Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [82]
"Yes."
"Your… journey to Hro'nyewachu," said Gyaidun, "it went well?"
Amira shuddered and closed her eyes. After their day's journey-two more trips with her magic, followed by a long run; the Mother's Bed was now far, far behind them-she'd spent most of the evening discussing her vision with the belkagen. Even after seeking his wisdom, she still did not understand parts of it, but what she did disturbed her.
She now knew that she was not merely a parent on a desperate quest to save her son. She stood in the forefront of something much larger than she'd ever imagined, perhaps no more than a page or two in a long history that had been going on for thousands of years. It made her feel very small. She'd come to Gyaidun, the only other human for miles, in hopes of feeling a little less small-and not so terribly alone.
"If you don't wish to speak of it…" said Gyaidun.
"You want to know if I discovered anything to help your son."
"Did you?"
"I… don't know."
"You don't know?" Gyaidun's voice sounded flat, on the verge of anger.
"It wasn't like I thought it would be-me asking the oracle questions, her answering and demanding payment. It was-" Her body began to shiver and would not stop.
"Are you cold?" asked Gyaidun.
"Yes," she said, though in truth she wasn't. The belkagen had given her more kanishta roots, and beyond giving her renewed energy, they filled her body-right down to her toes and fingertips-with a pleasant, buzzing warmth.
Gyaidun moved closer, put his arm around her, and wrapped them both in his huge cloak. Durja squawked in protest but soon nestled between them quite comfortably.
"The oracle," Amira continued, "showed me… things. The past mostly, farther back even than the wars between Narfell and Raumathar that destroyed them both."
"What does that have to do with my son? And yours?" He was very close, and Amira could feel his breath against her ear. She was shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering.
"You remember the belkagen speaking of Arantar?"
"Yes," said Gyaidun. "Everyone in these lands knows those tales."
"If… if I understood correctly, it seems that Arantar is most likely one of your grandsires."
Gyaidun snorted. "You can't meet anyone between the Lake of Steam and Yal Tengri who doesn't claim Arantar or Khasoreth as their grandsire."
"Arantar had only one son before he… before he died. Khasoreth had no children." Speaking Khasoreth's name, the warmth coursing through her body seemed to freeze. "But Arantar's son had many children-and each of them in turn had many children. His blood spread throughout the Wastes."
"What does this have to do with Erun and Jalan?"
She had shared most of what she'd seen with the belkagen, his sharp brows furrowing deeper and deeper the longer she spoke. He'd taken it all in, adding his own bits of wisdom gleaned from years of study and learning the lore of the Wastes. And so they knew why young men were taken and who was taking them.
But the belkagen had warned her most strongly not to tell Gyaidun. She'd balked, claiming he had as much right to know as she did-and more than the belkagen-and the old elf hadn't disagreed, but he'd told her, "Gyaidun loved Hlessa and Erun more than anything. More than his own life and honor. He blames himself for their loss, the damned fool. And no amount of reasoning from you or me will convince him otherwise.
"All these years he has hoped of finding his son again. It is the one bit of tenderness left in his heart. Do not destroy that, Lady Amira. Do not. It would be a wicked thing. A cruel thing."
And so Amira told Gyaidun an abbreviated version of what she'd learned, but she did not tell him what the sorcerers did with those they took. That, she spared Gyaidun.
"These five devil-possessed sorcerers," said Gyaidun, "they are the ones who took Erun, who have Jalan?"
"At least one of them, yes," said Amira.
"And what can we do to stop them? To get Jalan back and save Erun?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" His voice had returned to the edge of anger. "I'm no