as their sap froze and expanded. In the sorcerer's words, the tone haunting his incantation, Gyaidun heard again that sound-a cold so complete that it froze life's blood and cracked bone. The sorcerer raised his hand-palm open, fingers writhing like the legs of a dying spider-and at the height of his incantation, the air around his hand froze, turning blue-white, and shot forth, gathering force and fury from the air as it arrowed straight at Gyaidun. Gyaidun tensed his muscles to leap out of the way, but his warrior's instincts knew he'd never make it. Green fire, a great wall of it three times his own height, erupted from the snow almost at his very feet and spread outward in a straight line to his left and right. The dark sorcerer's magic hit the fire and exploded in a hissing cloud of steam. Wide-eyed, Gyaidun followed its course and saw the belkagen at the base of the far hill, his staff held high as he chanted. Over the roar of flame, Gyaidun heard the incantation of the sorcerer rise in pitch, and a frigid blast of air shrieked out of the north, stirring up a great cloud of frost from the snow on the ground. The emerald flames bent under the pressure of the wind, flickered and fought a moment, then went out. Still hovering above the battlefield, the belkagen's flare dimmed, and the shadows on the field thickened. Gyaidun leaped over the trench that the belkagen's wall of fire had cut through the snow. The Siksin Neneweth nearest him lunged with his spear, and Gyaidun leaned into it, bringing his club around in an arc before him. The thick iron struck the shaft of the spear with enough force that it should have shattered the staff. Gyaidun had heard that the Siksin Neneweth ensorcelled their weapons so that the intense cold would not cause them to become brittle and break. This must be one of them, Gyaidun thought, for his strike only shattered the frozen blood upon its barbed point and turned the spear aside. The spear point stabbed the snow as Gyaidun followed through with his swing, bringing the club on its leather leash around full circle. It struck the spearman's forearm with such force that bone tore out from muscle and skin, splattering blood onto the snow. The scream died on the barbarian's lips as Gyaidun stepped in, bringing his club round again to smash the man's skull. He stepped over the corpse, and a tide of wolves overtook him, passing in a thunder as their wide paws tore through the snow. Lightning cracked the sky and struck the ground amidst the wolves. Thunder hit Gyaidun like a club, knocking the wind from his chest, and he saw steam and great gouts of snow explode into the air, the charred bodies of wolves flying in every direction. Some of the wolves had been far enough away to escape the first strike. They scattered, and when the second bolt hit, only three died. The few survivors leaped away from the carnage, then resumed their charge. Gyaidun followed, and from the corners of his eyes he saw Vil Adanrath joining them. The elves were lighter and more fleet of foot than Gyaidun, and they shot past him. Over the barking of wolves and the battle cries of men and elves, Gyaidun heard Amira shouting, 'Jalan! Jalan!' Gyaidun was still several paces away, wading through the knee-deep snow, when four Vil Adanrath attacked the Siksin Neneweth swordsmen. Beyond them, the dark sorcerer raised his arm, shouted an incantation, and thrust his fist at the elves. As he pointed at each of them, they cried out and stopped in their tracks.
Two dropped their swords and collapsed to their knees, and another stumbled in the snow and fell forward. The Frost Folk were on them in an instant, their blades rising and falling, throwing streams of blood into the air. The air in front of Gyaidun seemed to ripple and thicken. His eyes were drawn up to the dark sorcerer, still seated on the back of his massive wolf. The air between them seemed to vibrate, like the plucked string of a harp, and from the inside out, Gyaidun's head went suddenly cold, as if he'd swallowed mouthfuls of snow. Only this was worse. Everything behind his eyes seemed to freeze and crack, and pain such as Gyaidun had never known hit him. He could not move, could not breathe, could not even close his eyes. Then he saw the fire, tumbling and flickering like a burning sparrow, strike the dark sorcerer in the chest. Tongues of flame burst to life in the ash-gray robes, and the pain evaporated from Gyaidun like water thrown on a hot rock. Gyaidun took a deep breath as the normal aches and weariness of his body settled back into place. The Siksin Neneweth, blade held high, was almost on him by the time Gyaidun saw him. Gyaidun had just enough time to stumble out of the way. The cold metal passed his throat so close that he felt the wind of its passage. His backside hit the snow, and he scrambled backward, yanking on the leather leash round his wrist to bring his club within reach. The snow hindered his progress, and the Siksin Neneweth was quick. The pale barbarian lunged forward, his sword held back, his arm ready to thrust. Gyaidun knew he couldn't get away. Perhaps he could dodge aside and escape with no more than a deep gash, but the white bastard was too close, too damned cloAn arrow-long beam the color of warm lantern light struck the Siksin Neneweth in the shoulder, turning him and knocking him back. It was all Gyaidun needed. He lunged and brought his club around in a wide arc, sacrificing accuracy for power so that it only struck his foe's arm-the one not holding the sword. The heavy iron shattered bone and brought a cry of pain from the Siksin Neneweth. The man stumbled away so that Gyaidun's return strike missed entirely. A snarling wolf hit the man, and both went down. The Siksin Neneweth, unable to bring his blade to bear, screamed and pummeled at the wolf, but it was no use. The wolf took the man's throat in his jaws, and with one snap it was over. More flames shot through the air, but by now the Siksin Neneweth were aware of them and dodged out of the way. Gyaidun could see several holes in the snow, emitting steam like inverted chimneys, where other shots had missed. He glanced off the field of battle and saw the belkagen standing there, conjuring fire in his outstretched hands and hurling it at their enemies.
Through her gloves Amira could feel warmth and power coursing through the new staff like blood through a vein, and the closer she ran toward the dark sorcerer, the more intense the power pulsed. Fire rimmed the runes along the staff, as if the hot metal that had burned them there had only just been taken away. Still, she saved its power, not wanting to waste it until she was certain she could hurt that pale whoreson bastard holding her son. Before her, Gyaidun and a wolf leaped over the body of one of the Frost Folk. Several paces beyond them was Jalan, the Frost Folk axeman holding him, and that cloaked monster sitting on the back of his winter wolf. Amira had seen the belkagen's fire catch in his robes, but the fire had lasted only long enough to distract him. The gale the sorcerer summoned had blown the flames out. Amira ran, cursing the snow pulling at her shins, slowing her advance and keeping her from Jalan. She ran past the corpses of elves and wolves, ignoring the death stench, all her awareness focused on Jalan. He was so close now… so close. But as she watched, the sorcerer reached down, grabbed Jalan, and pulled him onto the back of the wolf. Jalan did not struggle, his only expression a wince of pain as the sorcerer hauled him up by the ropes behind his back. 'No!'
Amira shouted. 'No! Stop him!' The sorcerer looked at her, and even though his features were hidden within the cowl, she felt his regard slide over her like the cold belly of a snake. He raised his free hand and swept it before him. At his command the air between him and the advancing Vil Adanrath condensed and froze into a wall of ice. 'No!'
Amira shrieked. Still running, she thrust the point of her staff before her and spoke a word of power. Light shot forth and struck the ice, blasting a wagon-sized hole in the wall. Gyaidun and the Vil Adanrath leaped through a cloud of steam, and Amira followed. She heard the clash of weapons and the battle cry of the Vil Adanrath, and when she emerged into clear air, she saw the Frost Folk axeman swinging his weapon back and forth in front of him, keeping an elf and two wolves at bay. Gyaidun and another wolf were already well past them, and beyond Amira could see the hindquarters of the sorcerer's winter wolf disappearing into the cover of the trees. 'No!' Amira shrieked. She'd come so close! She pushed the panic down. Time to think more like a warrior, like a hunter, and less like a terrified mother. She stopped in her tracks and ignored the men and wolves trying to kill each other only a few paces away, ignored the stench of blood and the biting cold, and studied the ground where the winter wolf had disappeared. Beyond the reach of the belkagen's magic light, the woods were all darkness and shadow, but the woods were only a small strip of foliage in the base of the valley. The sorcerer had grabbed her son and ran. He meant to flee, not fight. That meant he'd most likely head to open ground. He'd break over the rise and be gone like the wind in moments. If he did that, they'd never catch him. Even the Vil Adanrath could not match the stride of a winter wolf. Amira closed her eyes, concentrated, held the image in her mind-she'd have to place herself just right-and spoke the words of her spell.
The crack whipped through the air and brought the belkagen to a stop before the wall of ice. He recognized the sound and knew what had happened. Amira had used her magic to transport herself after the dark sorcerer. The belkagen hesitated. The sounds of battle still echoed in the valley as the Vil Adanrath fought the remaining winter wolves.
Those were his people out there killing and dying. They needed him, needed the protection of his Art and prayers. 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?
