Frostfell

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?'

'Yes.'

'Alone among the loremasters of his day, Arantar would come to Akhrasut Neth and seek her wisdom. Some said he had been born here.

Whether that is true or not, I do not know. But I do know he came here often, and I believe Akhrasut Neth was the source of much of his power and wisdom.'

'Akhrasut Neth?' asked Amira. 'The Mother's Bed? This hill?'

'Yes.'

'Gyaidun told me it is a sacred site to the Vil Adanrath. It is something… more, then?'

Gyaidun snorted, but the belkagen ignored him and went on. 'Much more. It is sacred to the Vil Adanrath for many reasons. Have you been to the top yet?'

'No.'

'At the highest point of Akhrasut Neth, the bones of the earth break through the soil, a great outcropping of rock jutting from the ground like a weathered fang. At the base, a crevice splits the rock, forming an entrance to a cave that descends into the heart of Akhrasut Neth. The heart is a place of great power. Hro'nyewachu. What the clerics of the west might call an oracle.'

'This… oracle,' said Amira, 'it answers questions? Tells the future? I don't understand.'

'Hro'nyewachu grants… enlightenment. At a price. It is the place where initiates of my people go to gain their power. Those who survive are the omah, the chosen leaders of our people. But a precious few have a different calling. The belkagen.'