Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [20]
"It's about time." Amira snapped her book shut and pushed herself to her feet. Evening was coming on anyway, and she'd soon need the fire to read. "I felt fine a long ago."
Gyaidun scowled. "You were brought in before he was."
Amira said nothing. She knew the elf called Lendri had been clinging to life when Gyaidun carried him in. It had taken all of the belkagen's skills to heal him, and for a while even he had feared the younger elf might not pull through. He'd been unconscious all day, which meant he was sorely hurt indeed, for unlike other races, elves did not sleep.
The big man was still scowling. "Lendri nearly died saving your son," he said.
"Saving my son? Really? And where is my son?" Amira clenched her jaw and glared. She had to take deep breaths to keep the tears back.
Gyaidun looked away, but he seemed more angry than apologetic. "You wish to speak to him? This way."
"I know the way." She pushed past him and headed back to camp.
Despite her words, she almost did get lost on the way back. It was not a large island, but the mists off the lake were thick as wet wool, and this late in the day she couldn't see more than twenty paces in any direction. The trees and the iron-gray boulders strewn about the island were little more than indistinct shadows. She caught the pale nimbus of the campfire off to her right and realized she was passing the camp. She spared a sidelong glance at Gyaidun. He said nothing, but she saw the amusement in his eyes.
Lendri was sitting next to the fire, swathed in a thick hide blanket. One naked arm stuck out, holding a wooden bowl filled with a steaming liquid. He sipped at it and winced. For the first time, Amira noticed that Lendri had the same odd scars on his face that Gyaidun did-three long slashes down each cheek and a fourth cutting through them. He had even more tattoos than the big man. They twined about his arm, neck, and even around his eyes, and they seemed very dark against his pale skin. A huge gray wolf lay on the ground not far away, its head resting on its paws and its eyes closed. Mingan, the belkagen had called it.
The belkagen sat not far away. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged. He'd been busy since Gyaidun brought Amira in the night before, using all his arts and herblore to heal her and Lendri. He looked up as Amira approached the fire.
"You are still feeling well, Lady?" he asked.
"I'm fine." Amira sat down across from him. "You should rest. You look as if you're about to fall over."
A faint smile. "I will seek my dreams soon. But first we must make amrulugek. 'Hold council,' as you westerners would say."
Amira cast a quick glance at Gyaidun, then fixed her gaze on Lendri. "You… tried to save my son. Thank you. I am in your debt."
Lendri bowed his head but said nothing.
"Gyaidun," said the belkagen. "Sit. We have much to discuss."
The big man gave the belkagen a hard look, and it was the elf who looked away first, his eyes downcast. Amira didn't know if it was the weariness or merely the odd behavior of these easterners, but she could've sworn the belkagen looked… guilty. Gyaidun definitely looked angry as he sat, his movements stiff, his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flaring like a stallion about to kick his way out of the stall.
Amira held her tongue, deciding that in the tense atmosphere it was better to let one of the others speak first. She busied herself wrapping the leather cord around her spellbook and stuffing it into one of her shirt's many deep pockets. The belkagen had given Amira one of his old shirts. It was shaped much like the Tuigan kalats, but rather than being made of cotton or wool, it had been stitched from elkhide with fur trim. It was far too large