But don't you worry, Lord! You and your men stay here as our guests, eh? I was just about to lead men out with the hounds to find the boy.

He can't have gone far." "The boy," said the cloaked figure, "you left him in the woods?" Dremas clenched his eyes shut as tight as he could.

Blood roared in his ears. "Last I saw him he was less than two leagues from here. Whelp was running south. T-toward the lake. You'll have him by morning, my lord. I promise!" "Yes. I will." "Wh-what are you-?"

"Uthrekh rakhshan thra!" Dremas opened his eyes. The world went white.

Arzhan Island, the Lake of Mists in the lands of the Khassidi She opened her eyes to a ghost of fire. Her right eye would open no more than a slit, but she could see well enough with the other. A figure, not a ghost after all, but an old man painted orange by the light of the flames, leaned over her. His long hair hung in front of his face, obscuring his features. She could hear him chanting in a strange tongue that seemed all hisses and swallows, and he swayed slightly as if in rhythm with the breath of the nearby flames. "My… son," she said, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper. Even that slight breath felt like sand in her throat. If the old man heard her, he gave no sign. "My! Son!" she said, and cried out from the pain.

Another figure leaned over her, but his features were hidden in shadow. Beyond him she could see only a hint of branches obscured in fog. "Rest now," the new figure said in a deep voice. One she thought she'd heard before. "Lendri and Mingan search for your son. Rest now.

Let the belkagen work." What's a Lendri? she wondered. She fought to keep her eyes open, but they refused her. As sleep seized her again, drawing her back into darkness, she heard the cawing of a raven.

The woods north of the Lake of Mists in the lands of the Khassidi Jalan huddled in the hollow of a rotted-out log and tried to still his breathing. The pounding of his heart was so loud in his ears that he could hear nothing else. Full night had fallen. Jalan had always possessed extraordinary eyesight even in the dark. He'd heard it whispered among Amira's family that he had elf blood… or worse. But down this close to the lake, the mists were thick off the water, and he was as blind as a newborn pup. Inside the log, he could smell nothing but the sweet resin scent of wet bark and rot. His ears were his best hope at hearing Amira coming for him orHe swallowed a sob. He dare not think about that. He'd heard the slaver shouting for him, but he ran and ran and ran till he couldn't hear him anymore. He'd crossed another rise, then fell into a creek and down it, hoping the water would hide his scent from Walloch's hounds. He'd thought he heard a distant shout, a scream of surprise-terror almost-chopped off, then silence. And so Jalan ran again until he came to the lake. Shrouded by the mists that gave the lake its name, he ran headlong into it, only stopping when he was splashing up to his knees. As his heart slowed and his breath steadied, his teeth began to chatter. Autumn had not yet left the land, but out here in the Wastes, nights came cold early in the season and winter often fell fast. He doubted that it would get cold enough to kill him, but without a fire… Jalan held his breath and listened. The breeze set the branches rattling like thousands of cold bones, and the faint rippling of the lake kept time, but there was something else. A quick snuffling that came and went. Jalan clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from rattling. There it was again.

At first he thought it was hushed laughter, and his panicked mind conjured images of something cold and hungry creeping down from the trees, madness in its eyes, but then he recognized it for what it was.

Sniffing. Something was sniffing through the trees and headed right for him. Jalan scrunched down into the log, wincing at the noise he made. The sniffing stopped. The near darkness just outside his hollowed hiding place moved. Jalan fought the urge to cover his face.

He stared, willing his eyes to drink in the meager light. Something was there. Although Jalan could make out no features, he could feel it-something large that kept low to the ground-watching him. It moved again, startling Jalan, but then it was gone. Jalan heard it padding back into the darkness. He took a cautious breath, confident that he had escaped certain doom, when a voice said, "Boy?" Quiet as he could, Jalan fumbled about, searching for some sort of weapon-a rock, a stick, anything-but his fingers found only moss and the wet ashy feel of old rot. "Boy, I know you are in the log," said the voice. It was not Walloch, nor any of the other slavers. Jalan had never heard this voice before. A man's voice, though light of timbre. Jalan could easily imagine the speaker singing. The accent was careful, precise, and Jalan suspected that Common was not his native tongue. "You need not fear me," the voice said. "My brother and I saved your mother, but she is hurt. My brother has taken her to a friend. Come. I will take you to her." Jalan saw movement again, only this time the lighter shade of darkness was not low to the ground like the first shape, but standing like a man. "Will you not come out? Are you hurt?" "I'm cold," said Jalan. "Then come out, and we shall find a fire." "How do I know you aren't lying?" "If I wanted to harm you, I could have done so by now." Jalan did not move. "I… saw something. Before you came." "Where?" "Right where you're standing," said Jalan. "Only lower to the ground." "You have an elf's sight to see so well in the dark," said the man. Jalan could hear the smile in his voice. "What did I see?" "You saw it. Not I. Will you come out, or shall you ask me questions till morning? Either you stand, or I shall sit." Jalan stood.

Holding Jalan by the hand, the newcomer led them up the slope away from the water. They topped a low bluff. The wind was stronger up here, a biting breeze out of the north that pushed back the mists, and in the moonlight that fell between the trees Jalan got his first look at his rescuer. He was not a man at all but an elf, only slightly taller than Jalan but built of a leaner strength. Sinuous tattoos covered his body, but the skin between them shone almost white in the moonlight, and his hair was the silver of starlight on clear water.

Despite the cold, he wore only a wraparound loincloth and shoes made of some animal hide. "How did you know I was out here?" asked Jalan.

"We ran across some slavers with hounds. And we heard their master shouting for a boy." "My name is Jalan." "I am called Lendri." "I didn't know there were elves in the Wastes." Lendri said nothing. He led Jalan east, skirting the lake. Their trail occasionally dipped back into banks of fog in the shallow valleys and back out again on higher ridges. In the woods, Jalan heard small animals in the brush, and twice he heard the screech of an owl. "How much farther?" Jalan asked after they'd walked for a league or more by Jalan's guess. "We must pass four more coves, though I doubt we'll see them in the fog.

Past the fourth, a stream enters the lake. At the mouth of the stream is a great rock jutting out of the lake. An island. Your mother is there." "She isn't my mother." Lendri frowned at that but said no more. They descended an easy slope and re-entered the mists. Halfway through, Lendri stopped. "What-?" asked Jalan. "Shh!" Lendri released Jalan's hand and crouched, listening, his ear canted into the breeze.

Jalan was about to ask what the elf had heard when he noticed the change in temperature. It was a cold night, and he had been quite chilled sitting wet inside the log. The brisk walk had warmed him, but the air had suddenly gone frigid. The mists in which they stood hardened and fell to the ground in a shower of crystals, leaving Lendri and Jalan standing in the wooded valley, Jalan's dark form against the pale shape of the elf, surrounded by shafts of moonlight and the stark shadows of the trees. Jalan's breath emerged in small clouds that hung before him an instant before they, too, solidified and fell to his feet. Under the crescent moon and starlight Jalan could see quite well, though the trees and underbrush were thick. He could hear little but the sighing of the wind, but as he watched he caught sight of pale forms coming at them from the north. Behind them, weaving through the trees like a living shadow, something darker walked. The hair on the back of Jalan's neck stood stiff. He could taste something foul on the wind. The elf turned and looked at Jalan.