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. "Hush," said Gyaidun. "Dilit, Durja!" The raven cawed once more, then settled down. "What's the matter with him?" asked Amira. "He's found something."
Under a cloudless sky quickly fading to black, Durja led them less than a quarter of a mile to a dry creek bed no more than five or six paces across and two deep. Amira dropped her pack to the ground next to Gyaidun's and sat on the edge of the gully while the big man climbed down.
"What is it?" she asked.
"They camped here last night," said Gyaidun. He was bent low, his gaze fixed on the ground, and he took the utmost care with each step.
Durja perched on a nearby rock and looked to his master. "They lit no fire, but they bedded down here."
"They?"
"Your boy and his captors."
"Jalan?" Even through her bone weariness, proof that they were going the right way gave her a brief surge of excitement.
"Yes. Jalan. And at least four others. Maybe more. They rested here. I'd say they left at sunset yesterday."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Gyaidun stood straight. "I need to look around. You can start a fire?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then do it." He climbed out of the gully and stood over her.
"Down there. And keep it low. We don't want to signal everyone for miles around."
"Where are you going?"
"I won't be long."
"Curse you, where-"
But he was already moving off. In moments, he had disappeared over the small rise.
"I hate the Wastes," Amira said. She stood, dragged their packs down into the gully, then set about looking for something to burn.
There was precious little, and all of it hard to find in the gloom. The gully obviously served as a stream in the wetter, warmer seasons, for the bank was lined with small bushes of hard, twisted wood with tiny leaves. Amira pulled at one and a small pain shot through her finger. The cursed things had thorns. Not large, but they were sharp. She considered lying down by her pack and letting the big oaf build his own fire. But now that the sun was gone and she'd stopped running, the chill in the wind had bite. She'd only spent a few days around the Lake of Mists, and she'd grown used to the heat it gave off. Out here on the open steppe, autumn was cold.
Taking more care, she grabbed the thing at the base and pulled it up by the roots. The soil was dry and the plant came up easily. She gathered five, threw four into a pile and one near the base of the gully wall. Her fingers twirled, she spoke an incantation, and flame funneled out of her fingers into the little bush. The dry leaves caught at once, flared a brilliant orange, and the flames caught in the wood.
It gave her enough light to gather stones to make a little firepit, and she used a larger rock to break up the other bushes without having to risk touching the thorns. She'd just thrown more wood on the fire when Gyaidun returned.
"Here, use these." He tossed several gray chips, each the size of a dinner plate, near the fire.
"What are they?"
"Dung."
Amira put a hand over her nose and scooted to the other side of the fire.
"It's dry," said Gyaidun. "It will burn slow and hot with little light."
"I don't suppose you found any water?"
"No water." Gyaidun crouched next to the fire. He looked grim. "I found something else. Not good."
"What?"
"More tracks besides Jalan's and his captors."
"More Frost Folk?"
"You know viliniketu? The Tuigan call them tirikul."
Amira shook her head. "I don't know the word, but tiri means 'ice,' does it not?"
"The viliniketu are like wolves, but larger and much more cunning.
They live-"
Amira's heart skipped a bit. "You mean winter wolves?"
"As you say. A whole pack of them came here yesterday around sunset. No human tracks left."
"What does that mean?" asked Amira. She could not hide the tremor in her voice. "The winter wolves attacked them?" She'd encountered them once before, back during the war. They were dangerous, but she knew they'd be no match for that dark thing that had her son.
"It means that your son's captors are riding the viliniketu, and there's damned little chance of our catching them now, even if we ran all night and all day tomorrow."