Amira cast a quick glance at Gyaidun, then fixed her gaze on Lendri. "You… tried to save my son. Thank you. I am in your debt."

Lendri bowed his head but said nothing.

"Gyaidun," said the belkagen. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

The big man gave the belkagen a hard look, and it was the elf who looked away first, his eyes downcast. Amira didn't know if it was the weariness or merely the odd behavior of these easterners, but she could've sworn the belkagen looked… guilty. Gyaidun definitely looked angry as he sat, his movements stiff, his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flaring like a stallion about to kick his way out of the stall.

Amira held her tongue, deciding that in the tense atmosphere it was better to let one of the others speak first. She busied herself wrapping the leather cord around her spellbook and stuffing it into one of her shirt's many deep pockets. The belkagen had given Amira one of his old shirts. It was shaped much like the Tuigan kalats, but rather than being made of cotton or wool, it had been stitched from elkhide with fur trim. It was far too large for her, but it had deep pockets.

Still no one spoke. Lendri sat sipping whatever was in the bowl, the belkagen stared into the fire, and Gyaidun sat feeding small strips of meat to his raven, which bobbed up and down on his lap.

Damn it all. Amira decided to break the silence. "When you and Jalan, when you were attacked, how many were there?"

Lendri took another sip from the bowl, then fixed Amira with his gaze. She shivered, again feeling as if she were a rabbit being sized up by a hungry predator. "The boy," said Lendri, his voice low and hoarse. "Jalan. He told me…" He glanced at Gyaidun and the belkagen.

"Told you what?" Amira asked.

"I told him you were here, that I would bring him to you. 'She is not my mother,' he said."

Now all three men were staring at her, the belkagen looking surprised and the big man's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Even the raven stopped eating and fixed its black eyes on her.

Amira straightened, taking on the regal pose she'd been taught by her mother. "I have no husband," she said. "I am sworn to Cormyr, my life one of service. Jalan is not a child of my body, true enough, but I raised him from a babe. I loved-" A sob threatened to break out.

Amira felt tears flooding behind her eyes. She bit her lower lip, took a deep breath, and swiped her sleeve across her eyes. "I love him as my own."

There was a long silence, then the belkagen spoke. "Among the Vil Adanrath, one who cares for a child, who loves and feeds a child, who would die and kill for a child… this is the parent."

Amira nodded her thanks.

"Then why would the boy say such a thing to Lendri?" asked Gyaidun.

Amira shot him a venomous glance. "As you may have noticed"-she looked to Lendri-"Jalan is not Cormyrean."

Lendri said nothing. Didn't even nod. Just kept those predator's eyes fixed on her.

"I am a war wizard," Amira said. "I serve the crown of Cormyr and have done so for almost twenty years, since I was a girl. When the Horde invaded fifteen years ago, I fought for my people. I was at Phsant and Inkar, but mostly my company roamed, harrying the Horde's flanks, killing scouts, and raiding supply lines. I killed. I watched friends die." She closed her eyes, not to relive the memories, but to concentrate on pushing them away. "During one battle… gods, we'd been fighting since dawn with no rest. The sun was setting when my company came upon the remains of a Tuigan camp. The warriors fled, for we had won the day. They… they slaughtered captives and their own slaves- men, women, children-rather than have them freed. But in their haste to be gone from us, they missed one. A boy, not even walking yet. My captain found him crying over the body of his dead mother, covered in her blood."

Gyaidun spat a curse in a language she didn't recognize, and when she looked up, she saw fury in the man's eyes.

"I was young," she continued, "little more than a girl myself. My captain gave the child into my keeping. I balked at first." Amira smiled. These were the few memories of the war that did not wake her in a cold sweat at the darkest time of the night. "But I grew fond of him. Fondness grew to love. Months later when a suitable mother was found, my captain relieved me of my duty to the child. I told him that if he took the child he'd experience the wrath of a war wizard firsthand. I named him Jalan, after my older brother who'd died in the war."

"Why does he not claim you as his mother?" Lendri asked. The hardness was gone from his eyes. He seemed genuinely confused.

"Jalan is fourteen." Amira shrugged and tried to put lightness in her voice, but even she heard the bitter tone. "And growing up in House Hiloar is not easy, even for one born into the House. For someone who looks… 'eastern,' especially after the bloodiest war in generations with the eastern hordes… well, many among my family were less than kind to Jalan."

"The boy does not have Tuigan features," said Lendri. "He's far too lean, and his eyes-"

"Tell that to my mother," said Amira. "After the invasion of the Horde, all easterners are savages to many of my people. I shielded him as much as I could, but my duties as a war wizard often sent me abroad, and I had no choice but to leave him with my family. Their treatment of him ranged from coldly polite to cruel. It was… not the best childhood for him."

"You allowed this?" asked Lendri.

"What choice did I have?" A cold edge tinged Amira's words.

"Among our people-"

The belkagen cut him off. "She is not of our people, Lendri. The bonds of duty to family and clan are not always easy to bear. This we know."

Lendri looked down. "The belkagen speaks wisely," he said. "I ask your forgiveness, Lady."

Amira acknowledged his apology with a nod. She glanced at Gyaidun.

Was he blushing?

"To answer your question, Lendri, Jalan is on the verge of manhood. He often chafes at his mother's influence- especially the past few years. I fear he blames me for many of the insults and cruelties he suffered from my family. Perhaps the blame is not altogether undeserved."

There was a long silence, then the belkagen spoke. "You are from Cormyr. A war wizard, you said. How did you come to be out here, a captive of slavers?"

"Last year I was sent to High Horn. You've heard of it?"

The men shook their heads.

"It is a castle in the far west of Cormyr. In the mountains. A hard, cold place. Those sent there are either the most skilled warriors and wizards, sent there to make them the best of the best. Or they're considered trouble and are sent there to be disciplined."

"And which are you?" asked Gyaidun. "The best or trouble?"

"I'm both."

Gyaidun smirked and looked away, but the belkagen chuckled.

"We'd been there a few tendays when I was sent out into the field.

Some patrols had gone missing, and the knights looking for them wanted a wizard on hand in case they ran into more trouble than they could handle. We found the patrol in a valley, all dead, but only two died of obvious wounds. Scavengers had been at all of them, but using my arts I was able to determine how they died. It was early summer, still cool in the mountains but not cold, and yet-"

"They were frozen," said Gyaidun, his eyes bright and… hungry.

"Like those slavers. Weren't they?"

Amira nodded. "We gathered the bodies and returned to High Horn.

While we were gone, there was an attack. A dozen or so made it inside the castle. Several died. Good men and women. Friends. And the raiders took my son."

"A dozen or so?" said the belkagen. "How could so few breach a castle filled with your kingdom's best and escape?"

"Most of the raiders were pale-skinned men. Warriors. But one… it was… uh…"