But she did not doubt the belkagen's power. He'd saved her life and Lendri's and obviously had powers and knowledge beyond her own.
Besides, she knew one thing was true with or without his counsel.
She'd seen what that dark thing who had her son could do. It had countered Mursen's spell and snapped the man's neck like a chicken.
Even if she could find them before they did whatever they were planning to do to Jalan, she knew she could not beat the dark thing.
Her best hope was in cunning, getting close enough to grab Jalan and using her magic to whisk him away. But what would prevent them from coming after them again? They were hundreds of miles from home, tendays away from the nearest aid, even if other war wizards had come looking for them-and she could not be certain of that. Even if other members of her own order did find her, they would be more likely to arrest her and cart her back to Cormyr for trial than believe her wild tale and help her rescue Jalan. Right now, like it or not, these mad folk of the Wastes and their odd ways were her best hope. Maybe her only hope. They had their own motives, their own hunt, but they were still the only friends she had. Could they protect her and Jalan if she did manage to rescue him? Would they even try? Did she have the right to ask them to do so? Mad or not, fool's hope or final hope, this oracle was at least that: hope. If there was any way to deal with Jalan's captors once and for all… "I'll do it," said Amira. "Good," said the belkagen. He did not sound relieved or happy. On the contrary, his tone was grave. Solemn. "You should go at midnight, when darkness and light stand in balance, but there are things we must do to prepare. I will help you." "Two things first," she said. "Yes?"
"Several times now I've heard you call Gyaidun yaste-something."
"Yastehanye." "Yes. What is that?" The belkagen glanced at Gyaidun, and the flicker of a grin crossed the old elf's face. Gyaidun's scowl deepened. "Yastehanye means 'honored exile.' It is a term that many of the Vil Adanrath call our friend Gyaidun-though never in Haerul's hearing. It is a title of sorts. One of honor and respect. Renown. In his anger, Gyaidun called me Kwarun- the name my mother gave me. Very disrespectful to the belkagen. By calling him yastehanye, I was… reminding him of his place-and mine." "Honored exile, eh? Why?" The grin faded and died and the belkagen grew solemn again. "A long tale that is. And not mine to tell, Lady. Suffice to say that Gyaidun's exile was both just and tragic. Although the Vil Adanrath honor the omah nin's judgment of exile, still they respect the deeds that earned it." Amira looked to Gyaidun, whose scowl had not faded. "Sounds like an intriguing tale. Will you tell me?" "No," said Gyaidun. Amira had to suppress a snicker. Odd as these folk were, still no one could pout like a man. They learned it as boys and never outgrew it-in the East or West. "You said two things," said the belkagen. "What is the other?" "Yastehanye must take a bath. He smells like dead horse."
Gyaidun glared at her and stood. "Your stomach growls for dead horse … Lady." He gave her a mock bow, and before she could reply he stomped away, headed for the pool. Although Amira couldn't see it under the dried horse blood, she felt sure he was blushing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Akhrasut Neth After washing in the pool, Gyaidun returned, dressed without saying a word to either of them, gathered his weapons, and proceeded to leave again. But he stopped and turned. "You are really going to do this?" He was looking to the belkagen, but the old elf did not answer, instead looking to Amira. "Yes," she said. Gyaidun stood there, tense with anger and… something else. Uncertainty? Amira wondered. "Why?" he asked. "Why… honored Belkagen?" "Why what, yastehanye?" said the elf. "I called you Belkagen." "Your words. Not your heart." The big man and the old elf stared at one another, neither gaze wavering or blinking. The anger was still there, Amira knew, but the heat was gone. In a way, this was worse, this cold tension that Amira sensed was born of hurt and loss from both of them. There was a slight curl to Gyaidun's lip that spoke to Amira of derision. The perfect calm of the belkagen's face, so obviously a tight mask, had an air of deep disappointment. "Why what?" the belkagen said softly. "Why help this"-he shot Amira an apologetic glance- "outlander seek Hro'nyewachu? For twelve years I have walked every horizon, sniffed every trail, and followed every track to find Erun. Not once did you give me this counsel. Why?" "You are a hunter, Gyaidun." Was that tenderness in the old elf's tone? If so, it was slight. "A warrior.
You are not…" The belkagen looked to Amira as he struggled for the word. "You have not studied the discipline of magic, nor sought the communion or made the sacrifices to the divine. Some of those taken by Hro'nyewachu spent years doing so. Hro'nyewachu might give you the answers you seek, but she would devour you. It is folly." "The omahet are not priests or wizards. They are warriors. Like me. And they have survived the Mother's Heart." "They are Vil Adanrath," said the belkagen. "You are not. The Mother's Heart, we call her. But she is not your mother. Her jealousy protects our people." Our people.
Gyaidun stared at the belkagen for a long moment, gave Amira a considering look, then turned and walked off. Durja cawed after him, and when the big man showed no sign of stopping or slowing, the raven took to wing after him. Both disappeared into the trees, and the sound of their passage was soon gone, leaving Amira and the belkagen only with the sound of the wind in the branches and the meat beginning to sizzle over the fire. "Where is he going?" Amira asked. "He must hunt." "Now? We have food. I don't understand." "There is much you do not understand," said the belkagen, and he sounded both tired and annoyed. "No more questions for now. Please. I will tend the fire. You should rest. You have a long night ahead of you."
Though it rankled her to be ordered about, Amira lay down under the small lean-to of branches and brush that Gyaidun had made. She used her pack as a pillow and wrapped herself in the elkhide. Though her breath steamed in the cold, she was quite warm in the thick hide, and she lay listening to the wind as it came around the Mother's Bed and set the trees to rattling. The belkagen muttered to himself as he tended the fire and food. His muttering fell into a half-whispered, half-sung chant, soothing in its rhythm. Jalan… Amira thought, and the next thing she knew the sky was darker, the shadows among the trees thicker, and Gyaidun was walking into camp with a dead deer-a young buck-draped over his shoulders. She could not even remember closing her eyes-or opening them, for that matter. One moment she'd been listening to the belkagen and thinking of Jalan, and the next moment half the day had seemingly passed. Had the old meddler placed some sort of enchantment on her? Whether he had or not, Amira realized as she sat up, she did feel rested. Gyaidun knelt and dropped the deer well away from the fire. Aside from two arrow wounds to its throat, the carcass was uncut. "Why didn't you butcher it?" Amira asked as she emerged from the shadows under the lean-to and came to the fire. "It would've been easier to carry." Gyaidun didn't answer. The belkagen, who still sat next to the fire, spoke up. "Hro'nyewachu will be hungry. If you have no gift…" "What?" "Feed Hro'nyewachu or she will feed on you," Gyaidun said, though he did not look at her.
Instead he gave the belkagen a hard look and continued, "That much I know." "What kind of oracle is this?" asked Amira. "I told you," said the belkagen. "She is a being of need-both in fulfilling and needing to be fulfilled. Nothing comes free. Blood for blood." A flutter passed through Amira's stomach. The war wizards had their own rituals, many of which were dangerous, but she was beginning to regret agreeing to this. Confronting a danger for which she was prepared was one thing. Trusting the word of these foreigners with their strange ways and walking in unprepared to who knew what was something else. "You are a foreigner here," said the belkagen, and Amira flinched at hearing some of her own thoughts spoken back to her. "I will help you prepare, but you must trust us." There were a hundred questions she probably should have asked, but she said, "Your oracle doesn't like horses? We have two that Gyaidun says we can't ride. Why go hunting?"