Rudy propped his staff against a juniper in a boulder's shelter and fumbled through the slits in his overmantle to get to the pockets of his vest. Carefully-his hands awkward because of his gloves-he drew out the slip of amethyst that served him for a scrying stone and tilted it back and forth a little until the light of his staff caught in its central facet.

"Wend?" he said. "Wend, can you hear me?"

Watching shamans and Wise Ones communicate always reminded the Icefalcon vaguely of the games children played. Evidently the priest-wizard replied, speaking in Rudy's mind, for after a time Rudy said,

"Look, we've found Tir's tracks. Linok and Hethya took him. Linok put a spell of some kind on him to get him to go with them. The Icefalcon says Linok is actually Bektis, and, you know, looking back I think he's right."

There was a pause, occupied, the Icefalcon presumed, by Brother Wend's exclamations of astonishment-useless in the circumstances. Spits of snow stung his cheek.

"Tell Minalde what's going on." Rudy scrubbed a nervous hand over his face. His profile, a little craggy with the bump of an old break in his nose, cut blue-black against the witchlight, flat white triangles of which reflected in his eyes.

"Tell her he seems to be okay. Whatever they want him for, it isn't to kill him, or they'd have done it already. They're taking him over Sarda Pass and calling down a storm to close the pass behind them."

The Icefalcon could well imagine Minalde's reaction to that information. She loved both her children with a passionate ferocity: he clearly recalled, during the last desperate stand against the Dark Ones in the palace at Gae, her holding Ingold against a wall, the tip of some dead man's sword pressed against the wizard's breast, crying that she'd kill him if he did not save her child's life.