In her right hand she held a staff almost as long as she was tall. It was made from some golden-red wood flecked with darker grains of brown and black. The belkagen had never seen its like. You remember me, Kwarun. Though her lips did not move, he heard her husky voice clearly in his mind. It has been many years. "I… I could never forget you, Holy One," said the belkagen, and for a moment the years did not weigh so heavily upon him, and he remembered a younger Kwarun, who had come here seeking wisdom and power-and the price he'd paid. It had come with pleasure and pain. He remembered the feel of the oracle's skin under his caresses, the burning heat of her breath-even now, his heart beat faster at the memory-and the agony of the burden she'd placed on him. Not long now, said the oracle. The burden shall be yours not much longer. "That will be both pain and relief." As are all things worth having. "Holy One," said the belkagen, and he looked down upon Amira.
"Why…? Is she…?" She lives. "You did this to her." Do you care for her so much? The oracle leaned forward slightly and sniffed.
Have you given your heart to her? "You know I haven't." The oracle's eyes flashed. I do know it. I could smell a lie on you-and I do not.
Your truth pleases me. You know my jealousy. "Is that why you did this to her?" No. "Then why?" She was impertinent. Arrogant. Still, she has a hunter's heart. Teach her some humility, and she might be great one day. "What is wrong with her, Holy One?" The oracle did not answer, and the belkagen looked up. Her form had shrunk somewhat, her features softened into the young maiden that a young Kwarun had first met so many years ago. A small smile played across her lips, but around her eyes was sadness. I wanted a moment alone with you, she said, before your final road. We shall not meet again. You should have come to me more often during your time in this world. "Our last coupling nearly killed me, Holy One." You did not seem to mind at the time. Kwarun blushed at the memory and found himself chuckling. I have a gift for the girl, said the oracle, and she held up the staff. "It will help her save her son?" No, said the oracle as she knelt and placed the gold-red staff in Amira's limp hand. But it will sharpen the bite she gives her enemies. Saving her son… that task is for another.
"Another, Holy One?" said the belkagen. "Who?" Amira's hand closed around the staff, she took a deep breath, and the oracle was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Endless Wastes Jalan discovered something he had not known since Walloch's slavers captured him and his mother. Hope. That and just a sliver of pride. They swelled in him, giving warmth to a heart that had known only cold for many days. He still wasn't sure how he had done it, but he knew one thing for certain: He had hurt that bastard. Hurt him bad.
That thing in the ash-gray cloak had threatened to gouge out his eye, and he had taken the thing's own dagger and made it blaze like the sun. The shriek the cloaked leader had uttered had been surprise, yes, but also pain and fear-and that more than anything… felt good.
Give that bastard a taste of his own toxin and see how he likes it, Jalan thought. Trussed like the huntsman's catch on the back of the huge wolf as he was, cramped and sore, his skin raw from the ropes' chafing, still Jalan had to fight to keep his eyes open as the wolves ran over the steppe. He'd awakened as they'd left camp, still dazed from the cloaked leader striking him, his ribs still aching from where the barbarian had kicked him. All that after the long rest should have chased sleep far away, but still Jalan had to fight it. His mind felt thick and foggy. Had his captors given him something, some foul concoction poured down his throat while he was unconscious? He couldn't remember. Maybe something worse. Maybe the cloaked leader had done something to his mind. He shivered at the thought, but for once the idea of that monster hurting him didn't make him afraid. It made him angry, and he knew he had something inside him that could hurt that monster. Jalan realized that miles had passed. The air felt frigid and thick. And when had it started snowing? Already the wolves ran through a thick blanket of snow. And still it kept falling and falling from the sky-huge, wet flakes that steamed as they melted off the wolf's pelt in front of him. True wakefulness returned before dawn, and Jalan passed the time trying to dredge up whatever power had caused that dagger to shine. He knew beyond doubt that he had done it.
He'd felt the power flow through him like blood through an opened vein. But how? He searched for that thing inside him, that living otherness he'd felt so strongly not long ago. When the power had shot through him, it had felt… beyond good. Wonderful. Intoxicating. He could still sense it-see it almost, but no matter how hard he concentrated, it remained elusive and distant. It might as well have been the sun shining above the surface of the water, and he the drowning man, reaching out, the light forever beyond his grasp. The hope that Jalan had cherished all night began to fade again. He closed his eyes. Concentrating all his will, he prayed, Vyaidelon! Vyaidelon, help me! Nothing. He hadn't heard a thing from Vyaidelon since the dream three nights ago. Maybe it had been just a dream. His heart knew better, but doubt was beginning to nag at him. Jalan's heart lurched as the wolf on which he rode leaped into the air, then fell and fell.
A scream was building in Jalan's throat-he was sure the stupid beast had gone snow-blind and run them off a cliff-when the wolf's paws struck the ground, causing Jalan to bite the inside of his cheek. The wolf ran on, and Jalan heard others making the jump behind him. The flatness of the land was ending, the steppe beginning to rise and fall in long hills-some miles wide. Amid the rolling snowfields, fissures broke the earth. Most likely gullies where the spring rains gathered and ran on their way to the Great Ice Sea. The wolves leaped down or sometimes all the way across the smaller valleys. The huge wolves were surprisingly sure-footed and found their way in and out of even the most treacherous of the snow-covered gashes in the earth. The light was strong enough that Jalan could see several paces in every direction when they stopped at a wide gully with sides so steep that they were forced to search for a safe way down. Jalan watched as their cloaked leader spoke with his barbarian servants. Even a few of the wolves seemed to be attending to the conversation. Although Jalan could not understand their words, he guessed what they were talking about. If he could see this far in such a fierce storm, it meant the sun had risen. Every day so far they had stopped to camp before sunrise. Despite the cloaked leader's power, he seemed unable to abide the daylight. Scouts scattered up and down each side of the gully, the great wolves pawing and sniffing. A small chorus of howls announced success, and shortly after the entire band was gathering about a small overhang on the northern side of the gully. The body of two wolves, both torn and mangled, their blood spotting the snow, lay on the ground not far away. Tracks led off eastward where more had fled.
Jalan watched as one of the pale barbarians crawled out of a shield-sized hole in the gully wall, pulling the body of another dead wolf behind him. Several of the wolves from the northerners' band began feasting on the remains of the pack whose den they'd just pillaged. Jalan grimaced and turned away. His gaze fell on the leader, snow dusting the ash-gray of his cloak, who had dismounted and was headed straight for him. Jalan pulled away, but his mount lowered to its haunches, and the leader cut him loose. The wolf bounded away, and the leader grabbed Jalan by the rope around his chest and held him up with one hand. Jalan found himself staring into the darkness of the hood. He could make out no distinct features, just a pale blur hinting at the face within. "Good," said the leader. "You're awake. It will make our business easier." Rope still bound Jalan's wrists and elbows, but his legs were free and he kicked at the leader's torso. One blow connected, but it was like striking a tree. The hand released him, and Jalan fell. After riding for so long in one position, his legs were stiff. Pain shot through his joints. He was halfway to his knees when he felt the leader's hand grabbing his hair. Jalan just had time to take a quick breath before his face was slammed into the snow. The first time was more surprise than pain, for the snow was thick. But the second truly hurt, and with the third blow his face went all the way through the snow to the rocky ground beneath. "Enough?" Jalan found himself looking up into the dark confines of the hood, though he had no memory of being picked up. "Stop struggling," said the leader,