Frostfell

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The woods north of the Lake of Mists in the lands of the Khassidi Dim dusklight bled from the boughs, and Amira ran through a cloud.

The mists grew thicker with each step, dampening her skin and hair. It could mean only one thing: They were nearing the lake. "Run, Jalan!

Don't look back!" Amira ran behind her son, and she had to strain to keep up with him. Over their pounding feet and her heavy breathing, she could hear the men behind them, and they sounded as if they were getting closer. She didn't know if Walloch had brought the hounds. The slaver sliced the vocal cords of his hounds so that they could never bark above a hoarse whisper. Not that he'd really need the dogs. She had no idea where she was going. She and Jalan were running blind.

They didn't know this land, and their enemies did. Jalan stumbled, almost falling. Amira pulled him to his feet and urged him forward.

"Need… rest," said Jalan. "Not here. Move. Up!" Jalan pounded on, heedless of the noise he made, and Amira followed. If Walloch had brought the hounds, hiding would do no good. Their one hope was to reach the lake. If they could only make it there, they could hide themselves in the mists and lose their scent in the water. The trees and underbrush clustered thick before them. The ground became rocky and uneven, and they found themselves running downhill. Amira and Jalan stumbled over roots, branches, and thick ferns, but they kept going. "Ut ish vet! Ut!" The voice came from behind them-much too close. During the years Amira spent fighting the Tuigan Horde, she picked up a bit of the speech-enough to understand the meaning behind the words. Ut ish vet. Ut. There she is! There! Amira didn't slow.

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