Frostfell

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Endless Wastes Dark and cold. Cold and dark. They had filled Jalan since waking.

Through the dried flesh and stale drink that served as his evening breakfast, through the binding of his wrists, the forced march, the wind in his face, the stench of wolf… through it all had been dark and cold. Even the distant stars seemed only points of ice in darkness. But that cold darkness cracked. A fire in the valley below, a distant promise of warmth, broke through the night. From it Jalan could hear the last of the screams. After ru

Even with their cloaked leader down there amid the carnage, still his unearthly cold lingered. Heat, warmth, light… Jalan remembered them only as abstracts. Concepts. He knew they existed but could not remember their feeling. Despite the screams and the blood he knew soaked the grass, the deepest part of him longed for the fire glowing in the valley below. A scream-a woman's, Jalan thought-rose high, then was cut off, almost instantly, and just behind the sighing of the wind over the grass Jalan thought he half-heard and half-felt the sound of jaws shredding and bone crunching. Then the wolves below set to howling, filling the night with their song. Jalan's guard grabbed his bound wrists, lifted him to his feet, and dragged him down the slope.

Jalan's feet moved of their own accord. His body longed for the warmth of the fire, but his mind fled screaming at being pulled nearer to the one in the ash-gray cloak that he knew walked the shadows below. They entered the camp, passing groups of wolves crouched over the remains of their prey. The guard pulled Jalan to the fire, took the bonds from his wrists, and dropped him to the ground. The fire burned low, but the light and warmth pulsing from it like lifeblood pulled Jalan in.

One of the huge wolves stood just inside the circle of light cast by the fire. It crouched over what had once been a Tuigan nomad but was now no more than an unmoving mass of cooling blood and gore that steamed in the chill night air. The wolf lifted its snout from its feast and looked at Jalan, its muzzle a contrast of white fur and wet darkness that Jalan knew was blood. Light, hungry and hot, reflected in its eyes, then it lowered its muzzle to its meal. Jalan looked down, forcing his eyes away from the gruesome sight, and fell to his knees beside the fire. He could still hear the chomping and tearing of the wolf's feast, and he covered his ears to try to block the sound.

Beneath his knees, Jalan could feel the ground trembling with the approach of heavy footsteps. His eyes were clenched shut, but he knew whose footsteps they were. A hand winter-cold grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from his ear. "This disturbs you?" said a voice. The dark one in the ash-gray cloak, Jalan knew. "Our mounts must eat. The miles fill them with great hunger. Be grateful we found these poor wretches. Our wolves were begi

Now, they will not. At least for a few days. And you, you have fire.

Warmth. For now." The hand released him, and Jalan felt the thing walk away a few steps. He dared to open his eyes. The leader stood at the edge of the firelight next to one of his pale-ski

With the carnage and horror surrounding him, he knew his stomach would not hold any food. "Not hungry?" said the leader. "Good. Good. Power there is in fasting, in denying the flesh its cravings, the blood its warmth. To your purest essence it brings you. Good." The thing in the cloak came back and crouched beside Jalan. He leaned in close. Jalan flinched but could back away no farther without going into the fire.

He looked into the deep folds of the hood but could see only a sharp chin, likely very pale but now a bright orange as it caught the light from the flames. The leader leaned in close, so close that Jalan could feel the cold bleeding off his skin like the bite off ice. The leader opened his mouth wide and breathed in deeply. "Yesss," he said. "Oh, yes. Fear. I can taste it. Smell it. It comes off you like mist off the water. Terror burns your blood and smokes out of your very pores.

Soon, very soon, you will know no fear, no terror, no nothing. No fire in your blood." Quick as an adder, the leader's pale hand shot out and grasped Jalan's wrist. Jalan screamed and struck at the hand, but it was like striking stone, cold and immovable. The leader pulled Jalan's arm to him, in no hurry, moving with slow and unstoppable strength, and in the midst of his struggles, Jalan saw firelight reflect off a blade. Before he could cry out, the dagger whisked across the back of Jalan's hand, then disappeared into the folds of the ash-gray cloak.

Blood, almost black in the meager glow cast by the fire, welled from a perfectly straight gash across the back of Jalan's hand. The ice-grip pulled Jalan's hand toward the blackness waiting inside the dark one's hood. Jalan screamed and tried to drag himself away, no longer caring if he fled into fire, but it was futile. He closed his eyes and felt the thing's tongue, cold and slick as a fish, slide across the wound, then he was free. He fell to the ground beside the fire and heard the man say, "Yes, you are the one. Yesss." When Jalan dared to look up later-he didn't know how long it had been, but the fire beside him had burned down to coals-the thing in the ash-gray cloak was gone. The wolves were no more than lurking shadows in the near darkness, and the pale-ski

Just shy of the hilltop Lendri crouched naked in the grass and waited. Mingan was off with the rest of the pack not too far away.

Lendri had been ru