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.

Akhrasut Neth After washing in the pool, Gyaidun returned, dressed without saying a word to either of them, gathered his weapons, and proceeded to leave again. But he stopped and turned. "You are really going to do this?" He was looking to the belkagen, but the old elf did not answer, instead looking to Amira. "Yes," she said. Gyaidun stood there, tense with anger and… something else. Uncertainty? Amira wondered. "Why?" he asked. "Why… honored Belkagen?" "Why what, yastehanye?" said the elf. "I called you Belkagen." "Your words. Not your heart." The big man and the old elf stared at one another, neither gaze wavering or blinking. The anger was still there, Amira knew, but the heat was gone. In a way, this was worse, this cold tension that Amira sensed was born of hurt and loss from both of them. There was a slight curl to Gyaidun's lip that spoke to Amira of derision. The perfect calm of the belkagen's face, so obviously a tight mask, had an air of deep disappointment. "Why what?" the belkagen said softly. "Why help this"-he shot Amira an apologetic glance- "outlander seek Hro'nyewachu? For twelve years I have walked every horizon, sniffed every trail, and followed every track to find Erun. Not once did you give me this counsel. Why?" "You are a hunter, Gyaidun." Was that tenderness in the old elf's tone? If so, it was slight. "A warrior.

You are not…" The belkagen looked to Amira as he struggled for the word. "You have not studied the discipline of magic, nor sought the communion or made the sacrifices to the divine. Some of those taken by Hro'nyewachu spent years doing so. Hro'nyewachu might give you the answers you seek, but she would devour you. It is folly." "The omahet are not priests or wizards. They are warriors. Like me. And they have survived the Mother's Heart." "They are Vil Adanrath," said the belkagen. "You are not. The Mother's Heart, we call her. But she is not your mother. Her jealousy protects our people." Our people.

Gyaidun stared at the belkagen for a long moment, gave Amira a considering look, then turned and walked off. Durja cawed after him, and when the big man showed no sign of stopping or slowing, the raven took to wing after him. Both disappeared into the trees, and the sound of their passage was soon gone, leaving Amira and the belkagen only with the sound of the wind in the branches and the meat beginning to sizzle over the fire. "Where is he going?" Amira asked. "He must hunt." "Now? We have food. I don't understand." "There is much you do not understand," said the belkagen, and he sounded both tired and annoyed. "No more questions for now. Please. I will tend the fire. You should rest. You have a long night ahead of you."