' 'Those who survive.' You mean some do not?'
'Some emerge quite mad. Some few never emerge at all. Their fate is unknown, even to me.'
'But you,' said Amira, 'you have been inside the… the Oracle?'
The belkagen sighed and closed his eyes. 'I have. Once, upon my becoming belkagen. And one time more.' He opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Gyaidun. 'Twelve years ago.'
Gyaidun blinked once. Hard. Amira saw a tremor run through him.
'When I learned what had befallen the son of Hlessa and Gyaidun..
' The belkagen lowered his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath but did not continue. Amira waited, not daring to speak.
Gyaidun had not spoken of his son much at all, and he had barely even mentioned the boy's mother. That night, after the first mention of Erun, Amira had asked. The belkagen had answered her with stony silence, Gyaidun with a cold glare, and Lendri had simply looked away.
'We were desperate,' the belkagen continued. Again his voice sounded old and tired, truly the voice of an old man despite his youthful visage. 'I sought the wisdom of Hro'nyewachu.' 'What did you find?' asked Amira. 'Answers,' said the belkagen. He almost gasped the word, then gathered his composure and went on. 'Though not the answers I sought. What I told you two nights ago I learned through years of study and searching.' 'So all of this tale is for nothing,' said Gyaidun, his voice hard and unforgiving. 'A history lesson. Your lore will not help us now.' The belkagen sat there, eyes closed and trembling. Amira stared at him, at first thinking he was trembling with fear, but then she saw the iron set of his jaw and his clenched fists. He was furious. If Gyaidun noticed this, he ignored it. 'If your tale is done, it is time for you to le-' 'Fool!' the belkagen threw off his cloak and leaped halfway to his feet toward Gyaidun. A growl that was more savage beast than elf rumbled deep in his chest, and his eyes shone with a feral light all their own. With a squawk, Durja took to the air. Gyaidun's eyes widened, but he did not back down. The belkagen yelled at Gyaidun in his own tongue. Amira couldn't understand it-though she did catch the word yastehanye at least twice-but she heard the anger in the elf's voice. Gyaidun's nostrils flared and he breathed like a bellows, but he could not hold the belkagen's gaze. Though she had no idea what the old elf was saying, she felt very much as if she were watching an old patriarch giving a misbehaving son a severe reprimand. 'Te, Gyaidun? Te?' said the belkagen after a long tirade in his own speech. 'Kaweh rut, kyed!'
Gyaidun sat there glowering, his jaw working as if he were chewing on old bark. Finally, without looking up, he said, 'I apologize for my disrespect… Belkagen. I beseech your counsel.' The belkagen glared at him a moment more, then gave a stiff nod and settled back down into his cloak. Both men sat gazing at one another but did not speak. Durja settled back into a tree near the horses, gave an inquiring caw, then went silent. Amira cleared her throat. 'Listen-' 'Please, Lady,' said the belkagen, a bit of anger still lingering in his voice. 'Now we come to the part of this tale that concerns you, why I scratched up all these painful memories.' He sighed, then said, 'What I saw in Hro'nyewachu I will not tell. Its part in our hunt is my own burden to bear. But I think Hro'nyewachu might be of help to you, Lady Amira.'
'Help me? How?' 'Hro'nyewachu is sacred to the Vil Adanrath, but she does not belong to us. She was here long before us and, I suspect, will still be here long after we are gone. She is a place of… need, both in meeting needs and filling her own.' 'But you said most who go in never return,' said Amira. 'I can't help my son if I'm dead or mad.' 'I said 'a few,' not 'most.' The belkagenet are few. Since my own master passed, I have walked alone west of the Glittering Spires.'
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 running in blind. I fear we are only running to our deaths-and Jalan's.' 'And what?' Amira said 'You think this oracle can help us? I am not Vil Adanrath. I'm human and not even from here and… and I don't even like these cursed lands! What makes you think your oracle will help me? She might just as well kill me or drive me mad. I'll be no good to my son then, and forgive me, but I don't exactly trust Sir Drenched-in-Blood here or your Vil Adanrath to keep Jalan's best interests in sight.' The belkagen smiled and something like pride lit in his eyes. He looked to Gyaidun. 'She has a hunter's heart, does she not, Yastehanye?' Gyaidun scowled and said nothing. 'You, Lady,' the belkagen continued, 'know the arcane powers that spark the world. Hro'nyewachu… the source of her power I do not know. Divine? Arcane? A power from another world? I do not know. Perhaps she is all these things and more, perhaps none. But I do believe this: Hro'nyewachu has a mother's heart. You have a mother's need. Your hearts will beat the same song, I think. I could brave Hro'nyewachu again, and if you refuse, I will go. But Jalan is your son, Lady, yours the sacred bond. The bond between parent and child is a strength that might avail you much. I will do all I can to help your son, but I am only an old meddler. You are his mother.' 'Not his real mother,' Amira said, but even she heard the hollowness in her words. 'Would you die for him?' A bit of the anger was creeping back into the belkagen's voice, and he shook his staff as he spoke. 'Kill for him? Would you shed your last drop of life's blood to keep him safe? Breathe your last breath?' 'Yes!' Amira looked away from them to wipe away the tears. 'Then you are his mother, Lady Amira,' said the belkagen. 'In all ways that matter.'
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 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.
