Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [54]
"How does one become… belkagen?"
The shadow of a high cloud passed over their camp, and a different darkness seemed to fill the belkagen's face. "That," he said, his voice soft, "we will speak of later, for it is part of the news I bear you."
"News?"
"Not now, Lady. First I must deal with your big man."
"My bi-?"
"You!" came a booming voice from behind her.
Gyaidun. Amira turned. The big warrior stepped through the trees, long strips of bloody flesh hanging from his shoulders and arms. In the cold air, the blood and the strips of flesh on his arms and shoulders steamed. Covered in blood almost black, his eyes shone white and hot with anger, his nostrils flared, and the long knife in his hand trembled with the tension in his fist. He seemed the very visage of some savage god of vengeance descending upon them.
"Why are you here?" said Gyaidun.
The belkagen remained sitting by the fire. He seemed placid, but Amira could see the anger in his eyes and stiff posture. "I am here to help. Whether you like it or not, you will need my aid before this fight is done."
"Your aid is about twelve years too late, Kwarun."
They stared at each other across the fire, Amira feeling as though she ought to go for a walk but not daring to move.
"Sit, Yastehanye," said the belkagen. "Please. Set your burden down and let us talk. When we are done, if you wish me gone, I shall trouble you no more. But you will hear me out. You owe me that."
Gyaidun stood there, every muscle tense, unmoving. At last he gave one swift, hard nod, then stepped forward to place the long strips of horseflesh on the wooden rack the belkagen had built over the fire. A droplet or two of blood fell into the fire and sizzled. He sat.
"You don't wish to wash first?" asked the belkagen.
"I'll wash when this is done," said Gyaidun. "You can be leaving while I'm washing."
"Very well." The belkagen sighed. "First, my news. Lendri found the Vil Adanrath and roused them. Haerul has called the clans and speeds this way. They should be here no later than dusk unless they run into trouble. And I pity whatever trouble places itself in front of Haerul. His exiled son has roused in him a cold fire."
"Lendri," said Gyaidun, "he is… well?"
"His father did not greet him with open arms, and he and his brother still stare spears at one another, but he is alive. I would have brought him with me, but there are things that we three need to discuss before they arrive."
A rustle of black feathers descended into the camp, and Durja settled near Gyaidun. It was the first time Amira could remember the bird not raising a raucous noise upon arriving. Perhaps even the raven sensed the tension around the fire. He looked at the three people gathered round the fire, then hopped on Gyaidun's knee and began to peck at the little bits of flesh and gore that still stuck to the big man's skin.
The belkagen had gone silent. Amira looked to him. The elf seemed troubled, his brow creased in concentration and his mouth fallen into a pensive frown.
"Belkagen?" she asked. "What is it?"
He looked up to Gyaidun, who still sat unmoving, and said, "I told the lady a bit of the Vil Adanrath while we waited for you. She asked how one becomes belkagen, and now my answer enters our present tale. These lands in which we sit are filled with an ancient power. It was at this very high place thousands of years ago that the Vil Adanrath first came into this world. Akhrasut Neth is very old, a place of great and fell power. She is very ancient. She was old before the Empire of Raumathar was born. Even the Raumathari, great loremasters that they were, avoided Akhrasut Neth if they could. The Tuigan shun it altogether. But"-he looked to Amira-"you remember my tale of Arantar?"
"Yes."
"Alone among the loremasters of his day, Arantar would come