"or I will begin truly hurting you." Jalan tasted blood, snow, and grit in his mouth, but he swallowed it, afraid that spitting it out would be seen as a sign of defiance. Again his mind scrabbled for the power inside him. He found it, but it was dormant, and nothing he did could rouse it. "This is the very behavior we are about to correct," said the leader, and he set off through the snow, dragging Jalan behind him. Jalan could see little more than the hem of the leader's cloak and boots and the snowy ground beneath, but judging from the general direction, he knew where they were headed. The leader ducked into the entrance of the wolf den and pulled Jalan after. As the darkness closed over him, panic set in, and raw instinct almost took over and set Jalan to kicking and streaming, but the last of his conscious mind and will held on. He closed his eyes and tried to prepare for the worst. The tunnel was short, turned upward near the end, and ended in a fair-sized burrow. It was dim but not altogether dark. The all-covering snow outside reflected the light quite some way into the tunnel. Scraps of bone and tufts of hair littered the ground.

Roots from the grass on the surface hung down from the ceiling. Then the light winked out-someone had covered the entrance-and Jalan found himself in complete darkness with the thing inside the ash-gray cloak.

His nose was overwhelmed with the thick, musky scent of animal, and what little warmth had been left in the den fell into the presence of the cloaked leader like water funneling down a drain. Jalan shivered.

"Long, long years it has been," said a voice from the darkness. "Long years since we found one where the blood runs as pure as it does in you. I almost wish it were my time. Gerghul will be pleased with you.

You will last a long time." "D-don't make me hurt you," Jalan said, but even he heard the empty threat. His hoarse whisper, just on the verge of tears. "I can, you know. I w-will. D-don't-" "Yes, you can. I know you can. And that is why we are here. We'll have no more of that." Hands cold as tomb frost seized Jalan and pulled him close. He kicked and tried to pull away, but the thing's strength was implacable. He could feel breath, cold and fetid on his face, and he choked. Bile rose to his throat and tears streamed down his cheeks. In the darkness before him, less than a hand's width away, he saw two rings of cold fire, like a starlight nimbus filtered through frost.

Eyes. They were eyes rimmed in ice, vast and empty. Portals to nothingness, and Jalan felt himself falling in, trying to find something to hold onto, but there was nothing. Drowning. He was drowning in emptiness. Then something was with him. In his mind.

Something hungry and very much aware of him. He could feel its full attention bearing down on him, coming closer. Jalan could no longer feel his body, but in his mind he screamed. Then the thing had him.

Hro'nyewachu During the night, the mists froze on the steppes below Akhrasut Neth, and the sky let loose a great cascade of snow-thick, wet flakes that fell harder with each passing moment. By the time the first hint of dawn-no more than a lightening of the dark curtain in the east-struck the sky, Akhrasut Neth and all the surrounding lands lay beneath new snow. Still Gyaidun, Lendri, and the nearby Vil Adanrath kept their vigil. The wolves found shelter beneath the boughs of the nearby trees-all save Mingan, who stayed with his master near the entrance to the cave. But he was restless, partially from the weather that kept trying to give him a blanket of snow he didn't want, but also from something else, perhaps some scent or sound coming from the cave. It was Gyaidun, who paced only a few feet from the entrance, who saw them first. "There!" he said. "What is it?" said Lendri, and behind him he heard the Vil Adanrath rustling among the trees. "A light." Lendri saw it then-a faint greenish glow down in the cave that grew stronger with each passing moment. Before long, it was quite bright, staining even the snow outside the entrance the color of new spring leaves. Mingan hopped around the entrance, barking and yipping, and Durja emerged from the folds of Gyaidun's cloak to alight upon an outcropping of stone beside the entrance. They saw the belkagen first, his staff held high, the flames at its tip the source of the green glow. Behind him walked Amira, huddled in her cloak, her long hair still damp. Her left hand held her cloak closed against the chill, but her right held a staff almost as tall as Gyaidun. The pair emerged from the cave. The belkagen stopped just outside the entrance, and Mingan came to lick his fingers. Gyaidun stepped to the entrance to take Amira's hand and help her up the final step. She gave him a smile of thanks. Lendri noted the weariness around her eyes. "Are you well?" Gyaidun asked her. "Well enough," she said. "Very tired." "Hear me, my people!" said the belkagen. Lendri turned and saw that the Vil Adanrath came as close as their honor would allow, hugging the treeline. His father stood just outside the nearest boughs, the falling snow dusting his head and shoulders. "Hro'nyewachu guides our road," said the belkagen. "Lady Amira has sought her wisdom and lived." The Vil Adanrath, both elves and wolves, let out a great howl, and even Mingan joined in. "Gather your strength," said the belkagen.

"For tonight we hunt!"

The Endless Wastes Screaming. Jalan could hear it, made faint by distance or… something else. Some barrier or thickness. The voice was familiar. He knew it. He was sure. Then it hit him. It was his own voice, the screams and yells and shrieks finally fading to pleading-all that and more in the den of the dead wolves. Another sound intruded. Howling.

But not the malicious howling of the cloaked leader's pack that reminded Jalan of cold winter and empty places. This howling came from far away, and in it he heard the call of brothers. Jalan opened his eyes. Again he was tied to the back of one of the great wolves. The sky was dark, but the fresh snowfall seemed to gather in the tiniest bit of light and reflect it back, giving the world a muted ghostly cast. He could make out the large forms of the other wolves and their riders milling about. They'd stopped. Why? The howling. It came from the distant horizon in front of them. Jalan had once spoken to one of the rangers who patrolled around High Horn. The man told him that wolves have a language all their own, far more intricate than most people knew. They spoke not with words, but with movement, posture, the cant of ears and tail, a look of the eye, yips, barks, growls, and over great distance they howled. What they were saying now, Jalan did not know, but the wolves of the cloaked leader's band obviously did.

They seemed agitated, and Jalan could feel the growling deep within his mount's chest. The barbarians were shouting back and forth in their own tongue. Their leader allowed it for a few moments, then cut them off with a harsh command. The barbarians stiffened, and Jalan could see that they did not approve of their lord's command but were too frightened to disagree. The leader shouted something, and the company set off again, heading northward, straight into the chorus of howls.

Amira found Gyaidun just under the northern lip of the ridge. The broad valley, now filled with snow, spread out beneath them. She sat down beside him and huddled into her cloak. Gyaidun glanced at her, then continued watching the land beneath them. There was an agitated stirring inside his cloak that Amira knew was Durja, huddled up and trying to keep warm. "Where is Lendri?" she asked. "He walks the dreamroad." Gyaidun motioned up the rise, but Amira could see nothing up there but grass and bushes covered in snow. "You have been speaking with the belkagen?" "Yes." "Your… journey to Hro'nyewachu," said Gyaidun, "it went well?" Amira shuddered and closed her eyes. After their day's journey-two more trips with her magic, followed by a long run; the Mother's Bed was now far, far behind them-she'd spent most of the evening discussing her vision with the belkagen. Even after seeking his wisdom, she still did not understand parts of it, but what she did disturbed her. She now knew that she was not merely a parent on a desperate quest to save her son. She stood in the forefront of something much larger than she'd ever imagined, perhaps no more than a page or two in a long history that had been going on for thousands of years. It made her feel very small. She'd come to Gyaidun, the only other human for miles, in hopes of feeling a little less small-and not so terribly alone. "If you don't wish to speak of it…" said Gyaidun.