"Listen," said Haerul. Amira did. With the orglash gone, the north wind had returned, but now it seemed colder, and besides the hissing of the snow, Amira could almost swear she heard voices, fell and dark, chanting at the back of the wind.

Far away, on the tattered edges of the storm, a long tear opened in the clouds, and the waxing moon shone through like a baleful eye peeking through a torn curtain. Its pale light reflected off miles of steppe, now covered with a fresh blanket of white. On the very edge of the moon's light, the blanket of snow rose, shedding snow in places as the ground rose to a great height-a high hill shaped like a broken and weathered fang that had long since given up biting at the sky. The Mother's Bed. At its summit, amid a thick grove of trees that even now still bore green, a large rock leaned out of the soil, a great crack forming a cave at its base. Gyaidun, all alone, no sacrifice in hand, watched that yawning darkness a long time. He remembered the words spoken only three days ago. "Hro'nyewachu will be hungry," the belkagen had said. "If you have no gift…" "What?" Amira had asked.

"Feed Hro'nyewachu or she will feed on you," Gyaidun had told her.

"What kind of Oracle is this?" "I told you," the belkagen said. "She is a being of need-both in fulfilling and needing to be fulfilled.

Nothing comes free. Blood for blood." "So be it," said Gyaidun. "Blood for blood." He raised his knife and walked into the hungry darkness.

The Endless Wastes Dawn was no more than a dim gloom bleeding through the deep darkness. Huddled near the fire, unable to sleep, Amira clutched her staff tight. In the back of her mind, she knew that far beyond the storm the sun was rising in the east. Part of her welcomed the knowledge that somewhere out there, light still shone through open skies and brought warmth to the land, even if she could not feel it here. But the foremost part of her mind dreaded the coming of dawn. At first light-or what would pass for it today-the last of the scouts would return, and they would set their plan into motion. Regret and worry tugged at her heart, and she cursed herself for agreeing to the belkagen's plan. Not the taking of the fight to the enemy. In that, she was steadfast. But after the hag's departure, their council had resumed, and after much debate, the old elf had put forth his plan.

"The Vil Adanrath should attack Iket Sotha in force. Be seen. Draw our enemies to you." He hesitated-in hindsight Amira knew why-then looked to her. "You should lead them, Lady Amira." She opened her mouth to respond, but Leren beat her to it. "Her? The people speak of the prowess she showed in battle, but outlanders do not lead the Vil Adanrath." "Lady Amira led the forces of her people against the Horde," said the belkagen. "None doubt her courage or prowess. But many days ago she was taken captive by an oathless slaver. A man little more than a common bandit bound her and made her his slave."

Amira considered pointing out that she'd been taken by surprise and that Walloch had been much more than a "common bandit." A slaver he might have been, but he'd studied the lore of Raumathar for years and had turned out to be quite a formidable wizard in his own right. All this was true, and although it stung her pride, she kept her mouth shut. In this, she agreed with Leren. Let the Vil Adanrath fight their own way. Her place was with Jalan. "But," the belkagen continued,

"that was before she sought Hro'nyewachu. Lady Amira is chosen." "She does not bear the… the uwethla," said one of the Vil Adanrath women. "I am sorry, Lady Amira, I do not know your words for this."

The woman stood, pulled back her cloak, and much to Amira's shock lifted her buckskin shirt to display her torso and breasts. Like Haerul, her skin was a mass of black, blue, and green inks, but over them were red runes that seemed to drink in the light of the fire. She sat back down. "Lady Amira is not omah. Are you saying she is belkagen?" Her cheeks burning, Amira glanced down at her son. If the sight of a comely woman lifting her shirt before him disturbed him at all, he didn't show it. He simply stared into the fire, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. The belkagen nodded as if considering the woman's words, then said, "I hear you, Turha. No, Lady Amira is not omah, nor is she belkagen. In truth…" He paused letting his words hang. "In truth, I do not know what she is. Not in all my years, nor the times of my greatest grandfathers, has an outlander sought Hro'nyewachu and lived. Yet here she is. The omah nin himself bore witness to her journey. Would any here doubt the word of the omah nin?" There were several gathered who had arrived lately and had not been there at the Mother's Bed. They looked to their high chief. He did not return their gaze but fixed his stare on the belkagen. "The belkagen speaks the truth," said the omah nin. "Lady Amira entered the cave in darkness and emerged at dawn." "But do we know she saw Hro'nyewachu?" asked another omah. The omah nin gave him a hard look but said nothing. "You doubt the word of the omah nin?" said Leren.

"Of the belkagen?" The elf looked at Amira and shook his head. "I do not. But as you have said, this is most strange. Never in all our days have we heard such a thing. It is a hard bite to swallow." Another opened his mouth to speak, but the belkagen cleared his throat. The younger elf shut his mouth, and all eyes turned to the belkagen. "I hear you," he said. "Turha spoke truly. Lady Amira does not bear the uwethla. Such was not the gift of Hro'nyewachu. But do not think that Amira left giftless." He turned to Amira. "Lady, stand and present the staff." All eyes turned to Amira. Her heart hammering in her chest, she reluctantly peeled Jalan off her side and stood. The staff was longer than she was tall, but she had kept most of it huddled inside the cloak with her. She thrust off the side of her cloak, a blast of cold hit her, and she raised the staff before her. The light from the fire caught in the gold-red wood and flickered along its length. The runes etched along the staff's surface blazed, and Amira heard several of the gathered elves gasp. "What is this, Belkagen?" said the omah nin, and even his proud voice held a tone of awe. "When Hro'nyewachu gave this to Amira," said the belkagen, "these were her words: 'It will sharpen the bite she gives her enemies.' Thus I name the staff Karakhnir. It was Hro'nyewachu herself who counseled us to take Amira's son to the Witness Tree in Iket Sotha, and it was Hro'nyewachu who gave Amira this staff to hurt those who would hurt her son. Do we doubt the word of our people's most sacred heart?" That silenced all argument. Feeling suddenly exposed and on display, Amira lowered the staff and sat back down beside her son. "We make war upon the Fist of Winter and their minions," the belkagen continued. "Hro'nyewachu bids us to do so and gives to Amira the weapon to lead us." He glanced around the gathering, then said, "I have spoken," and sat down. All eyes turned to the omah nin. He sat in silence a long while, looking at no one. When he looked up, his gaze fixed on Amira. "We will attack Iket Sotha as Hro'nyewachu commands. We will bring fear to our enemies. And Lady Amira will lead us. The omah nin has spoken."

"Wait!" said Amira. "No one has asked me what I think of this." Turha frowned at her. "The omah nin has spoken." Amira thought of a half-dozen ways she could point out that omah nin or no, she was not Vil Adanrath and no matter how many oracles this man consulted, he was not her lord. Instead, she said the one thing she meant most. "I'm not leaving my son. Not again. He's been taken from me twice already.