the clan to help me. I am telling you that your grandson may be alive. Hlessa's only child.
All we have left of her.' Haerul looked at his son a long time. He still held the naked blade in his hand. He turned to the belkagen.
'This is true, holy one?' The belkagen frowned. 'Whether Erun is alive or not… I do not know. There is hope, but I will not lie. It is a slim one. A small flame in the rain. But another boy-about the same age as Erun when he was taken-has been captured, and the trail is still fresh.' Haerul turned back to Lendri, stepped forward, and placed the edge of the blade against his son's throat. 'So, Hlessa's son may be dead.' Lendri looked into his father's eyes, putting every bit of challenge he could into his gaze. 'Yes. If he is dead, I can take you to his killers. But time is running out.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Endless Wastes
Early morning on the open steppe. The sun still ran low on the horizon, and shadows cast by grass and shrub lay long on the land. A hare, the beginnings of its white winter coat just coming in, nibbled at the leaves of a tiny shrub. The owls had gone back to their nests, and the hawks were not yet awake. Best time for breakfast. The hare sat up, its ears standing straight up, its eyes wide. For ten beats of its heart it sat that way, unmoving, then leaped away, leaving only a tiny cloud of dust in its wake. The last of the dust was just beginning to settle when the air where the hare had sat parted in a great whoosh that sent a ring of dirt billowing outward. Amira looked around, coughing and waving away dirt. 'Ugh,' she said. 'I hate the Wastes.' Behind her stood Gyaidun, one hand clasping a rope that bound three ponies. With the other hand he cradled Durja to his chest. The raven's eyes were only slightly less wide and frightened than those of the ponies. Amira smiled. Durja let out a harsh cry and took to the air. They stood in the midst of a gently rolling sea of grass, now turning shades of yellow and brown with winter's coming. To the north of them, painted half in light and half in shadow by the low morning sun, a great hill rose out of the lowlands. Much of it had the rounded-off look of a bastion of rock and soil that had stood through hundreds of years of wind and rain, but the top of it was smooth and almost flat. Standing up there, Amira imagined, someone could see for miles in every direction. Greenery crowned the hill and spread in jagged lines, following the ravines. From this distance, Amira could not tell if they were trees or simply large brush. 'Is this it?' she asked. 'Close enough,' said Gyaidun. He pointed to the hill. 'That is Akhrasut Neth, the Mother's Bed. Lendri will meet us there.' 'Mother's Bed?' 'A sacred site to the Vil Adanrath. The belkagenet say it is the place where the Vil Adanrath first came to this world in the time of their greatest grandfathers.' 'Is there water there?' 'A sacred spring, yes. Why?' He hefted the waterskin dangling from his pack, then pointed to the two carried by the lead pony. 'We have more than enough.' 'We spent all day yesterday running,' said Amira. 'I could use a bath. And so could you.' Gyaidun nodded, his face neutral, but Amira thought she saw a flicker of mischief in his eyes. 'Ah, yes. I didn't want to say anything, but…' Amira scowled. 'Lead on.' Pulling the tethered ponies behind him, Gyaidun set off toward the Mother's Bed. Amira followed for a while, then quickened her pace to walk beside Gyaidun. He walked at an easy pace, his eyes scanning the horizon. 'Why do we not ride the ponies?' she said. 'Horses.' 'What?'
'They are horses, not ponies.' Amira looked at them. 'My family breeds the finest horses in Cormyr,' she said. 'These look like ponies to me.' 'We're not in Cormyr. Tuigan horses are smaller than other horses, but they're hardier, as well. Someone who spent so much time among the Tuigan should know that.' 'They spent most of their time trying to kill me, so you'll forgive me if I didn't discuss the finer points of horseflesh with them.' 'I forgive you.' He said it with a perfectly straight face. 'It's an expression.' 'What is?' 'Never mind,' she said. 'You went to the trouble of taking the-horses, scaring that boy near to death. Why aren't we riding them?' 'Would you rather I'd killed him?' 'Of course not. But why take horses and then walk all this way?' Gyaidun shrugged. 'Climb on one if you wish. I'm used to walking.' 'I thought everyone in the Wastes were famed horsemen.' 'Not the Vil Adanrath. Horses cannot abide their presence.'
'Why?' she said. 'They're elves like Lendri, are they not?' Gyaidun, not slowing his pace, looked at her sideways. 'You Cormyrean wizards are scholars of a sort, aren't you?' 'It requires years of study, if that's what you mean.' 'And you still haven't realized what Lendri is?' Amira's eyebrows creased. 'I've never heard of moon elves this far east. His build and complexion are all wrong for a sun elf. I took him to be some sort of wild elf. An offshoot family, perhaps?' Gyaidun snorted. 'Do the wild elves run with wolves?' 'I said an offshoot, perhaps. No? Well, what is he, then, he and these Vil Adanrath? The mention of their name certainly made Walloch's hired blades tuck their tails and run.' 'The Vil Adanrath are not native to his world,' said Gyaidun. 'They came here many thousands of years ago.' 'That's true of all elves.' 'Can all elves take the form of a wolf?' Amira gasped.
She'd heard of such things, down in the Wealdath in Tethyr, but it had been years since she'd studied that particular tome in her old master's library. She scrambled for the memory, and at last it came to her. 'Lendri and the Vil Adanrath, they are lythari?' she said.
'Lythari?' said Gyaidun, and he shook his head. 'I don't know this word. The Vil Adanrath are what they are-elves who can walk as wolves.
Or wolves who can walk as elves, depending on their mood, I suppose.'
'You are not Vil Adanrath, then?' Gyaidun did not answer. 'May I ask you something?' Amira asked. The big man broke off his gazing long enough to glance at her. 'Ask all you want. Whether or not I answer depends on your question.' 'What is Lendri to you? The belkagen said he was your rathla. What is that?' 'Lendri is my friend.' 'Where I come from, that would hardly explain his devotion to you,' she said.
'We're a long way from where you come from.' Gyaidun didn't look at her. He continued along the horizon. 'We adhere to the old ways out here.' 'Old ways?' Gyaidun spared her a glance, and Amira could tell he was weighing whether to tell her. Finally he looked off into the distance, his attention obviously elsewhere, and said, 'You westerners, you shake hands when you take an oath, do you not?'
'There's more to it than that, and customs vary from realm to realm, but yes.' 'Do you know why?' Amira shrugged. 'Custom.' Gyaidun smiled, though his eyes continued to scan the horizon. 'See. You have forgotten the old ways. When the Vil Adanrath pledge their lives to one another, there is always the mingling of blood. Always.' Gyaidun took the horses' tether in his left hand and raised his right palm toward her. There, Amira saw a deep scar dividing the big man's palm.
'Blood to blood,' he said, 'oath for oath, and may all the gods damn us and spirits speed us on our way to the grave should we break the oath. It is… beyond sacred. The Tuigan take blood oaths as well.
You've heard them speak of anda-'blood brothers'-yes? But among the Vil Adanrath, the joining of the blood has true power.' 'Magic?' asked Amira. Gyaidun's brow furrowed. 'I would not call it that, but I don't know all the theories of you western spellcasters.' He shrugged. 'Call it what you like.' 'You became one of them, the Vil Adanrath?' Gyaidun shook his head. 'I will never be Vil Adanrath.' 'Then…' Amira shook her head. 'I don't understand. If you aren't Vil Adanrath, yet you and Lendri are blood brothers, what does that make you? The other night, you said you were born a slave.' 'I was.' 'Then how did you come to… 'hunt' with the Vil Adanrath?' Gyaidun did not answer at first. Amira looked at him. His lips were pressed razor thin, and the muscles of his jaw and neck stood out taught and hard. For a moment, Amira feared she'd offended him. The people of the Wastes had many strange customs and traditions of hospitality that were completely foreign to the people of Cormyr. She knew much of the Tuigan's strange ways, having spent much of her youth fighting them, but these pale elves and this big man who lived among them were a new mystery altogether. Finally, Gyaidun spoke. 'My mother was a slave, the property'-he almost spat the word-'of Uchun Koro, a merchant who made his living along the Golden Way, trading in slaves, horses, camels, and whatever else he might turn to profit. I do not know who my father was. Another slave, probably, or perhaps a guest to whom Koro sold a night's pleasure with my mother. I was a child on the caravan trails.
'As I grew, Koro took a liking to me and intended to have me as his catamite. But on the night of my… 'coming of age,' my mother sneaked a knife to me. When Uchun Koro came to me, I sliced off his manhood and threw it onto the hot coals of a brazier.' Amira swallowed hard. Cormyr certainly had more than its share of lascivious aristocrats and worse. As a young woman, she'd had to fend off plenty of advances by men old enough to be her grandfather, but to do such a thing to a child… 'I was frightened as much as furious,' Gyaidun continued. 'So much blood. And I was still a child, only ten years old. Rather than finishing off the newetik, I ran. I fled, but I grew hungry and trailed the caravan, hoping to steal food. Uchun Koro, the whoreson bastard, survived. His men caught
