Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [98]
"Yes," she said. "I'm going to try. If I don't, he'll do the same to my son. And others."
"You know this?" he said, and the slightest flicker of the old Gyaidun's fire lit his gaze.
"I do know it," she said. She put her gloved hand on his forearm and squeezed.
He stared down at her hand, then looked up at her. "Watch out for Lendri," he said. "The Vil Adanrath will fight to the death, but they won't help him. He'll be on his own out there."
Not if you'd come with us, she wanted to say, but she didn't.
Gyaidun turned and walked away. She watched until he was little more than a pale shadow cloaked in falling snow, then there was only the snow.
"Don't judge him too harshly."
Amira turned, and the belkagen was standing only a few paces away.
"I really thought he would come with us," she said. "Even with hope for Erun gone, I thought he'd want vengeance at least. Not, this, this…"
"Despair?"
"Yes."
"Gyaidun is not a coward, Lady."
"I know he isn't."
The belkagen looked down at Jalan and asked, "Do you pray, Lady?"
"Sometimes, yes."
"Pray for Gyaidun. After what happened, he has embraced one of the gravest sins: Despair."
"I have never seen despair as a sin."
He looked her in the eye and smiled. "Then you've never considered it."
"What do you mean?"
"Despair is the forsaking of hope, believing that you know all paths. Embracing doom. But no mortal can see so far-even those like us who have been shown"-the belkagen stopped and swallowed-"shown such things. We are given the greatest burden of all, I think, to be shown some of what lies ahead that we might still dare to hope."
Amira scowled. She had the feeling that the belkagen wasn't talking about Gyaidun anymore. What had the old elf seen in Hro'nyewachu? She'd asked, but he'd refused to answer. In some ways, he seemed little more than a simple, old mystic who'd spent too long out in the sun, but at times like now she found him more inscrutable than the greatest masters of her Art.
"I know Gyaidun is no coward," she said.
"You know it now, but later, when this fight is done… the thought might come to you. When it does, know that it is a lie."
Amira looked down at Jalan, who was still sleeping. She didn't look up as she said, "You really think there will be a later?"
"Dare to hope, Lady. We must dare to hope."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Endless Wastes
The land lay on the verge of true darkness when the lone guard saw them. They came from the west-a dozen ghostlike shapes only slightly darker than the surrounding snow. Still crouching in the shadow of the great rock, the guard took a wooden pipe out of his belt pouch and put it to his lips. He blew a long note that rose and fell with the wind. The nearest of the approaching shapes stopped. The guard stood and stepped out of the shadows. He waved his spear in three wide arcs.
The figures resumed their run, and by the time full dark had fallen they had gathered around the rock-twelve winter wolves and eight Frost Folk riding. Their leader brought his mount forward until he towered over the guard. Steam from the great beast's breath enveloped the guard in an icy cloud.
"We have come," said the new arrival. "To where does the master call us?"
The deepest shadow under the great rock moved. It stood, a tall man wearing the tattered remains of an ash-gray cloak and cowl. Snow and frost clung to him, and there was no warmth in his breath to cloud before him. He stepped forward until he stood beside the guard. The winter wolf before them let out a small whine and took several steps backward, its ears low and its tail between its legs.
"To Winterkeep," said the sorcerer. "We go to Winterkeep."
* * * * *
Sitting before the meager fire, Jalan curled up next to her, Amira gripped her new staff as she studied its runes. She'd never seen their like, and she had studied most of the languages of Faerыn, both ancient and modern, living and dead.