Lendri had promised to meet Gyaidun at the Mother's Bed in three days.

"Why?" Lendri asked. "I knew you'd need help," said the belkagen.

"Your father is one of the greatest omah nin I have ever known, but his honor is surpassed only by his pride. I knew you'd need the weight of my testimony." "You knew that two days ago when you all but begged Gyaidun and me to forsake this hunt." "I said from the beginning that I would help rescue the wizard's son. With guile and cunning, we may get away with him. But you and your rathla, you do not seek to save the boy. You seek vengeance." "You've given us no reason to think we can't have both." "This foe is beyond any of you," said the belkagen, and his voice sounded old and tired. "Together, you and I may have succeeded in rousing all our people to lead them to their deaths. You know that, don't you? If we survive, will you be able to live with that burden?" "Death is part of life, the end of even the most cunning hunter. Our people know this." "To accept death is not to seek it."

Lendri turned to face the belkagen and gave him a hard look. "Better to die fighting for one of our own than spend the rest of our lives with our tails between our legs." The belkagen snorted and looked away. "You sound like your rathla." "I take that as an honor." Silence built between them before the belkagen spoke again. "Gyaidun is one of the greatest men I have ever known. But he is still a man. He is not Vil Adanrath. Like all his people, his flame burns hot and bright, but it is not long for this world. His courage lacks the wisdom of our years." "Better to die a flame than live as ashes." The belkagen flinched, and for the briefest moment Lendri saw genuine fear in his eyes. No, not fear. This was colder. Dread. "What is it, holy one? You hide something in your heart, something that eats at you." The belkagen looked away, his eyes gazing northward, but Lendri could see that he was looking elsewhere. A long howl drifted out of the north-Mingan inquiring why his brother had stopped. The pack was moving on. Still, Lendri waited. "Hro'nyewachu," said the belkagen, his voice scarcely more than a harsh whisper. "The Heart of the Piercing?" said Lendri. The belkagen nodded. "To become belkagen, one must brave the Heart. It is the source of my power. But not without a price. For all the blessings Hro'nyewachu gave me, some days I would give them all back to have not received the burden she gave me. So many years I have seen it before me, like the smoke of wildfire on the horizon. But with the coming of this war wizard, now I see the glow of flames, red as blood, and I smell the smoke. And now, you and your rathla have me rushing toward it." "What is it? This burden? This thing you fear?" The belkagen looked at him, and in the pale silver of starlight Lendri saw unshed tears welling in the old elf's eyes. "The one burden no warrior should ever bear." Lendri scowled. He had no idea what the old belkagen was talking about. He did not doubt the belkagen's sincerity-or the depth of his fear-but he had no idea what the holy one feared. And he knew the belkagen would not tell him. The visions of Hro'nyewachu were sacred, its mysteries meant for the belkagenet alone. Warriors did not walk that road. "Are you saying there is no hope?" asked Lendri. "Truly?" The belkagen turned away and pointed northward. "Mingan returns looking for us. The pack has left us behind. We must hurry." Lendri grabbed the belkagen's shoulder.

"Answer me, holy one. Is there no hope? Do you know this?" The belkagen gave him a sad smile, but behind it, lurking in the depths of the old elf's eyes, Lendri thought he saw a bit of the young mischievous warrior Kwarun. "Better to die a flame than live as ashes.

Your words. You are wise beyond your years, Lendri, and you have reminded me of the path of wisdom. Thank you." "Then there is hope still?" "Hope is for those who seize it. Now, run with me."

Akhrasut Neth Amira and Gyaidun made camp on the western base of the Mother's Bed in a small copse of trees through which a tiny stream flowed. Just up the rise, around a bend of the hill formed by a large arm of bare rock, the stream widened into a small pool. Yesterday, after setting up camp, Amira and Gyaidun had taken turns bathing. The water was cold-after the first teeth-clenching step into the pool, Amira had been surprised it didn't have a thin layer of ice on top-but more important, it was clean. She had scrubbed herself, washed her clothes, then spent most of the previous afternoon and evening wrapped in nothing but a thick elkhide while her clothes dried over the fire.

Parts of them still felt damp, but she preferred that to the unwashed smell.

Gyaidun and Durja had left at first light, scouting the area.

Amira had spent most of the day near the fire, alternately poring over her spellbook and watching the sky while she listened to the breeze rattle the branches. The wind had been out of the north all day, pushing high, thin clouds ever southward, and even Amira could smell the snow coming. A line of clouds smudging the northern horizon confirmed her fears.

Morning was turning to midday, the cool turning cold, when Gyaidun trudged back into camp. Durja was not with him, for once.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Very," Amira said. "But supplies are low. We should eat no more than once a day until we can get more."

"Not a problem."

Gyaidun stood next to their packs, which lay a few paces from the fire. Methodically, piece by piece, he began to undress, first his belt and harnesses that held his weapon and pouches, then his shirt.

Amira had to suppress a gasp at the sight of his naked skin. His torso was warm brown skin over taut, lean muscles, but his chest and stomach were crossed with long scars, one mottled patch that was obviously an old burn, and several spots of puckered skin that she recognized as old puncture wounds. Arrows most likely. Over all was a twisting, turning maze of black, blue, and yellow-gold inks. Her eyes widened when he began to undo the drawstrings of his breeches.

"What are you doing?" she asked, averting her eyes.

"You said you were hungry," he said. "I'm getting dinner."

"You always cook naked?"

"You're cooking." She did not look up, but she could hear the smile on his face. "I'm getting dinner."

"Naked?"

She heard him chuckle and walk toward the horses. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and risked a quick glance up. Gyaidun wasn't naked after all, but close enough. He'd stripped down to a loincloth-had even removed his boots-and carried his knife in one hand. He went to the tree where the horses were tethered and huddled together for warmth. He untied one and led it off through the trees.

Amira scowled. If he was going off to hunt, why take one of the horses? He'd been out scouting all morning. Surely he could have taken down a deer or even a rabbit while walking the miles around the hill.

And hadn't he said he eschewed horses anyway? And who in their right mind went hunting naked in this cold armed with nothing but a knife?

"I hate the Wastes," she muttered, and went back to her book.

A scream-a high-pitched shriek of agony that set Amira's teeth on edge-broke through the trees from the direction where Gyaidun had gone. The two remaining horses pulled at their tethers, snorting and stamping, their eyes wide and white.

Amira slammed her spellbook shut, grabbed her staff, and ran in the direction she'd watched Gyaidun lead the horse. The ground was rough, uneven, and littered with the detritus of a thousand autumns, and Amira stumbled several times.

Not far away from the camp, in a small clearing ringed by bushes still clinging to the last of their leaves, she found Gyaidun standing over the dead horse. Blood covered everything-the horse, the grass, even Gyaidun. He was more wet red than skin from the waist up, and his right arm-the one holding the knife-was so soaked that blood dripped from his elbow. Amira's shock and fear turned to dismay. She looked at the scene more closely and found the source of the blood-a deep gash across the horse's throat.