He shook his head and sighed. "No matter how old I get, the foolishness of the young never ceases to give me wonder." "Holy one, I was about to mete out the hrayek's punishment," said Haerul, raising the knife. "You need not trouble yourself." The belkagen rapped his staff across the chieftain's head, not hard but as if chastising a child. "Fool! I meant you! The scars of the omah nin are supposed to mean you've learned to think before you act." "But he has broken the clan oath." "To keep his blood oath!" The belkagen raised his staff but seemed to think better of striking and lowered it again. He looked down on Haerul and said, "Do you know the meaning of tragedy?" Haerul opened his mouth, but the belkagen cut him off. "Hold your tongue, Omah Nin. I am about to tell you." He walked around Haerul and addressed the gathered warriors. "To punish the guilty is not tragedy.
That is justice. Tragedy is when two parties are both right but must choose different, even opposing, paths." He looked down at Haerul and Lendri. "Here we have tragedy. The omah nin and his son are both warriors of honor who bring honor to their clan, but in keeping justice each must betray the other's oath. The omah nin speaks of the oaths and laws of the clan-as well he should, for such is the omah nin's duty. But law is not justice. Law is the guide to justice, but in the face of tragedy, law can be an imperfect guide." "Are you saying we should forsake our law for one warrior?" said Haerul, and a sharp edge had entered his voice. "Even the firstborn of the omah nin?" Lendri looked at his father. It was the first time in more than sixteen years that Haerul had called him his firstborn and not hrayek.
The belkagen turned his back on the pack and looked at Haerul. "Law is the path to justice, not its end, as the path to the water is not the water itself. Once you have arrived at the river, you do not forsake the path. You have fulfilled it." Haerul glared and said, "Lendri betrayed the covenant of clan." "To keep his covenant of blood," said the belkagen. "We all know this," said Haerul. His voice was firm, but much of the heat had gone out of it. "It changes nothing, holy one. To keep his honor, a warrior may have to reach into the fire, but honor or no, still he will burn." "The omah nin is wise." The belkagen offered a small bow. "But that is not why Lendri has come." He looked down at Lendri and raised an eyebrow. "Is it?" Lendri struggled to his feet and looked to his father. "I am not asking the clan to help me. I am telling you that your grandson may be alive. Hlessa's only child.
All we have left of her." Haerul looked at his son a long time. He still held the naked blade in his hand. He turned to the belkagen.
"This is true, holy one?" The belkagen frowned. "Whether Erun is alive or not… I do not know. There is hope, but I will not lie. It is a slim one. A small flame in the rain. But another boy-about the same age as Erun when he was taken-has been captured, and the trail is still fresh." Haerul turned back to Lendri, stepped forward, and placed the edge of the blade against his son's throat. "So, Hlessa's son may be dead." Lendri looked into his father's eyes, putting every bit of challenge he could into his gaze. "Yes. If he is dead, I can take you to his killers. But time is running out."
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Endless Wastes
Early morning on the open steppe. The sun still ran low on the horizon, and shadows cast by grass and shrub lay long on the land. A hare, the beginnings of its white winter coat just coming in, nibbled at the leaves of a tiny shrub. The owls had gone back to their nests, and the hawks were not yet awake. Best time for breakfast. The hare sat up, its ears standing straight up, its eyes wide. For ten beats of its heart it sat that way, unmoving, then leaped away, leaving only a tiny cloud of dust in its wake. The last of the dust was just beginning to settle when the air where the hare had sat parted in a great whoosh that sent a ring of dirt billowing outward. Amira looked around, coughing and waving away dirt. "Ugh," she said. "I hate the Wastes." Behind her stood Gyaidun, one hand clasping a rope that bound three ponies. With the other hand he cradled Durja to his chest. The raven's eyes were only slightly less wide and frightened than those of the ponies. Amira smiled. Durja let out a harsh cry and took to the air. They stood in the midst of a gently rolling sea of grass, now turning shades of yellow and brown with winter's coming. To the north of them, painted half in light and half in shadow by the low morning sun, a great hill rose out of the lowlands. Much of it had the rounded-off look of a bastion of rock and soil that had stood through hundreds of years of wind and rain, but the top of it was smooth and almost flat. Standing up there, Amira imagined, someone could see for miles in every direction. Greenery crowned the hill and spread in jagged lines, following the ravines. From this distance, Amira could not tell if they were trees or simply large brush. "Is this it?" she asked. "Close enough," said Gyaidun. He pointed to the hill. "That is Akhrasut Neth, the Mother's Bed. Lendri will meet us there." "Mother's Bed?" "A sacred site to the Vil Adanrath. The belkagenet say it is the place where the Vil Adanrath first came to this world in the time of their greatest grandfathers." "Is there water there?" "A sacred spring, yes. Why?" He hefted the waterskin dangling from his pack, then pointed to the two carried by the lead pony. "We have more than enough." "We spent all day yesterday running," said Amira. "I could use a bath. And so could you." Gyaidun nodded, his face neutral, but Amira thought she saw a flicker of mischief in his eyes. "Ah, yes. I didn't want to say anything, but…" Amira scowled. "Lead on." Pulling the tethered ponies behind him, Gyaidun set off toward the Mother's Bed. Amira followed for a while, then quickened her pace to walk beside Gyaidun. He walked at an easy pace, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Why do we not ride the ponies?" she said. "Horses." "What?"
"They are horses, not ponies." Amira looked at them. "My family breeds the finest horses in Cormyr," she said. "These look like ponies to me." "We're not in Cormyr. Tuigan horses are smaller than other horses, but they're hardier, as well. Someone who spent so much time among the Tuigan should know that." "They spent most of their time trying to kill me, so you'll forgive me if I didn't discuss the finer points of horseflesh with them." "I forgive you." He said it with a perfectly straight face. "It's an expression." "What is?" "Never mind," she said. "You went to the trouble of taking the-horses, scaring that boy near to death. Why aren't we riding them?" "Would you rather I'd killed him?" "Of course not. But why take horses and then walk all this way?" Gyaidun shrugged. "Climb on one if you wish. I'm used to walking." "I thought everyone in the Wastes were famed horsemen." "Not the Vil Adanrath. Horses cannot abide their presence."
"Why?" she said. "They're elves like Lendri, are they not?" Gyaidun, not slowing his pace, looked at her sideways. "You Cormyrean wizards are scholars of a sort, aren't you?" "It requires years of study, if that's what you mean." "And you still haven't realized what Lendri is?" Amira's eyebrows creased. "I've never heard of moon elves this far east. His build and complexion are all wrong for a sun elf. I took him to be some sort of wild elf. An offshoot family, perhaps?" Gyaidun snorted. "Do the wild elves run with wolves?" "I said an offshoot, perhaps. No? Well, what is he, then, he and these Vil Adanrath? The mention of their name certainly made Walloch's hired blades tuck their tails and run." "The Vil Adanrath are not native to his world," said Gyaidun. "They came here many thousands of years ago." "That's true of all elves." "Can all elves take the form of a wolf?" Amira gasped.