The Dark-Eyes War

Chapter 9

I should be tanning rilda skins," Cresenne said lazily, making no effort to leave the warmth of their blankets.

Grinsa had his arm around her, and her head rested on his shoulder. Their fingers were laced together.

"Maybe you should go then," he said, in the same languid tone. "Hmmm."

They kissed and then Grinsa lay back once more and closed his eyes. They had made love for much of the night, until their pent-up passion for each other was finally sated. They'd dozed off, awakened before dawn and made love once more, and then had fallen asleep again. Grinsa felt quite certain that the a'laq would be looking for him soon enough, but until then he had no intention of going anywhere.

Bryntelle was awake on her small pallet, chattering to herself. Occasionally she glanced Grinsa's way and let out a small laugh, as if she couldn't believe that her father was actually there.

Grinsa couldn't believe it, either.

He could hear voices outside the z'kal. Others had been up and about for some time now. And with war coming, he knew that the haven he and Cresenne had carved out for themselves over these few precious hours wouldn't last much longer.

He'd said as much to Cresenne the night before, when he told her that E'Menua had agreed to recognize the legitimacy of their joining, and that he had pledged himself to fighting alongside the Fal'Borna.

"I know that we're not part of their clan," he had said. "Not really, at least. But I couldn't-"

She held a finger to his lips, then kissed him. "I know," she whispered. "I expected no less. I don't want to stay here, and I don't like E'Menua, but if the Eandi attack these people, I'll fight, too." Suddenly her brow furrowed and a slight smile touched her lips. "He's willing to accept that I'm your wife?" she asked, as if finally realizing what Grinsa had said moments before.

He smiled. "Yes."

"How did you get him to agree to that? I thought he'd go to Bian's realm thinking of me as your concubine."

"Well, he might. But he understands now that he can't control me with magic or threats. And he knows that I'm capable of humiliating him in front of all his people if he tries."

"Grinsa, you don't want to make him afraid of you," she said, clearly unnerved by this. "That's every bit as dangerous as making him angry. If he thinks you're a threat to him, he'll find a way to kill you."

"It'll be all right. He's not going to kill me. He's not even going to make the attempt."

"You don't know what he's capable of doing. He's… cruel. He likes to control people, just for the fun of it, just for the satisfaction of knowing that he can. If you defy him…" She shook her head. "You need to be careful."

Grinsa narrowed his eyes. "What did he do to you?"

But Cresenne shook her head. "Not now." She kissed him again. "I'll tell you tomorrow, but I don't want to talk about him tonight."

Neither did Grinsa, of course, and he gladly gave himself over to his hunger for her. Now, though, as the sept awoke, and the sounds of morning beckoned to them, he asked her about it again.

This time Cresenne didn't put him off, though her expression darkened, as if just thinking about it made her angry.

"He didn't really do anything to me," she said. "Remember when we first arrived in the sept, and every morning the Fal'Borna brought us food and firewood?"

Grinsa nodded.

"Well, they didn't do that for us so much as they did it for you, because you're a Weaver." She shrugged. "That's how they treat their Weavers."

He understood immediately. "So once I was gone, they stopped bringing you food and wood."

"The wood I could find on my own," she said. "I had to gather it each day after I finished tanning, but I didn't mind so much. The food, though; we didn't come here early enough to plant crops or hunt rilda. We had nothing."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" Grinsa asked. He rolled onto his side so that he could look her in the eye.

"I knew how angry you'd be. And there was nothing you could do. You were looking for the cursed baskets and the woman who made them." A smile lit her face. "Besides, I handled it."

He smiled in turn. "How?"

"F'Solya convinced me to go to E'Menua and ask for his help."

"F'Solya is your friend who tans the skins with you, right?"

She nodded. "She's been a good friend. But of course E'Menua saw this as an opportunity to split you and me apart. He wouldn't let me buy food from the sept. Instead he made L'Norr share his food with me; I was to go to his z'kal for my evening meals."

"L'Norr?" Grinsa repeated. For a moment he couldn't imagine why the a'laq would send her to the young Weaver. He didn't know L'Norr well. The man was Q'Daer's closest friend, and as one of the sept's Weavers he wielded some influence in the settlement. But he hardly struck Grinsa as someone who would willingly take advantage of Cresenne's misfortune. But then it occurred to him why E'Menua would have chosen this man to share his food with Cresenne. L'Norr was young, handsome, and he had not yet been joined to a Weaver. By forcing the two of them together in the middle of Grinsa's lengthy absence from the sept, the a'laq hoped to foster a romance between them. E'Menua was as clever as he was devious.

"I guess the a'laq wasn't satisfied with you being only my concubine," he said, grinning. "He wants you to be L'Norr's, too."

She didn't look amused. "It's not funny. L'Norr has a concubine already, and she accused me of trying to steal her man. For a while there everyone in the sept believed her. Even F'Solya."

"I'm sorry," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "What did you do?"

"I convinced her that she was wrong," she told him, clearly pleased with herself, "and that L'Norr was in love with her."

Grinsa laughed, drawing a delighted shriek from Bryntelle. "And was he?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think he is now. But I convinced her that she had nothing to fear from me. That's all that mattered to me."

He shook his head, still laughing. "I think that you're more dangerous than E'Menua."

But thinking this, he looked toward the entrance to the z'kal, his laughter fading. After a moment, he stood, pulled on his britches, and walked to the flap that covered the entryway. Peering outside, he saw that the ground around the z'kal was hare. No wood; no food.

He turned to face Cresenne, who was pulling on a shirt.

"It seems I did make him angry," Grinsa told her.

"Still no food?"

"No wood, either. Being a Weaver doesn't mean what it used to around here."

He meant it as a joke, but neither of them smiled.

"What should we do?" Cresenne asked.

"I'll talk to Q'Daer. He might be able to help us. If worst comes to worst, you and Bryntelle will go back to L'Norr and I'll find another source of food." He pulled a pouch of food from his travel sack and threw it onto the blankets. "In the meantime, we have enough there to last us a few days."

She nodded, but Grinsa could see the disappointment on her face. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault. I just assumed that everything would be all right once you were back."

"We'll leave here as soon as we can. I swear it."

Cresenne nodded once more and they finished dressing in silence.

When Cresenne went to the tanning circle as she did every day, Grinsa sought out Q'Daer. He found the young Weaver sitting with L'Norr outside the a'laq's shelter. Seeing him approach, Q'Daer averted his eyes and wouldn't look at Grinsa even when he offered a greeting.

Grinsa stopped in front of the two men and, rather than forcing a conversation with Q'Daer, turned to L'Norr.

"I want to thank you," he said.

L'Norr shifted uncomfortably. "For what?"

"For feeding my wife, of course. You were most generous to share your food with her. I'm in your debt."

"It was nothing. I was just doing what the a'laq…" He swallowed, suddenly as reluctant as Q'Daer to meet Grinsa's gaze. "It was nothing," he said again.

And abruptly Grinsa understood. E'Menua had anticipated what he and Cresenne intended to do next.

"He ordered you both not to share any more with us, didn't he?"

He had expected that neither man would respond. It seemed, however, that the time he had spent journeying with Q'Daer had built some small rapport between them. Q'Daer glanced back quickly at the z'kal. Then he looked up at Grinsa and nodded.

"I don't know what you did, Forelander," he whispered. "But the a'laq is determined to punish you."

"Is he in there?" Grinsa asked, indicating the z'kal.

Q'Daer nodded again and started to stand. Grinsa raised a hand, stopping him.

"I don't need you to announce me."

The young Weaver shook his head, the familiar scowl on his square face. "You're just making matters worse," he said.

"I'll take that chance."

He stepped past the two men, pushed the flap covering the entrance aside, and entered the z'kal. E'Menua sat in his usual spot on the far side of his fire pit, facing the entry. He regarded Grinsa mildly, as if he'd been expecting him.

"You intend to starve us?" Grinsa asked, not bothering with any of the formalities E'Menua usually demanded of his people.

"Not at all," the a'laq said, his voice even. "But I don't intend to feed you, either."

"You're angry with me, so you're punishing my wife and my child." He sneered. "What a great leader you are."

The embers in the a'laq's fire pit and the small open circle at the top of the shelter offered scant light, but still Grinsa saw the man bristle. "Watch your tongue, Forelander! Q'Daer and L'Norr are just outside. If I wanted to, I could order them to kill you, and for all your might and your bluster, you'd be powerless to stop them."

He'd been back for less than a day, and already Grinsa had grown weary of this man. He nearly responded with a threat of his own, something that would have made it clear to the a'laq that Grinsa could kill him before he ever had a chance to call for the young Weavers. But Q'Daer had been right a moment ago, and so had Cresenne. Threats and defiance would only make matters worse, and for now at least, with war coming and Besh and Sirj at the mercy of this man, Grinsa had little choice but to remain here.

"I don't want to fight you, A'Laq," he said, addressing E'Menua by his title for the first time since his return. "And I don't think that you want to have me killed. I don't even think you really want to starve us."

E'Menua said nothing.

"So what is it you do want?"

"You seem to think you know me quite well," the a'laq said. "Answer the question yourself."

"I've already told you that I won't marry a Weaver."

The a'laq dismissed the idea with a disdainful wave of his hand. "You flatter yourself, Forelander. And anyway, aside from the n'qlae there are no female Weavers in the sept. My daughter will come into her power soon, but trust me when I tell you that I have no desire to see her joined to you."

Grinsa chuckled. "No, I don't suppose you do. But if not that, then what?"

E'Menua merely gazed back at him.

"I've already told you that I'll march to war with you and your people, that I'll fight to protect Fal'Borna lands. Do you want me to promise that we'll stay here, even after the war is over?"

"Take some time to think about it, Forelander. Perhaps you'll figure it out eventually."

"And in the meantime, we'll have to forage for our own food, is that right?"

No response. It occurred to Grinsa that perhaps Cresenne was right in saying that he'd been handling this the wrong way.

"We'd be most grateful, A'Laq, if you would consider helping us through the Snows. We have no stores of roots or rilda meat. We came to you late in the year and now we have little choice but to ask for your help."

A slight smile touched the a'laq's lips and was gone. "You speak to me like that in private, where no one else can hear, but in front of the others you treat me with contempt. Why should I honor your request? Why should I listen when you tell me that these two Mettai you've brought to my sept aren't threats to us?"

Grinsa considered this briefly. Then he shook his head, smiling at his own stupidity. "You shouldn't," he said. "While we were searching the plain for the Mettai woman, Q'Daer said something similar to me. He wondered why I'd refuse to submit to your authority and would show so little regard for Fal'Borna ways, and then turn around and risk my life trying to save your people from the Mettai woman's plague."

"Were you able to explain this to him?"

"Not well," Grinsa said. He rubbed a hand over his face. "You and I have been fighting since the moment I arrived here. The same is true of Q'Daer and me. Cresenne and I were looking for a new home, a place where we could raise our daughter-"

"We've given you that, and more! And yet you still act as if we're your enemies!"

"It's not enough to give us a home and tell us we have to live here! You've tried to control us with threats. You've tried to force us to adopt your ways regardless of what they would do to our family. Is it any wonder that I've fought you?"

E'Menua looked away, his jaw set. "You are a most difficult man, Forelander. I'm still not sure why I haven't had you killed yet. Most a'laqs would have by now."

"Well, that speaks well of your wisdom, A'Laq."

The Fal'Borna cast a quick look his way, as if to determine whether Grinsa was mocking him. Grinsa allowed himself a small smile to show that he wasn't.

After a moment, the a'laq actually smiled as well. "I'm not sure it does." As quickly as it had come, his smile vanished. "You've made your share of threats, too. You spoke of killing me the very first time you set foot in this z'kal. And you've shown little regard for me or my people. The Fal'Borna clan is as strong as any in the Southlands. We're feared by the dark-eyes and respected by every Qirsi nation, even the J'Balanar. We honored you by welcoming you into our sept, and you've done nothing since but reject our ways and make it clear that you intend to leave as soon as possible."

Grinsa nodded, his lips pursed. "You're right."

E'Menua stared at him, seeming to expect more. When Grinsa didn't say anything else, he frowned. "That's all? I'm right? No arguments? No insults?"

Grinsa shrugged. "I can tell you that Cresenne and I never meant to give offense. We were looking for a home and found you first. I'm still not sure that we belong among the Fal'Borna. But that wasn't really your point. And looking at it as you would, I can see that you're right. You made us part of your sept, and we told you that we wanted to leave. If I were in your position, I'd be angry, too."

The frown lingered on E'Menua's thin, tapered face. Clearly he hadn't expected Grinsa to say any of this.

"And I suppose I can understand that you didn't want to give up your woman," he finally said.

"Thank you for that, A'Laq."

E'Menua nodded, though he still looked unnerved by their exchange.

It seemed to Grinsa, though, that something had shifted between them. He remained wary of the man-he didn't think that he could ever be around E'Menua without keeping at least a light hold on his magic, just in case. But despite his pledge to fight on behalf of the Fal'Borna, only now did he begin to think that perhaps they could work together and face the Eandi as allies, if it came to that.

"You mentioned the Mettai before," he said after a lengthy silence. "Regardless of what other Mettai have done, I'm certain that we can trust Besh and Sirj. They want to help us. They believe that the witch's plague is to blame for this war, and so rather than returning to the safety of Mettai lands, they chose to come here with Q'Daer and me."

"They also found a way to defeat the plague and make us all immune," E'Menua said, surprising him. "Isn't that so?"

"Yes, it is."

"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

Grinsa's heart sank. He'd actually allowed himself to believe that he and the a'laq had reached an understanding of a sort, that he might be able to reason with the man.

"You believe that this is all part of a Mettai plan to win your trust?" he asked wearily.

"Or yours. They've already succeeded at that."

"I don't believe that they're capable of anything so… insidious, A'Laq. But I'd suggest that if you're suspicious of them, you speak to them yourself. I have no doubt that they'd be willing to answer any questions you ask them. I can arrange such an audience, if you'd like."

E'Menua appeared disappointed, as if he'd hoped that Grinsa would respond in anger to his doubts about the Mettai. "Yes, all right," he said, sounding bored with their conversation.

Grinsa rose. "Thank you, A'Laq."

He turned, intending to leave, and immediately sensed that E'Menua was drawing upon his magic, as he had the day before. Instantly, Grinsa reached out with his own power and took control of the a'laq's. He wasn't convinced that E'Menua actually intended to harm him-the a'laq made no attempt to free himself from Grinsa's hold on his power. But the Forelander knew that he could never show any signs of weakness in his dealings with this man.

Grinsa glanced back over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised.

"Before, when you spoke of the two Mettai, you said that 'we' could trust them, that they wanted to help 'us.' Do you consider yourself Fal'Borna now?"

"There's a war coming," Grinsa said with a grin. "Do you think I'd choose this day to count myself as part of any other clan?"

E'Menua laughed. "If you'd been horn in the Southlands, you would have been Fal'Borna. I'm sure of it."

"I'll take that as a compliment, A'Laq."

"There will he food for you by midday. Enough for two. And wood, as well."

Grinsa inclined his head. "Thank you." He released E'Menua's magic and left the z'kal.

Cresenne's late arrival at the tanning circle drew the notice of several of the Fal'Borna women, though none of them said anything to her. Even before Cresenne started eating her meals with L'Norr, she had been an outcast in the village. Many of the women who tanned with her had believed T'Lisha, L'Norr's concubine, when she told them that Cresenne was trying to steal L'Norr from her. T'Lisha no longer believed this, but several of the women still eyed Cresenne with open hostility. You may have been innocent this time, they seemed to be telling her with their glares, but that doesn't mean we trust you.

Through all of this, though, F'Solya remained her good friend. As usual, the woman had saved Cresenne a space beside her, and seeing Cresenne approach, she smiled slyly.

"I didn't think I'd see you here at all," she said, as Cresenne lowered herself to the ground and pulled out the skin she'd scraped clean the day before. "I'm not that late," Cresenne said, smiling.

"I know! That's what I mean. If I'Joled had been away as long as your man has been, I'd still be beneath a blanket." She grinned. "And so would he."

Cresenne felt her cheeks coloring, though if anything her smile broadened.

"I don't think I've ever seen you look so happy," F'Solya said. "I'm glad for you."

"Thank you."

Cresenne reached for the foul tannin that the Fal'Borna used to soften and preserve their rilda hides, and for some time the two women worked without speaking.

"What do you know about the Mettai your man brought back with him?" F'Solya asked, abruptly breaking the silence.

Cresenne paused in her work to look at the woman, surprised by the question. "Not a lot. Grinsa said that they killed the witch who first spread the plague. And he also said that they found a way to defeat the curse; if they hadn't, Grinsa and Q'Daer would both be dead, and none of us would be safe."

F'Solya nodded thoughtfully, but she wore a frown on her pretty face. "I'Joled says it's dangerous to have them here."

Cresenne felt herself tense, knowing that they had crossed into hazardous terrain. I'Joled, F'Solya's husband, struck her as a decent man. From what she'd seen of the two of them together, she had no doubt that he loved his wife and boys. But she didn't like him, and she had the sense that he didn't like her, either. They had met only once-the night F'Solya invited her and Bryntelle to eat with them at their z'kal. At the time, she hadn't yet spoken to E'Menua about her need for food. F'Solya and I'Joled generously shared their meal with her-she had no right to think ill of him.

But she believed he was a typical Fal'Borna man: proud, stubborn, distrustful of outsiders, and disdainful of women who didn't behave the way Fal'Borna women were expected to behave. It didn't surprise her to learn that he was suspicious of the Mettai. This was how a Fal'Borna warrior thought: If one group of Mettai had declared themselves enemies of the Fal'Borna, then every Mettai in the Southlands was an enemy. Never mind all the good that Besh and Sirj had done.

Clearly Cresenne couldn't say any of this without angering her friend. "Why does he think it's dangerous?" she asked instead, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her thoughts.

F'Solya let out a small, breathless laugh, though she didn't look at all amused. "Well, because we're going to war against the Mettai, of course."

"Right. Of course. I just…" She shook her head, wishing she hadn't spoken at all. "I don't know if Besh and Sirj know the Mettai who are marching with the Eandi."

"That doesn't matter," F'Solya said. "They're Mettai."

Cresenne thought it best not to answer.

If only it had been that easy.

Her friend looked at her for a long time, the skin she was working lying forgotten in her lap. Cresenne tried to keep working, but in the end she had little choice but to look F'Solya in the eye.

"You disagree," the woman said.

"I'm not sure we should talk about this, F'Solya."

"I believe we should. You've lived among the Fal'Borna for more than two turns now. You're learning our ways, you speak of being our friends. You also know that we're under attack by the Eandi and the Mettai." Her voice rose as she spoke, and her cheeks were flushed. "You've known these two Mettai men for a day. And yet you're willing to trust them. You're willing to discount our fears of them. I want to know why."

No matter how Cresenne answered, she knew that she risked losing this friendship, the only one of any meaning she had formed since arriving in the sept. She knew as well, though, that if she lied or tried to soften the truth, she'd only make matters worse. F'Solya had never been anything but honest with her; she deserved the same in return.

"Because," Cresenne began, "when I lived in the Forelands, I was once part of a Qirsi conspiracy that aimed to destroy the Eandi courts. Eventually, I came to see that the man leading the conspiracy was evil and brutal and intent on destroying the land, not saving it. I left the movement, and thanks to Grinsa and the compassion of an Eandi king who had no reason to believe that I was anything more than a white-hair traitor, I'm still alive today. They could have assumed that I was just like all the others; they would have been within their rights to execute me."

F'Solya didn't look convinced. If anything, her expression appeared to have hardened.

"I'm not from a clan, F'Solya. Maybe that's why we look at this so differently. You've grown up believing that the world is divided into Fal'Borna and J'Balanar and Talm'Orast, and also Mettai and Eandi. My world was… different. There were Qirsi and Eandi. And there were different realms, Eibithar, Sanbira, Wethyrn. But someone could be both Qirsi and Aneiran, Eandi and Caerissan. It was more complicated."

"So you think we're simple?" F'Solya demanded.

Cresenne winced. She wasn't handling this well. "Of course not. It's just…" She stopped, shaking her head again. "You want to know the real reason I trust these men?" She didn't wait for a reply. "They saved Grinsa's life. They cast a spell that defeated the curse, and then they made it so that Grinsa could pass that spell on to Bryntelle and me."

"That's what they tell us," F'Solya said, in a voice that chilled Cresenne's blood.

"You don't believe them?"

"We have no proof that they made us immune. We can only take their word for it and hope that it's true. But if we trust them, and then it turns out that they've lied to us, thousands could die. And maybe that's what they have in mind. Maybe the Eandi put them up to this."

"They saved Grinsa and Q'Daer! Surely you believe that!"

"Saving two to kill thousands? That's a trade any warrior would make."

"F'Solya-" Again Cresenne stopped herself. She had intended to say that Besh and Sirj wouldn't do this. But her friend would surely ask how Cresenne could be so certain, and she had no good answer. She was trusting all to Grinsa's judgment, and though she believed that he was right, she knew that F'Solya wouldn't share her faith in him.

A small, satisfied smile touched the woman's lips and was gone. "Think about it," she said. "Your man trusts them. And perhaps if they had saved I'Joled, he and I would feel the same way. But they didn't. They saved the life of a Forelander. Perhaps they knew that your husband would be easier to convince than a Fal'Borna. Perhaps this was part of their plan."

"Q'Daer trusts them, too!" Cresenne said.

F'Solya raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"

Another question she couldn't answer. Cresenne had assumed that the young Weaver and Grinsa were of one mind with regard to the Mettai. But did she know this for certain? For that matter, did Grinsa?

"How many others feel this way?" she asked after some time.

F'Solya shrugged. "I'Joled didn't say. Many, I'm sure. As I said, we're at war with the Mettai. We'd be wary of these men no matter who brought them here." As soon as she said this she smiled again, though her brow creased.

Cresenne knew what she was thinking. "No one else would have brought them here, though. Isn't that right?"

The woman hesitated, then nodded. "I can't imagine that Q'Daer wanted to. He would have tried to send them away long ago."

Cresenne put down the skin she was working on and stood. "Excuse me," she said. "I have to find Grinsa."

The words sounded oddly formal to her own ears. She sensed that her friendship with F'Solya had changed, perhaps forever. But that was the least of her concerns. She left the tanning ring without waiting for her friend's reply.