Frostfell

He fell silent a moment, obviously wrestling his thoughts, then continued, "Nothing is certain, Lady. Nothing under this sun. But I believe Hro'nyewachu can help you." "How? I don't need answers. I need to save my son." "I believe-no, I know it after Lendri told us what happened. The Fist of Winter has your son. Why? I do not know. They took Gyaidun's son, and the boy was never found. Why? I do not know. I want to save your son, Lady"-he looked to Gyaidun-"and Erun, if we can, but there is too much we do not know. We are ru

Amira considered his words. She stared into the fire, thinking.

Descend into a cave to seek some… eastern goddess or spirit or who even knew what it was? It seemed the very height of foolishness.

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 pla

Her best hope was in cu

"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 begi