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The ancient tree of the Raumathari kings had produced a bud.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Endless Wastes

Not in all her years serving the crown of Cormyr, all her demanding apprenticeship and training as a war wizard, not even during the longest days of the war, had Amira ever been so tired.

They left Arzhan Island that morning as soon as it was light enough to see. It took all morning and a good deal of the afternoon to get through the woods north of the Lake of Mists. That had been exhausting enough, but once Gyaidun had led them onto the open steppe, he started running, not waiting for Amira but obviously expecting her to keep up. She had, which seemed to annoy Gyaidun, though it didn't entirely please Amira. She knew she'd never have managed it without the belkagen's help.

Before they'd left camp that morning, Gyaidun still avoiding the belkagen and refusing to speak to him, the belkagen had pressed several special roots-he'd called them kanishta roots-into her hand and told her to keep quiet about them, but he knew she'd need them after midday when they came to open grassland. She hadn't understood till her legs began to cramp and her lungs refused to fill with enough air. She'd stuck one of the roots in her mouth, chewed, and new vigor and strength had filled her almost at once.

Whether the kanishta roots had some herbal property or had been fused with the belkagen's magic-probably both, Amira guessed-they certainly worked. They tasted just shy of foul, but with one tucked between her teeth and cheek, she'd been able to keep up with Gyaidun the whole way, and when they stopped for brief periods to drink, he seemed even more winded than she. His scowl told her he suspected she'd had help doing so, but he didn't say a word.

After midday, after running across the open steppe with only brief periods of jogging for rest, Amira began to hate Gyaidun. Her legs burned and the inside of her chest ached, even with the help of the kanishta roots. They kept her going, but she couldn't help feeling as if her endurance were like a bow being pulled farther and farther back, gaining strength but in so doing coming ever closer to snapping. As the sun slid toward the horizon and the ache deepened to pain, then agony, she even considered murdering the man for the unflagging pace he set. Probably the only thing that kept him alive was her knowledge that he was her best hope in finding Jalan. He knew these lands and was able to follow their quarry's trail even through the short grass.

When the western sky began to burn orange with the coming of evening and a violet curtain spread across the east, even her hate for the big man and his long, miles-eating legs faded. Now that they had finally stopped, with the barest sliver of sun peeking over some low hills to her left, Amira just wanted to fall down and die.

"Tired?" asked Gyaidun. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, but even carrying most of their supplies he was not breathing heavy. The hate in Amira flared again.

"No." Amira blushed when the word came out a gasp. She swallowed and her trembling fingers fumbled to untie the water skin dangling from her pack.

"Let me help you," said Gyaidun, crouching next to her.

"I can do it!" She slapped his hand away.

Gyaidun stood. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"Light will be gone soon. We should find a place to camp."

"Fine."

"No caves for miles. No copses. Maybe I can find a gully. It'll keep the worst of the wind off us and hide the fire."

"Talking isn't going to find it."

He gave her a hard look then said, "Sure you don't want help with that?"

She let go of the waterskin and let it dangle from her pack. She'd only managed to tighten the knot even worse. "I'm not that thirsty after all."

Gyaidun took his own waterskin, took a long drink, then tied it shut and looked at her. "You sure?"

"You-"

A harsh caw and a rustle of black feathers cut her off. Gyaidun held up his arm and Durja the raven settled on it. The bird flapped his wings and called again.