at the base of the large rock. She considered trampling them but decided against it. With the promise of snow, they would die soon enough anyway. She smiled. Then the scent hit her again. Very faint but enough to make her scowl. She scrambled through the stones, poking at the rubble with her staff. Some old fish bones there, probably left behind by a tern. The eyes were empty and dead, but a bit of skin still clung round the sockets. The old woman picked it up, plopped it in her mouth, and began sucking on it, trying to soften the bits of skin and tissue. The breeze brought the scent to her again.

  What was that? The old woman lifted her gaze and stepped out of the shadow cast by the stone. It lay at the base of the island's crest, a great pinnacle of rock that thrust out of Yal Tengri. Atop the crag stood a tree, long-dead and blackened by generations of winter. It had been a great thing once, not tall but thick and strong, its boughs twisted. Even the winter gales had never been able to topple it.

  Something caught her attention. There it was! Something flickered on the tree, painted orange as an ember by the dying sunlight. Could it be a bird, caught in the ancient tree's tangled branches? Perhaps if she were quiet she could sneak up on the poor thing, snatch it, and have more for her supper than old fish bones. The old woman had to lean on her staff and took her time climbing the slick rocks. The scent grew stronger as she climbed, and her scowl deepened. That was no bird. Standing under the great tree, the old woman felt dwarfed.

  She and the tree were the only upright things on the island, and she seemed small and insignificant next to it. She'd never liked the cursed thing. She held her staff in a firm hand and raised it, ready to strike. Perhaps she was wrong. Maybe there was a bird up there, and that smell was coming from something else. Should it be a bird, she wanted to be ready. One little rap with her staff. Not hard. Not enough to stop its little heart. Just enough to stun it so she could grab it. Slow, nice and slow, she crept around the tree, her gaze casting upward. The last sliver of sun sank in the west, and its last flicker of flame caught on the thing waving from a low branch. The old woman gasped. It wasn't a bird at all. It had glowed red as an ember in the dying light when her eye first caught it, then as the first bit of true night fell on the island, all warmth and light left the little thing. It was no larger than the old woman's thumbnail, but there was no mistaking it. The ancient tree of the Raumathari kings had produced a bud.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Endless Wastes

  Not in all her years serving the crown of Cormyr, all her demanding apprenticeship and training as a war wizard, not even during the longest days of the war, had Amira ever been so tired. They left Arzhan Island that morning as soon as it was light enough to see. It took all morning and a good deal of the afternoon to get through the woods north of the Lake of Mists. That had been exhausting enough, but once Gyaidun had led them onto the open steppe, he started running, not waiting for Amira but obviously expecting her to keep up. She had, which seemed to annoy Gyaidun, though it didn't entirely please Amira.

  She knew she'd never have managed it without the belkagen's help.

  Before they'd left camp that morning, Gyaidun still avoiding the belkagen and refusing to speak to him, the belkagen had pressed several special roots-he'd called them kanishta roots-into her hand and told her to keep quiet about them, but he knew she'd need them after midday when they came to open grassland. She hadn't understood till her legs b
egan to cramp and her lungs refused to fill with enough air. She'd stuck one of the roots in her mouth, chewed, and new vigor and strength had filled her almost at once. Whether the kanishta roots had some herbal property or had been fused with the belkagen's magic-probably both, Amira guessed-they certainly worked. They tasted just shy of foul, but with one tucked between her teeth and cheek, she'd been able to keep up with Gyaidun the whole way, and when they stopped for brief periods to drink, he seemed even more winded than she. His scowl told her he suspected she'd had help doing so, but he didn't say a word. After midday, after running across the open steppe with only brief periods of jogging for rest, Amira began to hate Gyaidun. Her legs burned and the inside of her chest ached, even with the help of the kanishta roots. They kept her going, but she couldn't help feeling as if her endurance were like a bow being pulled farther and farther back, gaining strength but in so doing coming ever closer to snapping. As the sun slid toward the horizon and the ache deepened to pain, then agony, she even considered murdering the man for the unflagging pace he set. Probably the only thing that kept him alive was her knowledge that he was her best hope in finding Jalan. He knew these lands and was able to follow their quarry's trail even through the short grass. When the western sky began to burn orange with the coming of evening and a violet curtain spread across the east, even her hate for the big man and his long, miles-eating legs faded. Now that they had finally stopped, with the barest sliver of sun peeking over some low hills to her left, Amira just wanted to fall down and die. "Tired?" asked Gyaidun. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, but even carrying most of their supplies he was not breathing heavy.

  The hate in Amira flared again. "No." Amira blushed when the word came out a gasp. She swallowed and her trembling fingers fumbled to untie the water skin dangling from her pack. "Let me help you," said Gyaidun, crouching next to her. "I can do it!" She slapped his hand away. Gyaidun stood. "What do you think?" "About what?" "Light will be gone soon. We should find a place to camp." "Fine." "No caves for miles. No copses. Maybe I can find a gully. It'll keep the worst of the wind off us and hide the fire." "Talking isn't going to find it."

  He gave her a hard look then said, "Sure you don't want help with that?" She let go of the waterskin and let it dangle from her pack.

  She'd only managed to tighten the knot even worse. "I'm not that thirsty after all." Gyaidun took his own waterskin, took a long drink, then tied it shut and looked at her. "You sure?" "You-" A harsh caw and a rustle of black feathers cut her off. Gyaidun held up his arm and Durja the raven settled on it. The bird flapped his wings and called again. "Hush," said Gyaidun. "Dilit, Durja!" The raven cawed once more, then settled down. "What's the matter with him?" asked Amira. "He's found something."

  Under a cloudless sky quickly fading to black, Durja led them less than a quarter of a mile to a dry creek bed no more than five or six paces across and two deep. Amira dropped her pack to the ground next to Gyaidun's and sat on the edge of the gully while the big man climbed down.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "They camped here last night," said Gyaidun. He was bent low, his gaze fixed on the ground, and he took the utmost care with each step.

  Durja perched on a nearby rock and looked to his master. "They lit no fire, but they bedded down here."

  "They?"

  "Your boy and his captors."

  "Jalan?" Even through her bone weariness, proof that they were going the right way gave her a brief surge of excitement.

  "Yes. Jalan. And at least four others. Maybe more. They rested here. I'd say they left at sunset yesterday."

  "You're certain?"

  "Yes."

  "How?"

  Gyaidun stood straight. "I need to look around. You can start a fire?"

  "Yes, but-"

  "Then do it." He climbed out of the gully and stood over her.

  "Down there. And keep it low. We don't want to signal everyone for miles around."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I won't be long."

  "Curse you, where-"

  But he was already moving off. In moments, he had disappeared over the small rise.

  "I hate the Wastes," Amira said. She stood, dragged their packs down into the gully, then set about looking for something to burn.

  There was precious little, and all of it hard to find in the gloom. The gully obviously served as a stream in the wetter, warmer seasons, for the bank was lined with small bushes of hard, twisted wood with tiny leaves. Amira pulled at one and a small pain shot through her finger. The cursed things had thorns. Not large, but they were sharp. She considered lying down by her pack and letting the big oaf build his own fire. But now that the sun was gone and she'd stopped running, the chill in the wind had bite. She'd only spent a few days around the Lake of Mists, and she'd grown used to the heat it gave off. Out here on the open steppe, autumn was cold.

  Taking more care, she grabbed the thing at the base and pulled it up by the roots. The soil was dry and the plant came up easily. She gathered five, threw four into a pile and one near the base of the gully wall. Her fingers twirled, she spoke an incantation, and flame funneled out of her fingers into the little bush. The dry leaves caught at once, flared a brilliant orange, and the flames caught in the wood.

  It gave her enough light to gather stones to make a little firepit, and she used a larger rock to break up the other bushes without having to risk touching the thorns. She'd just thrown more wood on the fire when Gyaidun returned.

  "Here, use these." He tossed several gray chips, each the size of a dinner plate, near the fire.

  "What are they?"

  "Dung."

  Amira put a hand over her nose and scooted to the other side of the fire.

  "It's dry," said Gyaidun. "It will burn slow and hot with little light."

  "I don't suppose you found any water?"

  "No water." Gyaidun crouched next to the fire. He looked grim. "I found something else. Not good."

  "What?"

  "More tracks besides Jalan's and his captors."

  "More Frost Folk?"

  "You know viliniketu? The Tuigan call them tirikul."

  Amira shook her head. "I don't know the word, but tiri means 'ice,' does it not?"

  "The viliniketu are like wolves, but larger and much more cunning.

  They live-"

  Amira's heart skipped a bit. "You mean winter wolves?"

  "As you say. A whole pack of them came here yesterday around sunset. No human tracks left."

  "What does that mean?" asked Amira. She could not hide the tremor in her voice. "The winter wolves attacked them?" She'd encountered them once before, back during the war. They were dangerous, but she knew they'd be no match for that dark thing that had her son.

  "It means that your son's captors are riding the viliniketu, and there's damned little chance of our catching them now, even if we ran all night and all day tomorrow."

  "This morning when we left the lake, you said we might find Tuigan and obtain horses."

  "Might. But even if we found horses tomorrow and ran them till they died, there's no horse that could catch the viliniketu."

  "You're giving up?" Amira said. Rage and despair filled her.

  "No!" said Gyaidun, anger rising in his voice. "We'll run or ride as long as there's a trail to follow. But unless you can grow wings to fly us there, they'll be wherever they're going long before us."

  "What if-?" Amira stopped herself.

  Gyaidun speared her with his gaze, and she looked away.

  "What if what?" he asked.

  Amira said nothing but cursed inwardly. She knew Gyaidun's only interest in helping Jalan was in hopes of finding his own son or, barring that, wreaking vengeance on those who took him. She dared not trust him with too much.

  "What if what?" Gyaidun grabbed her wrist. "What aren't you telling me?"

  Amira slapped his hand away. "Unhand me!"

  Gyaidun lowered his hands but leaned in close until he towered over and l
ooked straight down into her eyes. She straightened her back and returned his gaze. One spell, just one, and she could have this brute howling for mercy.

  "You think this is a game?" said Gyaidun. His eyes narrowed, and he spoke scarcely above a whisper. "Your son is out there. My rathla, my sworn brother, almost died protecting him. I'm risking my life trying to get him back."

  "Why?"

  Gyaidun flinched, obviously shocked at the straightforward question, but said nothing.

  "I watched you, you know."

  "What?" Gyaidun's brow wrinkled in confusion.

  Amira had to fight to keep the smile off her lips. She'd never liked the machinations and manipulations of courtly life, hated it in fact, but that didn't mean she didn't know how to play the game when it suited her. Hit your opponent where he least expected. That held true in both court and war-and ten times more so with men.

  "When I woke in the belkagen's camp. You treated him with respect.

  Almost awe at times. Until he told us what he knew of Winterkeep and the… Frost Folk, he named them. You tensed up like a drawn bow. I thought you were going to crack a tooth grinding your jaw. Then, when he mentioned other children being taken-"

  "Enough!"

  Gyaidun stood, and for a moment Amira feared she'd gone too far.

  The same fury that had clouded his features when he'd attacked the belkagen was back. Amira's hand tightened around her staff, and she started going through the proper spell that could stop Gyaidun without seriously hurting him. But he stopped, and obviously with great effort composed himself.

  Finally, his shoulders slumped and he spoke in barely more than a whisper. "My son was taken. Just like Jalan. My wife died, just like your knights. I never saw my son again." A bit of the cold hardness returned to his eyes. "That what you want?"