The Dark-Eyes War

Chapter 12

Grinsa spotted E'Menua and Q'Daer together and knew immediately that he'd already lost this battle. He had hoped that Q'Daer might understand what the a'laq had done, and that he might be angry enough about it to stand with him in protecting the Mettai. But seeing them now, E'Menua's arm resting easily on the younger man's shoulder, a smile on his bronze, tapered face, Grinsa felt his hopes vanish. He actually considered turning and walking away without even speaking to Q'Daer. He dismissed the idea in the next moment, but only because he couldn't imagine facing Besh and Sirj again and having to admit that he hadn't even tried to sway the man.

E'Menua turned away from the young Weaver and started walking in Grinsa's direction, looking far too pleased with himself. Grinsa ducked back out of sight in the shadow of a z'kal, though he thought that the a'laq had probably spotted him.

As he suspected, a short time later he heard the man call out in a low voice, "I know you're there, Forelander."

Slowly, Grinsa stepped out from behind the shelter.

"You're too late, you know," E'Menua told him. "You'll never get him to help you."

"Why did you do it?" Grinsa asked him. "Why do you hate those men so? They've risked their lives to save ours, and yet you remain determined to put them to death."

"Ask Q'Daer. He can explain it to you."

E'Menua smiled again and started to walk past him.

Grinsa reached out and grabbed the a'laq's arm, forcing him to stop. "I'm asking you."

The a'laq wrenched his arm free and glowered at him. "You'd better watch yourself, Forelander. You keep pushing me, as if I'm no one of consequence. You seem to think that I'm powerless to defend myself. You're wrong. And if you're not careful, you'll feel the full weight of my wrath. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want that."

He stalked off, leaving Grinsa to rail at himself for his foolishness. Cresenne had warned him about this, and yet he'd been unable to keep himself from provoking the man. He had already come to the realization that he had little chance of winning Q'Daer over to his side in this conflict. E'Menua held the lives of the two Mettai in his hand, and Grinsa was giving him every reason to kill the men, if for no other reason than to spite him.

Still angry with himself, Grinsa started walking toward Q'Daer, who was making his way back to the sept. Seeing him approach, the young Weaver halted. Grinsa had expected that Q'Daer would try to avoid him, but the Fal'Borna made no attempt to wave him away. He wasn't even scowling. Rather than take comfort in this, Grinsa swore silently. You're too late, you know. What had E'Menua said to the young Weaver?

"You're wasting your time," Q'Daer said.

Grinsa opened his hands and forced a smile. "I haven't even said anything yet."

"You don't need to. I know why you're here, and there's nothing you can say that will make me turn against the a'laq."

"Can I ask you why?"

At that, Q'Daer frowned. "You wouldn't understand. You're not Fal'Borna."

"No, I'm not. But your reasons must be quite compelling. These men saved our lives. They cast a spell to protect all Qirsi from Lici's plague. The only way the a'laq could convince his own people to turn against them was to use magic to make Besh lie. Surely if what the a'laq told you can convince a Fal'Borna to betray a friend, it should be enough to sway a man as simple as-"

"That's enough!"

The familiar scowl was back on Q'Daer's face, and for some reason Grinsa found this reassuring.

He kept silent, waiting for the Fal'Borna to say more, knowing that if he waited long enough the man would feel compelled to explain himself.

"We're about to ride to war," Q'Daer told him at last. "That may not mean much in the Forelands, but here it does. The Mettai are allied with our enemies. And our warriors have to be clear about that as they ride into battle."

He drew himself up, as if readying himself for Grinsa's retort.

But Grinsa nodded. It was more than merely clever. It actually made sense. He'd known soldiers back in the Forelands-a man named Gershon Trasker came to mind immediately-who would have seen the value in seeking such clarity for the men under their command.

"So accepting that Besh and Sirj are friends might weaken the resolve of our warriors if they face a Mettai army. Is that right?"

Q'Daer made no effort to mask his surprise. "Yes. That's exactly right."

"Did E'Menua admit that he'd forced Besh to say those things?"

The Fal'Borna didn't answer.

"Never mind," Grinsa said. "It doesn't really matter if he did. You and I both know the truth. The n'qlae does, too." He smiled bitterly. "And it doesn't make a damn bit of difference, does it?"

Grinsa didn't expect a response to this, either, but after a moment the young Weaver shook his head.

"No, it doesn't."

"Does he intend to execute them?"

"I would imagine."

"Do you know when?"

"No."

Grinsa continued to eye him.

"Truly, Forelander, I don't know. He didn't say much about this. He told me… why it would be dangerous to let these Mettai live. But he said nothing about their executions."

"Do you think it would be possible to convince the a'laq to spare them?" Q'Daer exhaled loudly. "I thought you understood. I don't want their lives spared!"

"I do understand, Q'Daer. But you have to understand that in my mind this is wrong. You're not talking about executing enemies of the Fal'Borna."

The man started to say something, but Grinsa raised a hand, silencing him.

"E'Menua can force Besh to say that he started the very first Blood War, but that doesn't make it true. And you and the a'laq can convince yourselves that you're justified in killing them, but that doesn't change the fact that this is murder, plain and simple."

Q'Daer regarded him with contempt. "For just a moment, I thought that perhaps you were finally starting to think like a Fal'Borna. I should have known better."

"No, Q'Daer, I am starting to think like a Fal'Borna. But I'm still a Forelander in my heart."

The young Weaver shook his head and started away from him.

"Wait," Grinsa said. "I'm not fool enough to think that I can change E'Menua's mind about Besh and Sirj. Not yet at least. But do you think that he would allow them to live as prisoners if he thought that he could learn something from them about Mettai magic?"

When the man didn't answer, Grinsa went on. "Think about it, Q'Daer. They'd be prisoners. That would be clear to your warriors. But we wouldn't be killing innocent men, men who saved your life and mine. Wouldn't you prefer that?"

Q'Daer faced him again. "I won't speak on their behalf."

"I'm not asking you to," Grinsa said. "I'm simply asking you if you think it's possible that E'Menua would agree to it."

"I don't."

"No, of course not," Grinsa said, shaking his head. He could only hope that Cresenne had more success with D'Pera. He looked the young Weaver in the eye. "You may not believe this now, but if Besh and Sirj are executed, their wraiths will hover at your shoulder for the rest of your days. You'll carry them with you to Bian's realm."

He didn't wait for Q'Daer to say more. Instead, he turned and hurried back to his shelter.

Cresenne was already there, gathering firewood from a sizable pile that had been left for them beside the z'kal. Bryntelle sat nearby, amusing herself by scraping the dirt with a small stick.

Cresenne looked up at his approach and smiled weakly. "There's food, too. That's something at least."

Grinsa felt himself sag. "Your conversation with the n'qlae didn't go well?"

She straightened. "Not really," she said, lowering her voice. "She's not happy with what E'Menua did, but he's her husband and the a'laq. She's not going to do anything to humiliate him."

He nodded, knowing that he should have expected this. "Maybe she doesn't have to." He asked Cresenne much the same question he'd asked Q 'Daer.

"Prisoners?" she said, frowning. "Besh and Sirj won't like that idea at all."

"I don't like it, either," Grinsa told her. "But at least they'd be alive. We'd still have a chance to save them."

"A chance, yes," she said. "But do you know how we'd do it?"

"I have an idea," he said, lowering his voice. "It's something I urged E'Menua to do as soon as we arrived back in the sept, but he ignored me. Maybe it's time I did it myself."

She looked puzzled, and even after he explained to her what he had in mind, she still looked doubtful.

"You'd be taking a great risk…" She shook her head. "There's so much that could go wrong."

"I know. But at least they'd still be alive. If this doesn't work, we can try something else. But for now, the important thing is that we convince the n'qlae to help us. Do you think we can?"

Cresenne nodded. "I don't know, but we should try. You should also speak with Besh and Sirj, to prepare them. As I said, they're not going to like this."

"I will," he said. "Tomorrow."

"What if E'Menua executes them tonight?"

"He won't," Grinsa said. "He'll want to make a spectacle of it. He'll want to use their deaths to humiliate me."

She nodded. "You're probably right."

They stood looking at each other. After a moment, she took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"It wasn't supposed to be this complicated," she said.

He smiled sadly. "No, it wasn't."

Bryntelle gave a small squeal at something she'd done with the stick. This time Grinsa's smile was full and genuine. He bent down and scooped the child into his arms. She squealed again, and he kissed her cheek.

"We have smoked rilda meat," Cresenne said. "And silverroot. Let's have supper like any other Fal'Borna family, and pretend none of this is happening. At least for a little while."

"That sounds nice," Grinsa said. "Doesn't it, Bryntelle?" Bryntelle brushed his nose with her hand and laughed. "She thinks so, too," Grinsa said, turning to Cresenne.

She was smiling. "It's nice to see the two of you together again. I'd like to see more of that."

"Me, too."

Grinsa carried an armful of firewood into the z'kal. Before long the silver-root was boiling on a low fire, and the aroma of watermint and thyme filled the shelter. He and Cresenne ate a quiet dinner and after putting Bryntelle to sleep, they slipped out of their clothes and lay together on the small pallet, surrendering to their passion once more. He had missed everything about her-the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, the softness of her hair.

"This concubine thing has its advantages," Cresenne said after, her head resting on his chest, her eyes closed.

"I was thinking the same thing."

She smiled, but said nothing. A few moments later, she started slightly, seeming to rouse herself.

"I'm falling asleep," she murmured.

"You should," he told her. "There's no reason why both of us need to stay up all night."

"I should be up with you, though."

"No. Sleep. I'll be all right. And you'll need to get up with Bryntelle in the morning."

She took a breath, then raised her head to look him in the eye. "All right," she said, sounding more awake. She kissed him softly on the lips, rolled off of him, and lay beside him, her eyes open and reflecting the faint firelight. "You think this will work?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm running out of ideas."

Cresenne nodded. "Wake me if you need me."

"I will."

Grinsa rose from the pallet, pulled on his clothes again, and stepped out into the cold night air. Clouds hung low over the sept, obscuring the stars but glowing slightly with the light of Panya and Ilias, the two moons. The sept was quiet save for the occasional whinny of a horse and a low thread of laughter coming from a nearby shelter. He pulled his overshirt tight around his shoulders and sat on a log by the z'kal.

Closing his eyes, he reached forth with his magic, seeking out the magic of the Weavers nearest to him. He sensed Q'Daer immediately, and then a second similar presence who must have been L'Norr. E'Menua and D'Pera were together, of course. He hesitated, deeply conscious of the risk he was taking. Then he stepped into the n'qlae's dreams, as a Weaver could.

Whenever he had used this magic to speak with Cresenne or his sister, Keziah, he had used the same setting: a stretch of the Caerissan Steppe near where he grew up in the kingdom of Eibithar in the Forelands. It was familiar to him, just as it had been to Kezi, and it was similar enough to the lands in Wethyrn, where Cresenne spent her youth, to be familiar to her as well. But it would have been utterly alien to the n'qlae, and that would make what was bound to be an unnerving encounter for her even more difficult. Instead, he summoned an image of the Central Plain here in the Southlands. It was an imperfect image; he didn't know this land well enough to get the setting just right. But it would serve his purpose.

As soon as he reached into the n'qlae's mind with his magic, he saw her in the dream landscape he had conjured. She stood before him wrapped in a blanket and nothing more. She turned a quick circle, looking to see who had entered her dreams. When she spotted him, her pale eyes blazed.

"How dare you!" she said. "Leave me at once!"

"I'm sorry, N'Qlae," he answered, keeping his voice low and even. "I can't do that. I need to speak with you, and I don't want the a'laq overhearing our conversation or seeing us together."

"And you think I won't tell him as soon as I wake up?"

"No, I don't."

"Then you're a fool."

"You don't want those men killed. And you don't want the magic you used to get Besh to tell the truth to be the reason he dies."

She looked away, her lips pressed so thin that they had whitened. "I don't know what your woman told you, but if you think that I'll defy my husband, that I'll let you disgrace him in front of the entire sept, you're wrong."

"That's exactly what Cresenne told me you'd say. She knows how much you love E'Menua, and I know that he's revered by every man and woman in the sept." He smiled. "Don't you see? That's why I've come to you this way. I don't want to embarrass him, and I don't want another open conflict with him."

She appeared to consider this. "What is it you do want?" she asked at last. "You know that he can't turn around and declare the Mettai our friends," she went on before Grinsa could respond. "Not after what the older one said."

"You mean what the a'laq made him say."

D'Pera stared back at him.

"You're right," he said after a brief silence. "I do know that he can't pretend none of this ever happened. For better or worse, the warriors guarding the Mettai heard Besh say those things. But you and I both know that Besh wouldn't have said any of it without E'Menua's interference."

Again she didn't answer.

"You'd let him get away with this, wouldn't you? You'd let these two men die, even though you know them to be innocent of any crime against your people. And you'd do this simply because E'Menua wants it. He's like a willful child whose parents would rather coddle than discipline."

"That's my a'laq you're talking about!" D'Pera said, her voice rising.

Grinsa let out a short, sharp laugh. "Yes, I know. Q'Daer has said the same thing to me a few times now. It seems I'm not as impressed by that as the rest of you."

"You're not Fal'Borna. You can't possibly understand what an a'laq means to his people."

"No, I don't suppose I can. But coming from the Forelands I know that it's possible for Eandi and Qirsi to live together, to build friendships." He faltered, but only briefly. "Aside from Cresenne, no one in the Southlands knows this about me, but I was once married to an Eandi woman."

She looked at him with a mix of disgust and horror. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand why I'm fighting for these men. I actually understand what it means to be Fal'Borna better than you think. I've learned a lot in the past few turns. But your people seem to think that this is the only way to live, and it's not. Besh and Sirj have risked their lives time and again to protect the Y'Qatt and the Fal'Borna from the curse that the Mettai witch set upon you. Despite the color of their eyes and color of your hair, despite the Blood Wars, they gave up everything to save the lives of complete strangers who they've been taught to hate since they were children.

"The reason E'Menua was able to get away with what he did today is that their actions are so alien to the Fal'Borna, no one in the sept really believes they could have done it. But they did. I'm alive because they did. And unlike everyone else, you know it's true. You used mind-bending on Besh today. You read his thoughts. You know the truth. That makes you different from every other Fal'Borna here."

"Your point?" she asked warily.

"Isn't it clear? Knowing what you do, you have a responsibility to try to save them."

"I've already told you-"

"Yes, I know. E'Menua won't admit what he did. For now he doesn't have to. All I'm asking is that you prevail upon him to spare their lives. Tell him they'd be more valuable as prisoners, that they might be able to teach us something about Mettai magic. Think of something. But don't let these men die."

"What if he won't listen to me?"

"Make it clear to him that you didn't like what he did today." He held her gaze. "You didn't like it, did you?"

"That's not your concern."

Grinsa smiled. "You're right. It's not. I have a long night ahead of me, N'Qlae. So I'll leave you now. I do apologize for coming to you this way. It was presumptuous of me, but I couldn't think of any other way to approach you without the a'laq's knowledge."

"What do you mean, you have a long night ahead of you?" D'Pera asked. "You intend to speak with others this way?"

"I intend to do what E'Menua should have done long ago, when Q'Daer first told him that Besh had healed us. I'm going to contact other a'laqs on the plain and pass the spell to them. I'm going to save as many lives as I can."

She eyed him with curiosity, as if looking at him for the first time. "I'm not sure I understand everything you've said to me tonight. The Forelands sound… strange. But I'll do what you ask." She started to say more but then stopped herself. "Now leave me so I can sleep." She softened the words with a faint smile.

"Thank you, N'Qlae. Dream well."

He broke the magical connection linking his thoughts to hers and opened his eyes. He knew a moment of dizziness, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. All was quiet in the sept. He got up and peered into the z'kal and saw that Cresenne and Bryntelle were both sleeping.

Returning to his seat outside the shelter, he closed his eyes once more and again reached out with his magic. This time, he reached far beyond the sept, directing his thoughts northward, toward the Horn, where so many Fal'Borna lived and where so many merchants ventured this time of year, perhaps including those who still carried some of Lici's baskets.

Before the night was through, he intended to reach to the south as well, toward Thamia and other Fal'Borna settlements near the Ofirean Sea. From all that Jasha had told him before he died, it seemed that merchants often passed the colder turns on the warm shores of the inland sea. And in the nights to come, he'd attempt to speak with a'laqs in settlements near the Silverwater. He felt certain that Torgan would be headed that way with his small scrap of cursed basket, and though he thought it likely that the one-eyed merchant would try to avoid any septs he spotted, Grinsa couldn't ignore the danger.

Reaching across the plain with his magic, the first sept he found appeared to him as a small cluster of light amidst a vast darkness. Sifting through those lights he could sense the type of magic wielded by each person, and so could pick out Weavers from among the others. And when he found two Weavers sharing a z'kal, he knew that he had found the a'laq and n'qlae. Reaching into the mind of the man in this first sept, he summoned that image of the plain once more and stepped into the a'laq's dreams.

He was an older man, his back slightly stooped and his face deeply lined, but his pale yellow eyes were still bright and alert. They narrowed as he looked at Grinsa across the expanse of plain grass.

"Who are you?" he asked. "What clan are you from?"

"My name is Grinsa jal Arriet, A'Laq, and though I come from the Forelands, I'm living now among the Fal'Borna in the sept of E'Menua, son of E'Sedt."

"You're with E'Menua's sept?" the man asked, sounding doubtful.

"I am, A'Laq. You've heard of the plague making its way across the plain?"

"Yes, of course."

"I've had that plague and I've survived, thanks to two men named Besh and Sirj. These men are Mettai and they have been traveling through Fal'Borna lands, risking their lives so that they might stop this plague from spreading farther. They killed the Mettai witch who first conjured the plague, and they've found a way to make all Qirsi immune to it. By entering your dream and touching your magic, I've spread their spell to you. You're now immune to the plague, and you can make every man and woman in your sept immune by using your magic on them. Touch them with healing, enter their dreams, use your power to augment theirs. Whatever you choose, it will have the same effect."

The a'laq gaped at Grinsa as if the Forelander had told him he could now hold Morna's Ocean in the palm of his hand.

"You're certain of this?" he asked breathlessly. "You truly had the plague yourself?"

Grinsa smiled. "Yes, A'Laq. This is a gift to you from E'Menua. All he asks in return is that if you encounter the plague, you contact him immediately to let him know that the spell worked and saved your people."

"Yes! Yes, of course!"

"Thank you, A'Laq. I have to leave you now. I have many more a'laqs to contact."

"I'm sure you do. Thank you, Grinsa of the Forelands. May Qirsar smile upon E'Menua and his sept."

"I'll convey your kind words to the a'laq."

He stepped out of the man's dreams and immediately began searching for the next sept farther to the north. Before long he found it, and reached down with his magic for the a'laq.