Amira saw the tall man's grip tighten on his bow. Walloch must have seen it, too, for his sword arm stiffened, aiming the point of his blade at them.
"Enough of this!" said Walloch. "Sil-!"
A black shadow struck the slaver's arm. Amira heard the harsh shriek of a raven mingle with Walloch's own shout of surprise. An instant later the man at her right gasped, squeezed her arm so hard that he tore skin, then released her and fell. An arrow protruded from the juncture of his throat and shoulder. His heels hammered the earth as he jerked at the arrow, and he began to shriek.
"Silo'at!" said Walloch.
Amira heard a crackling hiss. She looked up in time to see a funnel of frost spew from Walloch's blade and envelop the trees and brush-but the tall man and the elf were nowhere to be seen.
"Get him!" Walloch roared. "Kill that son of a whore! Now! Now!"
"In the dark?" said the Nar. "You're mad!"
Snarling, Walloch pointed his sword at a large tree. "Kelenta!" he shouted, and a sparkling orb, no larger than a pebble, shot out from the tip of his sword. It tumbled and grew in size as it flew, seeming to feed on the air itself until it grew to a huge ball of fire that struck the tree full force. The autumn-bare branches exploded, and the entire tree became a great torch, lighting up the night. Amira flinched and looked away. The blinding light lanced right through her skull.
"There!" said Walloch. "Now get them!"
Something whipped past Amira's face, so close that she felt the wind of its passage, then the man holding her left arm screamed and released her. Amira sat down hard and found herself looking at the man, who shrieked as he yanked at the pale shaft of an arrow protruding from between his ribs. Amira was looking right at him when the second arrow struck him just below the chin.
Amira's numbness snapped, and she lunged for the dagger at the dead man's belt even as he hit the ground.
"Kill her!" Walloch shouted.
The bonds were so tight that she could barely feel her fingers, but she forced them to grasp the hilt of the dagger and pull it free.
She turned to see the dark silhouette of the Nar bearing down upon her. Pale moonlight flickered down the length of his blade. He pulled back to strike- A gray shadow, swift and silent, hit the man, and both went down.
Amira stared dumbfounded. A wolf had taken the Nar's sword arm in its jaws. The wolf shook its head, rending and tearing flesh, its growling so low that Amira felt it in her gut more than she heard it.
The Nar screamed and dropped his sword. His free hand fumbled for the long knife belted at his waist.
Walloch charged, heading straight for the wolf with his sword held high.
"Mingan!" called a voice. "Mingan, ikwe! Ikwe!"
The wolf released the Nar, turned, and fled into the safety of the woods.
The tall man stood at the top of the gully, drawn bow in hand, the burning tree a great bonfire at his back. Amira had to squint against the bright light, but she could just make out the pale elf coming from behind the cover of the brush a few paces behind the bowman.
"Kill that bukhla!" Walloch pointed at Amira while facing the two assailants. "I'll finish these two!"
The Nar's sword arm was a mangled wreck, and a steady stream of blood dripped from the tips of his fingers, but his other hand held his knife steady. Three steps forward and he swiped at Amira, aiming high for her throat. Still on her knees and bound as she was, Amira's balance was limited. She fell back, and the tip of the Nar's knife just kissed the tip of her nose. She followed through with her fall, rolling, and brought both feet around. Hard as she could, she brought both heels up into the fork of the Nar's legs. He cried out, his eyes squeezed shut- An arrow struck him in the side of the neck. It went all the way through, one side all pale wood and black feathers, the other a solid wetness that gleamed black. The man fell on his back, and he began to buck and kick and pound the earth with his fists. Amira could hear him trying to scream, but it came out a bubbling gurgle, then a cough that sprayed a fine mist of blood over his torso.
Amira forced herself to look away. Her head swam, and for a moment all went dark, but she took a deep breath, and the bright glow of the dying tree returned. No more than five paces away, Walloch stood, his sword pointing at the newcomers-the bowman still standing against the light as he reached for another arrow; the elf passing him and descending the slope-while Walloch's other hand clutched at something hanging round his neck. Over the roar of the flames and the thrashings of the dying men. Amira could hear the slaver muttering an incantation.
The bowman drew feather to cheek and loosed-Walloch screamed,
"Thranek thritis!"-the arrow fell, straight and true, but the slaver didn't move, didn't even flinch. The point struck Walloch in the forehead, she heard a sharp clack! like the snapping of bone, and the arrow bounced away.
Walloch laughed. "My turn-Silo'at!"
Frost swirled out from the slaver's sword. The pale elf had to dive and roll to avoid being struck. Another arrow bounced harmlessly off Walloch.
Amira gripped the dagger and pushed herself to her feet. Agony exploded in her head; she could feel tendrils of pain running down her spine and into her limbs. Darkness threatened to crush her again, but she breathed deep and pushed it back. She knew the spell the slaver was using. The bowman could loose his entire quiver to no effect, but the magic would do little against her steel if she could get close enough.
"Silo'at!"
Amira looked up to see the elf diving out of harm's way again.
Walloch's spells were pushing him away. The tall man had dropped the bow and was holding something long in one hand-with the fire so bright behind him, Amira couldn't tell if it was sword or club. "Let's try something else, eh?" said Walloch. He wove his free hand in an intricate pattern, then swept his sword at his feet, almost as if he were slicing underbrush. "Sobirith remma!" Flame roared to life before the slaver and spread to each side of him as if fed by oil, forming a wall of fire between him and his foes. Amira took a step forward, then another. Careful as she was, it felt as if each step hammered a spike into her skull. She clenched her jaw, struggling to breathe through her nose, but still a hoarse cry escaped her throat. Walloch turned to her. Backlit as he was by the fire, she could not read his features.
Desperate, she lunged, but he caught her bound wrists almost lazily and turned the blade aside. He brought his sword around and planted the point in her stomach. "Seems I won't have time for you after all, beluglit, but know this"-he leaned in close over his sword-"I'm still going to find your son." He thrust. Amira cried out. Through her pain, through the roar of the flames, she heard the blade puncture the muscles over her stomach. Then Walloch whispered, "Silo'at."
CHAPTER TWO
North of the Lake of Mists in the lands of the Khassidi "Worthless sons of whores, the lot of them! I see them again, I'll take their skins to wipe my arse!" Walloch raged through the camp, slapping with the flat of his blade at anything that got in his way.
Several kettles on tripods fell before his wrath. Dogs scurried to get out of his way. One goat tied to a tent post was not so lucky and received two slaps and a kick for daring to be tied in front of Walloch as he paced the camp. Dremas the Thayan, Walloch's second-in-command, followed silently at a distance, ready to heed his master's command but otherwise content to let the wizard rage. He'd been with the wizard long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut.
"How many?" Walloch turned to look at Dremas, fury still in his eyes.
"How many, Master?" "How many of those worthless Tuigan curs are left?" Walloch looked around the camp, and Dremas followed his gaze.
The slaves they'd captured on the raid were still tied in the center of camp, watched over by two Nars and one ugly brute that Dremas suspected had more than a little orc blood in him. Leather yurts and a few canvas tents lay scattered among the grass, scrub brush, and few trees, and the handful of horses the Tuigan had left behind were still picketed and under guard. Not a single Tuigan remained in camp, and three of the other men had left with them. "Faithless, lying bastards." Walloch spat and sheathed his sword. Much of the heat had gone from his voice. "Did they take anything?" "Only what they brought with them, Master." Walloch shook his head, muttered a final,