"What are you doing?" said Amira.

Gyaidun turned and looked at her. "You said you were hungry."

"We need those horses!"

Gyaidun smirked. "Why? We have our legs and your magic to get us where we need to go. Horses are food. Why d'you think I brought them?"

"I thought we were going to ride them."

"When Lendri arrives, you won't be able to keep them. Horses can't stand the Vil Adanrath. They'll break their hobbles and run." He turned and knelt beside the dead horse between its front and back legs. "Why don't you build up the fire? Nothing too big. A good, slow burn. You know how to make a spit?"

Gyaidun thrust the knife into the gut of the horse and began to saw upward. Blood and entrails spilled out of the widening gap. Amira turned away. She could take the sight of the blood and gore. She'd seen far worse in her time. But the sound of the blade cutting through muscle and hide, the entrails falling to a growing pile in the grass.

.. too much.

She walked back to camp, taking more care on the path this time and watching the uneven ground. When she entered the camp and looked up, the belkagen was crouching next to the fire and putting the finishing touches on a rack made from branches. Amira could not have been more shocked if King Azoun himself had been sitting there, asking to have his goblet refilled. She stood dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open.

"What… what are you doing here?" she asked.

The belkagen looked up from his work and smiled. "I suspect that Gyaidun is going to ask the same thing. Let us wait till he returns so that I don't have to tell the same tale twice." The belkagen closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and inhaled deeply through his nose.

"He's bringing horseflesh, yes?"

"Yes," she said. "How… how did you get here?"

The belkagen tested the stability of the spit. It wasn't like the spits she'd been taught to make. It was more like a miniature rack positioned over the fire. Satisfied with his handiwork, the belkagen sat on the ground, settled into his fur-lined cloak, and said, "What one wizard can do, another can do."

"Magic?"

The belkagen frowned and picked up a stick to stoke the fire. "Sit down, Amira. Please."

She did, across the fire from him, her back to the Mother's Bed.

"You are far from home, Amira. The ways of these lands are not your ways. The powers that walk the steppes and live in the earth… they are no less than the powers of your own western lands. But the people of… of 'the Wastes,' as you call them, we are… more reserved in some ways. There are those among us, like me, who know many of the arcane and divine arts, but it is considered somewhat… impolite to speak of them openly."

"I'm sorry, Belkagen. I meant no offense."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Nor did I take any. One master to another, among ourselves, it is good to speak of such things, to share our wisdom. But very soon we are to be joined by a great many folk who have powers and abilities far older than anything known by the people of Cormyr, and they can be very… 'prickly' about their customs of politeness. I urge you, Lady, please, guard your tongue among the Vil Adanrath. You will find no truer or more honorable people in all this world. They are the fiercest friends one can have, but they make terrible enemies and are easily offended. They are a people of pride and honor, and their chief, Haerul, has pride and honor like none I've ever seen. Scratch it at your peril."

Amira thought on this a while. She'd grown up among the aristocracy, and no one played the game of politics and court like the war wizards, but the belkagen's words gave her pause.

"I will treat this Haerul as I would the nobles of my own land," she said.

"You were sent to the High Horn for the way you treated your nobles, were you not?"

Amira blushed. "Not exactly, no."

"I meant no offense, Lady Amira," he said. "But please. Take my words to heart. You saw a bit of Lendri's ire when his hackles were up-and Lendri has traveled among humans for many years. It has softened him toward your kind. Not so with the Vil Adanrath. With Haerul, tread as a fawn among wolves."

"I'm no fawn, Belkagen. I have bite, too."

"I do not attack your pride. You need not bow and scrape and beg.

Just… use caution. Please."

Amira looked back over her shoulder, searching for a change in subject. "Are you sure that your being here is wise, Belkagen?"

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."