The hate in Amira flared again. "No." Amira blushed when the word came out a gasp. She swallowed and her trembling fingers fumbled to untie the water skin dangling from her pack. "Let me help you," said Gyaidun, crouching next to her. "I can do it!" She slapped his hand away. Gyaidun stood. "What do you think?" "About what?" "Light will be gone soon. We should find a place to camp." "Fine." "No caves for miles. No copses. Maybe I can find a gully. It'll keep the worst of the wind off us and hide the fire." "Talking isn't going to find it."

He gave her a hard look then said, "Sure you don't want help with that?" She let go of the waterskin and let it dangle from her pack.

She'd only managed to tighten the knot even worse. "I'm not that thirsty after all." Gyaidun took his own waterskin, took a long drink, then tied it shut and looked at her. "You sure?" "You-" A harsh caw and a rustle of black feathers cut her off. Gyaidun held up his arm and Durja the raven settled on it. The bird flapped his wings and called again. "Hush," said Gyaidun. "Dilit, Durja!" The raven cawed once more, then settled down. "What's the matter with him?" asked Amira. "He's found something."

Under a cloudless sky quickly fading to black, Durja led them less than a quarter of a mile to a dry creek bed no more than five or six paces across and two deep. Amira dropped her pack to the ground next to Gyaidun's and sat on the edge of the gully while the big man climbed down.

"What is it?" she asked.

"They camped here last night," said Gyaidun. He was bent low, his gaze fixed on the ground, and he took the utmost care with each step.

Durja perched on a nearby rock and looked to his master. "They lit no fire, but they bedded down here."

"They?"

"Your boy and his captors."

"Jalan?" Even through her bone weariness, proof that they were going the right way gave her a brief surge of excitement.

"Yes. Jalan. And at least four others. Maybe more. They rested here. I'd say they left at sunset yesterday."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Gyaidun stood straight. "I need to look around. You can start a fire?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then do it." He climbed out of the gully and stood over her.

"Down there. And keep it low. We don't want to signal everyone for miles around."

"Where are you going?"

"I won't be long."

"Curse you, where-"

But he was already moving off. In moments, he had disappeared over the small rise.

"I hate the Wastes," Amira said. She stood, dragged their packs down into the gully, then set about looking for something to burn.

There was precious little, and all of it hard to find in the gloom. The gully obviously served as a stream in the wetter, warmer seasons, for the bank was lined with small bushes of hard, twisted wood with tiny leaves. Amira pulled at one and a small pain shot through her finger. The cursed things had thorns. Not large, but they were sharp. She considered lying down by her pack and letting the big oaf build his own fire. But now that the sun was gone and she'd stopped running, the chill in the wind had bite. She'd only spent a few days around the Lake of Mists, and she'd grown used to the heat it gave off. Out here on the open steppe, autumn was cold.

Taking more care, she grabbed the thing at the base and pulled it up by the roots. The soil was dry and the plant came up easily. She gathered five, threw four into a pile and one near the base of the gully wall. Her fingers twirled, she spoke an incantation, and flame funneled out of her fingers into the little bush. The dry leaves caught at once, flared a brilliant orange, and the flames caught in the wood.

It gave her enough light to gather stones to make a little firepit, and she used a larger rock to break up the other bushes without having to risk touching the thorns. She'd just thrown more wood on the fire when Gyaidun returned.

"Here, use these." He tossed several gray chips, each the size of a dinner plate, near the fire.

"What are they?"

"Dung."

Amira put a hand over her nose and scooted to the other side of the fire.

"It's dry," said Gyaidun. "It will burn slow and hot with little light."

"I don't suppose you found any water?"

"No water." Gyaidun crouched next to the fire. He looked grim. "I found something else. Not good."

"What?"

"More tracks besides Jalan's and his captors."

"More Frost Folk?"

"You know viliniketu? The Tuigan call them tirikul."

Amira shook her head. "I don't know the word, but tiri means 'ice,' does it not?"

"The viliniketu are like wolves, but larger and much more cunning.

They live-"

Amira's heart skipped a bit. "You mean winter wolves?"

"As you say. A whole pack of them came here yesterday around sunset. No human tracks left."

"What does that mean?" asked Amira. She could not hide the tremor in her voice. "The winter wolves attacked them?" She'd encountered them once before, back during the war. They were dangerous, but she knew they'd be no match for that dark thing that had her son.

"It means that your son's captors are riding the viliniketu, and there's damned little chance of our catching them now, even if we ran all night and all day tomorrow."

"This morning when we left the lake, you said we might find Tuigan and obtain horses."

"Might. But even if we found horses tomorrow and ran them till they died, there's no horse that could catch the viliniketu."

"You're giving up?" Amira said. Rage and despair filled her.

"No!" said Gyaidun, anger rising in his voice. "We'll run or ride as long as there's a trail to follow. But unless you can grow wings to fly us there, they'll be wherever they're going long before us."

"What if-?" Amira stopped herself.

Gyaidun speared her with his gaze, and she looked away.

"What if what?" he asked.

Amira said nothing but cursed inwardly. She knew Gyaidun's only interest in helping Jalan was in hopes of finding his own son or, barring that, wreaking vengeance on those who took him. She dared not trust him with too much.

"What if what?" Gyaidun grabbed her wrist. "What aren't you telling me?"

Amira slapped his hand away. "Unhand me!"

Gyaidun lowered his hands but leaned in close until he towered over and looked straight down into her eyes. She straightened her back and returned his gaze. One spell, just one, and she could have this brute howling for mercy.

"You think this is a game?" said Gyaidun. His eyes narrowed, and he spoke scarcely above a whisper. "Your son is out there. My rathla, my sworn brother, almost died protecting him. I'm risking my life trying to get him back."

"Why?"

Gyaidun flinched, obviously shocked at the straightforward question, but said nothing.

"I watched you, you know."

"What?" Gyaidun's brow wrinkled in confusion.

Amira had to fight to keep the smile off her lips. She'd never liked the machinations and manipulations of courtly life, hated it in fact, but that didn't mean she didn't know how to play the game when it suited her. Hit your opponent where he least expected. That held true in both court and war-and ten times more so with men.

"When I woke in the belkagen's camp. You treated him with respect.

Almost awe at times. Until he told us what he knew of Winterkeep and the… Frost Folk, he named them. You tensed up like a drawn bow. I thought you were going to crack a tooth grinding your jaw. Then, when he mentioned other children being taken-"

"Enough!"

Gyaidun stood, and for a moment Amira feared she'd gone too far.

The same fury that had clouded his features when he'd attacked the belkagen was back. Amira's hand tightened around her staff, and she started going through the proper spell that could stop Gyaidun without seriously hurting him. But he stopped, and obviously with great effort composed himself.