"Those pale-skinned bastards'll kill us all if we don't get that boy back." It was Walloch, nearby and spitting mad. "No need to hurt good merchandise. That's all." "If I want your opinion, I'll give it to you. Now get her up." Amira felt strong hands hauling her to her feet.
She opened her eyes and had to squint against the burning light. More men had come, and several held torches. The thick, oily light struggled to burn a halo through the dense mists, but the blow to her forehead seemed to have cracked more than skin, and even the feeble light stabbed into her like hot needles. It was hard to tell for sure, struggling to see through the pain and uncertain light, but Amira thought she saw at least four more newcomers, and one of them held the leashes to two hounds. "Hey!" More water splashed into her face. She turned to face Walloch. He still held his sword in one hand, but the other held a dripping waterskin. "Look at me, bukhla. Look at me and listen, or I'll be the last thing you see." Amira looked. Blood dripped into her right eye, but the men to each side held her arms fast, and she couldn't wipe it away. "Where's your boy?" asked Walloch. "He ran." "He ran?" Walloch looked to his men and laughed, but it held no mirth. "You hear that? He ran!" He turned back to Amira. "I know he ran, you stupid bukhla. Where'd he go?" Amira kept looking at him, feeling the blood trickle off her forehead and down her cheek. She said nothing. "That's how it's going to be, eh?"
Walloch shrugged and turned to his men, pointing at the one holding the hounds and two others. "You three, after him. Don't let the dogs get to him. I want the boy back unharmed." The men, taking two of the torches, bounded off with the dogs. Amira watched them go, following Jalan's trail. Maybe if he'd listened, maybe if he'd run and kept running, he'd have made it to the lake and then… what? Amira's heart sank. "My hounds'll find him," said Walloch. He was looking at Amira, but his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Damned whelp's probably not far. All he's done for days is whine for his mother." Amira tested the hold of the man on her right. Her feeble attempt only made him squeeze harder, and she let out a small hiss through clenched teeth. "He hurting you?" asked Walloch. "Yes." "Good.
You hold still, or I'll let him hurt you more." Amira stared daggers at the slaver, but he merely smiled and turned away. At the slaver's orders, the two men sat Amira down and bound her wrists in front of her with a strap of raw leather. They pulled it tight until Amira couldn't help but cry out at the pain. Seeing her discomfort, Walloch walked back over and drenched the leather with water from his water skin. "Feel better?" "No." "It'll feel a lot worse when that leather dries and tightens even more. If your boy comes back soon, I might cut the straps." Walloch turned away and began to pace the area, restless as a hound that scents the fox but is kept at his master's leash. When he walked past the steaming body of the Tuigan that Amira had burned, the man let out a faint whimper. "You still alive, eh? Eh?" Walloch nudged the man with his boot, and the Tuigan cried out. The slaver shook his head, said, "Nothing for you, then," and shoved the tip of his rapier through the man's temple. The charred form jerked once and lay still. Two of the other men standing nearby were also Tuigan, and they scowled. Walloch cleaned the tip of his blade in the dry leaves, saw them watching, and said, "Nothing for him. I'm a wizard, not a cleric. You? No? Then turn your eye somewhere else. His gold can go to the rest of you now." The Nar and the other men smiled at this, but the Tuigan's scowls only deepened. Amira wiped at the blood that still trickled down her scalp. Leaves and dirt were matted in her hair in a grisly mud. "You know what I am." She looked at Walloch but raised her voice for everyone to hear. "Others will come for me. Better if you let us go now. I might try to forget where I left you when the war wizards come for justice." Walloch laughed. "Come for justice, eh?
That's nice. Is that what those three fops I killed had come for?
Didn't look like it to me, and you didn't seem happy to see them." He looked to his men and spread his arms, his silver rapier still in his hand. "Let them come!" He spat on the ground. "That for your war wizards! Me and my men'll make belts from their hides." "You caught them by surprise," said Amira. "That won't happen again." Walloch shrugged. "And they won't catch me by surprise. Let them come. When our new friends come for your boy, our reward'll be far more than your pretty-robed war wizards can handle."
The evening wore on, and full dark fell. It was still early autumn, but winter often came early to the Wastes, and when a slight breeze set to rattling the boughs, Amira began shivering. Her hands pulsed from the tightness of her bonds, and she feared that before long she would no longer be able to feel her fingers. Not that it mattered. Her spells were spent.
Walloch kept up his pacing, restless as a caged lion. The Tuigan kept their blades handy and their backs to the torches so as not to ruin their night vision. The Lake of Mists had a reputation among the locals, and even the hardiest Tuigan was never quite comfortable around such a large body of water. They were people of the open steppe, and any water that could not be crossed on horseback was water to be wary of. The Nar and the other few thugs huddled near the torches and whispered among themselves while one kept a tight grip on Amira.
"Where are those damned skulkers?" said Walloch.
"If the boy made it to the water, the hounds might've lost his scent," said the Nar.
The flickering hope in Amira brightened at this. The men and hounds had been gone a long time. Amira whispered another prayer,
"Azuth, keep him safe. Please. Mystra, watch over him. And Kelemvor, if you're listening, give me a chance. At the least, let me die well.
And if you want me to take any of these bastards with me, I am your humble servant."
"What are you muttering about?" Walloch had come back over, and the tip of his sword hovered not far from her face. "I see even a flicker of green fire and I'll do more than hit you with a rock this time."
The man guarding her took a step back.
"How much longer do we wait?" asked the Nar. "Those three know the way back to camp. Why must we sit out here freezing when we could be back at the fires?"
"We aren't leaving until I have that boy," said Walloch. He looked down at Amira, and the torchlight put an evil gleam in his eye. "But my friend here has a point. I'm tired of waiting. You"-he motioned to another of his men-"help him hold her up again. You others stand close with those torches."
The man seemed hesitant to get too close. "What about the green fire?" he asked.
"You think she'd be sitting quiet if she had any spells left?"
"Maybe she's trying to trick us," said the other.
Walloch turned the point of his sword in the man's direction. "You worry about me. Pick her up, damn you."
The men did so, but the man on Amira's right was trembling.
A sudden rustling shook the branches overhead, and a cry broke through the fog.
"What's that?" said the man on Amira's left, and his grip loosened.
"Just a raven," said Walloch. "The lake is thick with 'em this time of year. Now be quiet and hold her good."