"Answer me, holy one. Is there no hope? Do you know this?" The belkagen gave him a sad smile, but behind it, lurking in the depths of the old elf's eyes, Lendri thought he saw a bit of the young mischievous warrior Kwarun. "Better to die a flame than live as ashes.
Your words. You are wise beyond your years, Lendri, and you have reminded me of the path of wisdom. Thank you." "Then there is hope still?" "Hope is for those who seize it. Now, run with me."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Akhrasut Neth Amira and Gyaidun made camp on the western base of the Mother's Bed in a small copse of trees through which a tiny stream flowed. Just up the rise, around a bend of the hill formed by a large arm of bare rock, the stream widened into a small pool. Yesterday, after setting up camp, Amira and Gyaidun had taken turns bathing. The water was cold-after the first teeth-clenching step into the pool, Amira had been surprised it didn't have a thin layer of ice on top-but more important, it was clean. She had scrubbed herself, washed her clothes, then spent most of the previous afternoon and evening wrapped in nothing but a thick elkhide while her clothes dried over the fire.
Parts of them still felt damp, but she preferred that to the unwashed smell.
Gyaidun and Durja had left at first light, scouting the area.
Amira had spent most of the day near the fire, alternately poring over her spellbook and watching the sky while she listened to the breeze rattle the branches. The wind had been out of the north all day, pushing high, thin clouds ever southward, and even Amira could smell the snow coming. A line of clouds smudging the northern horizon confirmed her fears.
Morning was turning to midday, the cool turning cold, when Gyaidun trudged back into camp. Durja was not with him, for once.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"Very," Amira said. "But supplies are low. We should eat no more than once a day until we can get more."
"Not a problem."
Gyaidun stood next to their packs, which lay a few paces from the fire. Methodically, piece by piece, he began to undress, first his belt and harnesses that held his weapon and pouches, then his shirt.
Amira had to suppress a gasp at the sight of his naked skin. His torso was warm brown skin over taut, lean muscles, but his chest and stomach were crossed with long scars, one mottled patch that was obviously an old burn, and several spots of puckered skin that she recognized as old puncture wounds. Arrows most likely. Over all was a twisting, turning maze of black, blue, and yellow-gold inks. Her eyes widened when he began to undo the drawstrings of his breeches.
"What are you doing?" she asked, averting her eyes.
"You said you were hungry," he said. "I'm getting dinner."
"You always cook naked?"
"You're cooking." She did not look up, but she could hear the smile on his face. "I'm getting dinner."
"Naked?"
She heard him chuckle and walk toward the horses. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and risked a quick glance up. Gyaidun wasn't naked after all, but close enough. He'd stripped down to a loincloth-had even removed his boots-and carried his knife in one hand. He went to the tree where the horses were tethered and huddled together for warmth. He untied one and led it off through the trees.
Amira scowled. If he was going off to hunt, why take one of the horses? He'd been out scouting all morning. Surely he could have taken down a deer or even a rabbit while walking the miles around the hill.
And hadn't he said he eschewed horses anyway? And who in their right mind went hunting naked in this cold armed with nothing but a knife?
"I hate the Wastes," she muttered, and went back to her book.
A scream-a high-pitched shriek of agony that set Amira's teeth on edge-broke through the trees from the direction where Gyaidun had gone. The two remaining horses pulled at their tethers, snorting and stamping, their eyes wide and white.
Amira slammed her spellbook shut, grabbed her staff, and ran in the direction she'd watched Gyaidun lead the horse. The ground was rough, uneven, and littered with the detritus of a thousand autumns, and Amira stumbled several times.
Not far away from the camp, in a small clearing ringed by bushes still clinging to the last of their leaves, she found Gyaidun standing over the dead horse. Blood covered everything-the horse, the grass, even Gyaidun. He was more wet red than skin from the waist up, and his right arm-the one holding the knife-was so soaked that blood dripped from his elbow. Amira's shock and fear turned to dismay. She looked at the scene more closely and found the source of the blood-a deep gash across the horse's throat.
"What are you doing?" said Amira.
Gyaidun turned and looked at her. "You said you were hungry."
"We need those horses!"
Gyaidun smirked. "Why? We have our legs and your magic to get us where we need to go. Horses are food. Why d'you think I brought them?"
"I thought we were going to ride them."
"When Lendri arrives, you won't be able to keep them. Horses can't stand the Vil Adanrath. They'll break their hobbles and run." He turned and knelt beside the dead horse between its front and back legs. "Why don't you build up the fire? Nothing too big. A good, slow burn. You know how to make a spit?"
Gyaidun thrust the knife into the gut of the horse and began to saw upward. Blood and entrails spilled out of the widening gap. Amira turned away. She could take the sight of the blood and gore. She'd seen far worse in her time. But the sound of the blade cutting through muscle and hide, the entrails falling to a growing pile in the grass.
.. too much.
She walked back to camp, taking more care on the path this time and watching the uneven ground. When she entered the camp and looked up, the belkagen was crouching next to the fire and putting the finishing touches on a rack made from branches. Amira could not have been more shocked if King Azoun himself had been sitting there, asking to have his goblet refilled. She stood dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open.
"What… what are you doing here?" she asked.
The belkagen looked up from his work and smiled. "I suspect that Gyaidun is going to ask the same thing. Let us wait till he returns so that I don't have to tell the same tale twice." The belkagen closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and inhaled deeply through his nose.
"He's bringing horseflesh, yes?"
"Yes," she said. "How… how did you get here?"
The belkagen tested the stability of the spit. It wasn't like the spits she'd been taught to make. It was more like a miniature rack positioned over the fire. Satisfied with his handiwork, the belkagen sat on the ground, settled into his fur-lined cloak, and said, "What one wizard can do, another can do."
"Magic?"
The belkagen frowned and picked up a stick to stoke the fire. "Sit down, Amira. Please."