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The belkagen was tending to Lendri, who was still sleeping. He didn't look up as he answered, "You were covered with blood when you came in. Most of it yours. I had to cut the shirt off, frozen as it was. Everything else I washed." He motioned to the far side of the fire. There, spread out over a branch, were Amira's pants, smallclothes, and what was left of her cloak. "I will find you something to replace your shirt later."

"Find it now." Amira stood. The world wobbled for a moment, but it did not spin, and a deep breath set all to rights. "I'm going after my son."

Amira knew the day was wearing on, though she had yet to see the sun. After the night wind had stopped, the fog off the lake rose thick, and she could not see more than a few dozen paces in any direction.

The belkagen finished replacing the poultice on Lendri's wound, then looked up. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"Leaving here is a good start."

"You won't walk a mile before you fall over."

"Watch me."

"My craft mended the worst of your hurts, but you are not yet healed. Your body must do the rest. You need food and sleep."

Amira started toward her clothes-small, shuffling steps. A slight tremble began in her knees on the second step, and by the fourth she had to stop before her legs gave out beneath her. She stopped to gather her strength before she dared reach down for the clothes. The belkagen's eyebrows raised, and she glared at him.

"You find this amusing?"

"No, Lady."

"What then?"

"It is a cruel thing you are doing," said the belkagen. He walked over and held her breeches out for her.

She gripped the blankets round her with one hand and reached for her clothes with the other. She snatched the breeches and clenched them in a tight fist, hoping it would hide her hand's trembling. "They're still wet."

"The mists." The belkagen shrugged. "Put them back on the branch, and I will stoke the fire."

Amira stood her ground. "What did you mean, a cruel thing?"

"You are so eager to rush off so that your son can watch you die."

If Amira had possessed the strength to slap him, she would have.

"I suppose it is a mercy of sorts that you'll never make it to him. If you did, in your condition, with no supplies, not even your spellbook, you'd accomplish little more than giving your son the chance to watch his captors kill you."

Amira's knees trembled again, and this time she had to sit. "How… did you know I'm a…?"

"Wizard?" The belkagen crouched and threw more wood on the fire.

"Yes."

"I am surprised you don't recognize one of your own." The belkagen smiled, but there was no humor in it.

A shudder passed down Amira's spine.

"I recognized you," he said.

"But you said you were a shaman, a priest."

"I am the belkagen. There is no word in your tongue. I am a shaman, a priest, and perhaps what some of the western peoples might call a druid. But I have also studied the arcane arts."

"So you are a wizard?"

"I am the belkagen."

Amira looked off into the mists. "I hate the Wastes."

"Wastes?" The belkagen chuckled. "There is more life in one league of 'the Wastes' than in one of your stone castles."

Amira smirked, then said, "Could you hand me my smallclothes, please?"

"I thought western women did not like men touching their smallclothes."

"Just hand them to me."

He did. "You're still going, then?"

"Jalan is my son. I'll find him or die trying."

"It will be the dying, I think, unless you heed me."

"You mentioned something about a shirt."

The belkagen frowned. "Are all western women so discourteous?"

Amira took a deep breath. She'd dealt with worse growing up amid the courtly intrigue of Cormyr, but she had no time for this. "I thank you for your help, Belkagen. If I can ever repay your hospitality, I will. On my honor and the honor of House Hiloar. Now, if you could find me a shirt and give me some food to set me on my way, I will be doubly in your debt. But I am going after my son."

"Of course you are. But if you will finish healing, you might have some small