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 shouted, and again the energy shot from her hand. The sorcerer spoke an incantation and swiped at the bolt with his hand. It evaporated in a sizzling shower of sparks, then the sorcerer stood to his full height and reached within the folds of his cloak. Amira heard the cold whisk of steel being drawn, and when the blade emerged from the depths of the cloak, she recognized it at once. It was Walloch's rapier-the one that had almost killed her only a few days ago. 'Silo'at!' Cold and frost funneled outward from the blade, but as it struck the core of the golden aura surrounding Amira, it hissed like cold water thrown on hot coals. The shower of frost and ice that raked her face hurt, but it was a bearable pain. Amira thrust her staff forward and said,
'Keljan saule!' The runes along the staff flared, and a shard of light shot out. It hit the sorcerer in the chest, throwing him away from Jalan and down the slope. Though no sound came to her ears, in her mind Amira heard a shriek that seemed to seek out all the dark places of her mind and rattle there like shards of glass. Seeing the smoldering cloak hit the ground, she cried out in triumph and ran for Jalan. But the darkness within the cloak congealed, and in the part of her mind where instinct ruled, Amira sensed fell power gather and spring. The sorcerer leaped and took to the air like a great bird of prey, his cloak rippling like a tattered banner, and then he was falling toward her. Amira opened her mouth to form a spell, then an image hit her-Mursen charging into the fray, ducking as the broken body of a knight flew past him. A spell passed his lips, the rod in his hand flared-then darkness in an ash-gray cloak lunged. Snap! Like the sound of a green branch breaking, the thing's hand reach out, grabbed Mursen by the head and twisted, breaking his neck-and the spell faltered on Amira's lips. The light round her dimmed as darkness incarnate descended. A silver shadow struck the sorcerer the instant before he would have hit her. Silver shadow and ash-colored cloak went down in a snarling explosion of snow. Amira watched, dumbfounded. The sorcerer threw the wolf off, but it turned in midair and hit the ground running. Four long strides and it jumped again. The sorcerer crouched and brought his sword around in an arc before him. The wolf's snarl turned into a yelp. The animal hit the ground and slid to a stop at Amira's feet. The blade had opened a gash along the side of the wolf's head and haunches, and the sheer force of the blow had shattered bone. It broke Amira from her stunned silence. 'Dramasthe!'
She sent a bolt outward. The sorcerer swiped it to sparks with his blade and advanced on her. Again-'Dramasthe!' — and again he knocked it away, almost nonchalantly. But that shot had been meant as a distraction. Amira took a step back and pointed her staff at her foe.
'Keljan saule!' The runes along the staff flared like hot coals kissed by a soft breeze. She aimed for the bastard's head-and that was her mistake. He didn't bother to try to deflect the shard of light, but crouched. The light flew over his head to disappear in the storm.
Amira gathered her breath, hoping there was time for another spell. A shadow emerged from the swirling snow. The light emanating from Amira did not reflect off the club the man was whirling on the end of a leather leash, for it was of the blackest iron. 'Gyaidun, no!' she shouted. But where her attack had failed, Gyaidun's struck. Perhaps the dark sorcerer had simply been expecting only magical attacks, for the warrior's club swung down and connected with solid flesh somewhere in the folds of the cloak. The sorcerer did not collapse, but he did stumble down the slope. Gyaidun turned to her and shouted, 'Get Jalan and go! Go!' Then he turned back to his foe, and it was all he could do to stay alive. Tears welling in her eyes, Amira turned and ran down the hill.
Every childhood nightmare, every horror feared at the back of the north wind, had taken form before Gyaidun, swathed in an ash-gray cloak, and it was coming for him. No battle cry or taunts of defiance did the sorcerer make. He was cold death, and he was coming for Gyaidun. 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
