She did, across the fire from him, her back to the Mother's Bed.
"You are far from home, Amira. The ways of these lands are not your ways. The powers that walk the steppes and live in the earth… they are no less than the powers of your own western lands. But the people of… of 'the Wastes,' as you call them, we are… more reserved in some ways. There are those among us, like me, who know many of the arcane and divine arts, but it is considered somewhat… impolite to speak of them openly."
"I'm sorry, Belkagen. I meant no offense."
He gave her a reassuring smile. "Nor did I take any. One master to another, among ourselves, it is good to speak of such things, to share our wisdom. But very soon we are to be joined by a great many folk who have powers and abilities far older than anything known by the people of Cormyr, and they can be very… 'prickly' about their customs of politeness. I urge you, Lady, please, guard your tongue among the Vil Adanrath. You will find no truer or more honorable people in all this world. They are the fiercest friends one can have, but they make terrible enemies and are easily offended. They are a people of pride and honor, and their chief, Haerul, has pride and honor like none I've ever seen. Scratch it at your peril."
Amira thought on this a while. She'd grown up among the aristocracy, and no one played the game of politics and court like the war wizards, but the belkagen's words gave her pause.
"I will treat this Haerul as I would the nobles of my own land," she said.
"You were sent to the High Horn for the way you treated your nobles, were you not?"
Amira blushed. "Not exactly, no."
"I meant no offense, Lady Amira," he said. "But please. Take my words to heart. You saw a bit of Lendri's ire when his hackles were up-and Lendri has traveled among humans for many years. It has softened him toward your kind. Not so with the Vil Adanrath. With Haerul, tread as a fawn among wolves."
"I'm no fawn, Belkagen. I have bite, too."
"I do not attack your pride. You need not bow and scrape and beg.
Just… use caution. Please."
Amira looked back over her shoulder, searching for a change in subject. "Are you sure that your being here is wise, Belkagen?"
The belkagen smiled. "Gyaidun has a cave bear's temper, but I can take care of myself."
They sat in silence a while, the belkagen tending the fire.
"May I ask you something?" Amira said.
The belkagen smiled. "Please."
"What… what are you, exactly?"
"I do not understand your question."
"You speak of the Vil Adanrath as if you are one of them, but Gyaidun told me that he and Lendri are exiles. Outcasts. And I could tell that there was a great deal of tension in Lendri seeking their aid."
" 'A great deal of tension.' " The belkagen put his hands on his knees, leaned back and laughed-quietly but with much enthusiasm.
Finally, he settled down and looked at Amira. "Lendri took his life in his hands. Exiles they are. Hrayeket, the Vil Adanrath say. Cut off from the pack. The Vil Adanrath would have been within their rights to cut Lendri's throat and scatter his body to the eight winds. He risked a great deal in returning to them. Your presence has lit quite a fire in the grasslands."
Amira did her best to keep her voice mild. "I thank you for all your help, Belkagen. You and Lendri and Gyaidun. I am grateful. But…
I cannot help but notice the true object of this hunt. Gyaidun and Lendri will help Jalan if they can, I don't doubt. But they're after blood."
"Yes. This bothers you?"
"I want my son back," she said, and the bitterness crept into her tone. "The rest… I'll help if I can. But in the end, Jalan is all I care about."
"So you use us and we use you," said the belkagen. She sensed no recrimination in his voice, nor did she see it in his face when she looked up. "Is this not so?"
Amira shrugged.
"You must not despise Gyaidun too much, Amira," said the belkagen.
"He has suffered much. Lost much. He too seeks his lost child. You and he are more alike than you dare admit. Do not resent him for doing the same thing you are doing."
Amira swallowed. "You haven't answered my question."
"Question?"
"You seem as if you are Vil Adanrath, who have exiled Gyaidun and Lendri. Yet you were camping with them at the Lake of Mists. Despite your quarrel, you seem a friend to them."
The belkagen smiled, and Amira saw more than a little sadness in his eyes. "I was born among the Hinakaweh clan of the Vil Adanrath and spent much of my youth as a warrior," he said, "but when I became belkagen, I became part of all clans and none. Having no clan, I am not bound by the laws of exile."
"How does one become… belkagen?"
The shadow of a high cloud passed over their camp, and a different darkness seemed to fill the belkagen's face. "That," he said, his voice soft, "we will speak of later, for it is part of the news I bear you."
"News?"
"Not now, Lady. First I must deal with your big man."
"My bi-?"
"You!" came a booming voice from behind her.
Gyaidun. Amira turned. The big warrior stepped through the trees, long strips of bloody flesh hanging from his shoulders and arms. In the cold air, the blood and the strips of flesh on his arms and shoulders steamed. Covered in blood almost black, his eyes shone white and hot with anger, his nostrils flared, and the long knife in his hand trembled with the tension in his fist. He seemed the very visage of some savage god of vengeance descending upon them.
"Why are you here?" said Gyaidun.
The belkagen remained sitting by the fire. He seemed placid, but Amira could see the anger in his eyes and stiff posture. "I am here to help. Whether you like it or not, you will need my aid before this fight is done."
"Your aid is about twelve years too late, Kwarun."
They stared at each other across the fire, Amira feeling as though she ought to go for a walk but not daring to move.
"Sit, Yastehanye," said the belkagen. "Please. Set your burden down and let us talk. When we are done, if you wish me gone, I shall trouble you no more. But you will hear me out. You owe me that."
Gyaidun stood there, every muscle tense, unmoving. At last he gave one swift, hard nod, then stepped forward to place the long strips of horseflesh on the wooden rack the belkagen had built over the fire. A droplet or two of blood fell into the fire and sizzled. He sat.
"You don't wish to wash first?" asked the belkagen.
"I'll wash when this is done," said Gyaidun. "You can be leaving while I'm washing."
"Very well." The belkagen sighed. "First, my news. Lendri found the Vil Adanrath and roused them. Haerul has called the clans and speeds this way. They should be here no later than dusk unless they run into trouble. And I pity whatever trouble places itself in front of Haerul. His exiled son has roused in him a cold fire."
"Lendri," said Gyaidun, "he is… well?"
"His father did not greet him with open arms, and he and his brother still stare spears at one another, but he is alive. I would have brought him with me, but there are things that we three need to discuss before they arrive."
A rustle of black feathers descended into the camp, and Durja settled near Gyaidun. It was the first time Amira could remember the bird not raising a raucous noise upon arriving. Perhaps even the raven sensed the tension around the fire. He looked at the three people gathered round the fire, then hopped on Gyaidun's knee and began to peck at the little bits of flesh and gore that still stuck to the big man's skin.
The belkagen had gone silent. Amira looked to him. The elf seemed troubled, his brow creased in concentration and his mouth fallen into a pensive frown.
"Belkagen?" she asked. "What is it?"
He looked up to Gyaidun, who still sat unmoving, and said, "I told the lady a bit of the Vil Adanrath while we waited for you. She asked how one becomes belkagen, and now my answer enters our present tale.
These lands in which we sit are filled with an ancient power. It was at this very high place thousands of years ago that the Vil Adanrath first came into this world. Akhrasut Neth is very old, a place of great and fell power. She is very ancient. She was old before the Empire of Raumathar was born. Even the Raumathari, great loremasters that they were, avoided Akhrasut Neth if they could. The Tuigan shun it altogether. But"-he looked to Amira-"you remember my tale of Arantar?"