He will come upon you when you least suspect it, when you are tired or alone. Whatever Erun has become, it is a thing of cold and darkness.

He does not care for honor or fairness. He will come upon you when you are at your weakest. You will not survive that, I think. You will die, and he will have Jalan again." Amira said nothing, but she did not look away. Wolf's gaze or no, her Hiloar pride would not permit it.

"You saw the sorcerer," said the belkagen. "If that's what he is. It was Erun, twisted into something… vile. Unholy. Think, Amira! It was Erun." "We've established that." "Erun. Gyaidun's son. Erun, who was taken just like Jalan." The reality of it hit her. How could she have been so foolish? All she'd seen! All the oracle had shown her.

How could she not have seen this herself? "What happened to Gyaidun's son," she said. "They mean the same thing for Jalan." "You saw Khasoreth's fate. You saw him and his pack of devilspawn walking through the years, not living but never dying, taking new vessels to contain the darkness within them. You saw this, Lady. You told me so."

"I did." They sat together in silence for a long while, the belkagen watching the snowfall while Amira watched nothing at all. She sat looking inward, going over every detail of the oracle's visions, looking for some flaw in the elf's reasoning. There was none. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. "Have you," she said, "have you… told Gyaidun?" "Told him what has happened to Erun?" Amira nodded.

"Not yet. You said it yourself. The hope of finding his son has been the one thing giving him life and purpose all these years. If we take that away…" "Hope," said Amira, wishing she could find her own.

"You think he has any left at this point?" "Hope is for those who seize it," said a voice above them. Lendri leaped off the lip of the gully and landed in the snow. Mingan followed. Elf and wolf looked at Amira and the belkagen, then joined them under the overhanging grass.

Lendri sat down beside the belkagen while his wolf-brother sat with his head on his paws and watched Jalan. The wolf's ears twitched, and he let out a long whine. "How long have you been there, pup?" asked the belkagen. "Not long," Lendri answered, though his eyes were fixed on Amira. "I heard you discussing my rathla. I listened." The belkagen scowled. "You listened to a private conversation of the belkagen. Very rude. Almost dishonorable." Lendri shrugged, not seeming the least bit chagrined. "She is not belkagen, and I am hrayek. My honor is sullied already." He looked at both of them and steel entered his voice. "If you know something about Erun, something you are not telling Gyaidun.

.." "How much did you hear?" asked the belkagen. Lendri looked at Amira a long moment, then turned his gaze back to the belkagen and said, "Have you ever haggled with the merchants along the Golden Way?"

The belkagen scowled. "What does that have to do with-?" "They are liars," said Lendri. "Unrepentant liars. I learned long ago that the best way to judge the honesty of someone is to ask them a question to which you already know the answer and see what they say. I have yet to meet a merchant who does not make a practice of lying." The belkagen's eyes narrowed to slits, and his voice became soft as velvet over a knife. "You accuse me of lying, Lendri hrayek?" Lendri shrugged. "I accuse the belkagen of nothing. But I'm not going to answer his question until he answers mine." "Where is your resp-?" "Please!"

Amira cut them off and looked to Lendri. "Do we know what happened to Gyaidun's son?" She cast a quick look at the belkagen, who was scowling. "Yes," she continued, "gods help us, I think we do. But what you are really asking, I think, is, 'Have we found a way to help him?'

And the answer to that, Lendri, is no. Damn it all, we haven't. I swear by my gods and my House that I'm telling you the truth." "Your House is a house of merchants, is it not?" "They are," she said.

"Liars, the lot of them. I can't stand them either." Lendri smiled, but his eyes were sad. "That, I understand. Family troubles seem to plague all peoples." "Then you believe me?" "I see no reason for you to lie. But why do you hide the truth from Gyaidun?" "What good would it do him?" "None," said Lendri. "But na kwast wahir athu kyene wekht unarihe-'better a cold truth than a warm lie.' I know my rathla. He would rather be hurt than ignorant." "This hurt might be more than your rathla could bear," said the belkagen. "That should be his decision. Not yours." The belkagen sighed. "You must choose your own path, even if it means destroying your rathla, but I will tell you this: You have no truth to give your rathla. We know only that the Fist of Winter took Erun and twisted him into something vile and evil.

That much Gyaidun already knows. His greatest hope-that his son is still alive-has met his greatest fear-the one who took him-and they are one. Your rathla is… confused now, Lendri. Hurting. Despair has gripped him. What we know, what Amira learned in Hro'nyewachu will only deepen that. Consider my words. I will argue this with you no more." They sat in silence for a long while, the belkagen's scowl deepening, Amira watching her sleeping son, and Lendri scratching Mingan behind the ears. "I will think on what you have said," said Lendri, and stood and walked away, Mingan at his heels. "You think he's going to tell Gyaidun?" asked Amira. "Most certainly," said the belkagen. "I love those two like sons, but they can be stubborn as dwarves. Gyaidun is more obvious about it because he blusters and roars, but Lendri… that one, he is quiet and so hides it, but he's even worse." "What will Gyaidun do, do you think?" "Knowing him as I do, I can only be sure that it will be something foolish." "And you aren't going to stop him?" "He's a grown man, Lady, and Lendri is five times your age, at least. If those two want to rush off and get themselves killed… well, it won't be the first time they've tried, and they're still here. Stubborn and hotheaded as they both are, they never cease to surprise me. I must trust them to follow their own path. But you…" "What about me?" The belkagen fixed her with that predator's gaze that made her feel so small and said, "Now that you have your son, what will you do, Lady?" "Winterkeep," said Amira. "What?" "Winterkeep. Iket Sotha you called it. That's where the sorcerer was headed with Jalan." "You are certain?" "Yes," Amira answered. "Mystra help me, I am." "This is what you want?" said the belkagen. "You wish to go to the enemy?" "I want to take the fight to them," said Amira. "You said it yourself. Jalan won't be safe till we end this. One way or the other."

The Endless Wastes The sorcerer, still swathed in his scorched and torn ash-gray cloak, and his three remaining Frost Folk rode upon winter wolves to the shore of the Great Ice Sea. One riderless winter wolf trailed them. It was past midday, but the unrelenting storm was so thick, and the sky so dark, that it gave them enough cover to keep moving throughout the day. This close to the water the air was heavy with moisture, and the snow fell in great clumps, some almost as big as a man's hand. One of the Frost Folk fell from the back of his wolf and lay in the snow. The man had half a Vil Adanrath arrow in his ribs. He had spent most of the day coughing, and the front of his body was smeared with his own blood. The wolf he'd been riding sidestepped and looked down on him. The man lay in the snow, unmoving except for the swift rising and falling of his chest. Another of the Frost Folk lifted his leg and slid off his own mount. He knelt beside his fallen companion, examined the wound, then stood and spoke to his master. The sorcerer still sat atop his wolf, both of them staring into the face of the storm. He turned at his servant's words and looked down on the fallen man. "He is beyond help," said the sorcerer in the tongue of the far north. "And the wolves are hungry." The sorcerer dismounted.