The Dark-Eyes War

Chapter 16

She really is quite beautiful. I can understand why you can't take your eyes off of her."

Enly looked sharply at Gries, who was watching him, a faintly mocking smile on his handsome face. Enly hadn't fully realized that he was staring at Tirnya until the captain spoke, but now he felt his face reddening.

He didn't answer, and after a moment he faced forward, making an effort not to look at her or at Gries.

They were riding west again. Their forward scouts scanned the horizon for the next Fal'Borna settlement, while their rearguard watched for an assault from the east. The sky was leaden, and Enly could see rain falling in the distance to the north. But the wind blew from the south, warmer than usual and heavy with the scent of storms.

"Is she as taken with you as you are with her?"

"Of course she is," Enly said drily. "Haven't you noticed how she dotes on me?"

Gries laughed. "Good for you, Enly. I've always thought that there was more to you than that serious, spoiled lord heir who seemed so intent on beating me in the ring."

Enly glanced at the man. "Is that right?"

"You and I could be great friends, you know. It won't be too long before we lead our cities." He looked around, as if to be sure that no one else could hear. "Neither of us will ever be sovereign, of course," he continued, dropping his voice. "But Ankyr is weak, not to mention a fool. House Ballidyne and House Tolm could be the most powerful of allies. Together we could present a united northern front to the Kasathas. We could make Stelpana the supreme sovereignty in the land."

"Our fathers might still have a bit to say about that," Enly said.

"Yes, of course," Gries said with impatience. "You get my point, though, don't you? It might not happen today or tomorrow. But the day is coming when we will rule this land in fact, if not in name. Think of all we could accomplish working together!"

Enly had to laugh. "It's an interesting idea, Gries, but I think you're forgetting something. You and I don't like each other. We never have."

"Nonsense!" Fairlea's lord heir said, waving off the suggestion. "We didn't like each other before because we were too young to know better. You were spoiled and arrogant and I was even worse. But we're men now. We're captains, we're statesmen. We understand the world."

Enly laughed again. Understand the world? He didn't even understand Tirnya. He was barely capable of speaking in civil tones to his own father. And Gries was ready to join him in ruling the world.

"What's so funny?" Gries asked, sounding irked by Enly's laughter.

"It's nothing. What is it you want from me, Gries?"

The man shrugged. "Who says I want anything? We're riding to war on this desolate plain. We're comrades in a great struggle. Isn't that enough for now?"

Enly wasn't sure what the man was up to. Maybe this was nothing more than idle thoughts born of boredom and a long ride and a grey sky.

"Yes, all right," he said. "That's enough."

"Splendid!" Gries said.

They rode in silence for a short while. Then Gries turned to him again. "So if she doesn't dote on you, as you say, why do you persist in pursuing her?"

This was not a discussion Enly cared to have with anyone, Gries least of all. "Who says I'm pursuing her?"

Gries merely stared at him, his eyebrows up.

"Tirnya and I have known each other for a long time-since we were children. Any chance there was that we might be anything more than fellow soldiers in the Qalsyn army vanished years ago."

"Really?" Gries said. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind if I were to court her."

"You?" Enly knew he shouldn't have been surprised. He'd seen the two of them together on a number of occasions, and though he didn't care to believe that Tirnya had any interest in Fairlea's lord heir, he wasn't at all surprised to learn that Gries was attracted to her.

"Why not?" Gries said. "She's beautiful, she's smart. And as I've said, I'd like to forge a bond between Fairlea and Qalsyn. What better way than for my city's lord heir to wed the daughter of Qalsyn's most renowned soldier?"

"Of course," Enly said, resisting a sudden urge to pull his sword free and hack off the man's head. "You might find, though, that she's not really the marrying kind. She cares more for swords and battles than for more… wifely things."

Gries smiled in a way that made Enly's sword hand itch. "Leave that to me," the Fairlea captain said. "I've thawed colder hearts than hers, albeit for a night rather than for a lifetime. But still, I think I can coax the sword from her hand."

"Well, good luck to you, then," Enly said, spurring his mount ahead of the man.

Gries caught up with him almost immediately. "Enly?" He leaned forward so he could look Enly in the eye. "You're sure you're all right with this?"

"Absolutely," Enly told him, a brittle smile on his lips. "As I say, I wish you all good fortune in your… pursuit."

He rode ahead once more, and this time Gries let him go.

Enly hadn't been riding on his own for more than a few moments, however, when he heard a shout go up from the army's right flank. Fearing that they were under attack, he wheeled his horse sharply and pulled his blade free. What he saw stopped him cold.

A lone horseman, flanked on either side by Qalsyn scouts, was riding toward the army. The man had an arm raised in greeting, and a broad smile on his homely face. He was a large man, both tall and heavy, and he was Eandi. He wore travel-stained clothes and a torn blanket around his shoulders. A black patch covered his left eye, giving him the look of a brigand.

Gries had halted his mount beside Enly. He, too, had his sword drawn, but his blade arm had dropped to his side.

"What is he doing here?" he whispered.

"You know him?" Enly asked.

Gries looked at him. "Of course. Don't you?"

Enly shook his head.

"That's Torgan Plye."

Enly stared at the stranger again. "The merchant? You're sure?"

"Absolutely. I've spent enough gold on his wares over the years. I'd know him anywhere."

Jenoe and Tirnya rode out to meet the man, and after a moment's hesitation, Gries joined them. Enly followed.

"I'd heard there was an Eandi army marching on the plain," Torgan called to them, beaming. "I never would have guessed that it would be so grand and impressive a force. I take it you're their commander," he said to Jenoe.

"That's right. Jenoe Onjaef, marshal of-"

"The Qalsyn army," the man broke in. "Of course. I should have recognized the uniforms. Your name is known throughout the land, Marshal."

"And you are, sir?" Tirnya's father asked, still sounding wary.

"Torgan Plye. I once was a merchant of some renown. More recently I've been a prisoner of the Fal'Borna."

"What?" the marshal said, his blue eyes widening.

"I was taken hostage by the Fal'Borna after I sold baskets to a sept near the Companion Lakes. The baskets were cursed with a plague that killed the white-hairs and destroyed their village. They thought I was to blame and they threatened to kill me. They took another merchant hostage as well. A younger man; a friend of mine. I managed to escape with my life. He didn't."

Jenoe was gaping at the man. "You're telling me that this plague was… was caused by magic?"

"Yes. A Mettai spell."

"Impossible!"

Everyone turned toward Fayonne, who stood a short distance off, her face pale, her white hair shifting in the wind. Her fists were clenched, her back rigid.

"There are no Mettai who would conjure such an illness!" she said.

"Forgive me, good woman," Torgan said, his tone less courteous than his words. "But it's the truth. I saw the Mettai woman who sold the baskets, and I saw what these baskets did. I even met two Mettai men who came from her village, and who claimed to have killed her in order to keep her from spreading her plague."

"Where are these men now?" Jenoe asked.

"I don't know, Marshal. Last I knew, they had been taken by the Fal'Borna as well. I assume they're dead."

Jenoe nodded, then asked, "How long has it been since you won your freedom, Torgan?"

"A long time. I… I lost my way. I've been traveling by night and sleeping by day, hoping that the Fal'Borna wouldn't be able to track me. But with the moons rising later and later, and then not at all a few nights ago… As I say, I got lost."

"Well, you should be on your way now," the marshal told him. "This is no place for an Eandi merchant."

"No!" Torgan said. "I can help you! I can be of more use to you than you could possibly know. And all I ask in return is a hit of food and your protection."

"Do you have a cart nearby, sir?" Enly asked. "Or have you stored your wares someplace close?"

Torgan frowned. "No. The Fal'Borna took all of my goods and destroyed my cart."

"So you're an Eandi merchant in Fal'Borna lands, and you have no goods to sell, no cart to carry supplies." Enly glanced briefly at Gries, who was grinning. "Forgive me for saying so, but you don't appear to be a swordsman, and I doubt very much that you'd be an effective lookout. What use do you think you can be to us?"

Jenoe cast a disapproving look Enly's way, but one of the Waterstone captains snickered.

The man's frown deepened. "I'll be glad to tell you, Captain. But not in front of all these men." Facing Jenoe once more he straightened, as if trying to reclaim a scrap of his dignity. "I request a word with you in private, Marshal. If after we're done you still wish to send me away, I'll go, though I would be grateful for one small meal before I do. It's been days since I ate well."

For a moment Enly thought that Jenoe would refuse. The marshal seemed to begrudge even this small delay, and though he might have thought Enly discourteous for speaking to the man as he had, he clearly was as skeptical of Torgan's claims as Enly had been. After some hesitation, however, he relented.

"The men need a rest," he said, as if explaining himself to his captains and Marshal Crish. "I'll give you a few moments, sir, and then we have to be moving again. This enemy doesn't rest."

Torgan nodded.

At a barked command from Stri Balkett, the soldiers broke formation. Some sat on the grass; others remained standing but pulled out food or waterskins. Jenoe, Hendrid, and several of the captains, including Enly, Gries, and Tirnya, clustered around the merchant.

"Now, what is it you believe you can do for us, Torgan?" Jenoe asked. "Quickly."

"As I told you," the man said, his voice low, "this plague was spread by cursed Mettai baskets. At one point the white-hairs who held me prisoner found a sept that had been destroyed by the plague. Apparently when the Qirsi are sickened they lose control over their magic and it destroys everything in sight. It's something to behold, I'll tell you. Fire magic, shaping: those white-hairs-"

"Is there a point to this?" the marshal demanded.

Torgan licked his lips. "Yes, of course. Forgive me, Marshal. The point is this: While we were in that ruined village, I found a piece of one of those baskets. I still have it with me."

At first, no one said a word. They just stared at the merchant, who stared right back at them, waiting for some sort of response, an expectant smile on his scarred face. As the moments passed, and no response came, the smile faded.

"Let me see if I understand this," Jenoe said at last. "There are cursed baskets out there that have spread this white-hair plague across the plain. And you have one of them? With you?"

"Not a basket," Torgan said. "Just a scrap. A piece of one of the baskets that brought the plague to this village we found."

"A scrap," Jenoe repeated, clearly skeptical. "And what do you propose we do with it?"

Torgan opened his mouth, closed it again. He eyed them with unconcealed consternation. "Isn't it clear?" he said. "Do you really need me to explain this to you?"

"You want us to use the plague as a weapon," Tirnya said. "You think that this scrap of basket can spread the illness to more settlements."

"I know it can," Torgan said. "That's how I got away from the Fal'Borna in the first place. I sickened the white-hairs who held me prisoner and then I left them. Whatever curse the Mettai first put on this basket is still there. It still works."

Tirnya looked at her father, clearly troubled. Enly was relieved to see this. Over the past few turns, as she pushed for this invasion and then for the alliance with Fayonne and her people, Tirnya had seemed to transform herself into someone he hardly even recognized. He had feared that even if she and her father managed to regain their family's ancestral home, she would have to sacrifice too much in the effort. He had feared for her humanity.

But seeing the look of fear and disgust on her face, seeing the way she regarded Torgan, Enly was reassured. He fully expected that her father would send this one-eyed merchant away. It was bad enough that they had to rely on Mettai magic in this war. But to use the white-hair plague as a weapon was unthinkable. Enly wasn't even sure he thought it possible. Fayonne seemed certain that the merchant was lying, and while Enly didn't regard her as the most reliable source of information, in this case he was inclined to agree with her. He'd never heard of any magic-Qirsi or Mettai-being able to create an illness of this sort. He couldn't begin to imagine the evil that would conceive of such a thing. But whether or not this curse was real, Enly wanted no part of the merchant or his basket.

He couldn't have been more surprised when the marshal said, after several moments' reflection, "We'll need to discuss this further. For now, Torgan, you'll ride with the army."

"Father?" Tirnya said, as if scarcely believing what she'd heard.

Jenoe glowered at her. "We'll discuss this later, Captain." He wheeled his horse away from the rest. "I want these men moving again," he called over his shoulder.

Tirnya glanced at Enly, her expression grim. But she didn't say anything more, and after a moment she steered her mount after Jenoe's.

"You heard him," Hendrid said. "Let's get these men moving."

"Make war on a demon," Gries muttered, "and you'll become a demon yourself."

It was an old expression, dating to the earliest years of the Blood Wars. "That may be the only way to win," the captain added.

Enly looked at him. "I'm not sure victory is worth it."

Gries raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Enly. Talk like that can get a man hanged."

"You disagree?"

Fairlea's lord heir gave a faint smile, though the look in his eyes remained deadly serious. "I never said that."

They fed him, which for the moment was all Torgan really cared about. They would use his scrap of Mettai basket, or they wouldn't. They'd offer him protection until this damn war ended, or they'd send him on his way, leaving him to fend for himself and avoid the Fal'Borna as best he could. For now he'd done what he could to convince these soldiers to accept his aid. The rest was up to the marshal and his captains, and Torgan couldn't bring himself to care what they decided to do.

He was exhausted and cold and hungrier than he could ever remember being. It had taken him the better part of a day to find Trey again after his encounter with Jasha's ghost. And then it had taken another half day to convince the horse to let him approach, much less ride. Not that Torgan could blame the beast. Those wraiths had left him shaken, too. He couldn't sleep for several days after.

With the moons waxing again, he tried to travel by night, but he was starting to grow weak with hunger, and suddenly his blanket and overshirt seemed no match for the cold. Progress came slowly; every unexpected sound made him jump, made his heart race. He couldn't say with any certainty which he feared more: the Fal'Borna or Jasha and his fellow shades.

Now, though, the Fal'Borna couldn't reach him, at least not without first overpowering several thousand of Stelpana's finest warriors. And despite the dread that gripped him whenever the sun set, he knew that the wraiths couldn't haunt him again, either. Not until the last night of next year's Memory Moon. If he lived that long.

He hadn't been looking for the Eandi army. He didn't know for certain where they had crossed the Silverwater or which way they would head once they were in Fal'Borna land, though he could have guessed that they would march toward the Horn. He wasn't even entirely certain that the rumors of their approach were true. He had been trying to sleep in a shallow hollow when he heard them. At first he'd trembled with fear, convinced that a Fal'Borna army had come, and that they would find him at any moment. When he realized that he was hearing his own people rather than white-hairs, his relief was so profound that he nearly wept.

He didn't wish to let on just how scared and desperate for their protection he was. Nor did he want to give them cause to doubt his version of what happened to Jasha. So he silently thanked the gods for this singular stroke of good fortune and behaved as though he had been searching for the army.

And he ate. Dried meat, hard cheese, stale bread. It was hardly the meal he had imagined again and again over the past several nights, as he tried to ignore the ache in his hollow belly. But it was better than air and water. After he had eaten his fill-he remembered being able to eat more than this; where had his appetite gone?-he began to feel more like himself. He also sensed the kernel of an idea forming in his mind, one that took him far beyond a bit of protection and a meal or two. One that might well put him on the path to regaining the prosperity he had lost.

Since hearing that an army of Eandi warriors intended to attack the Fal'Borna, Torgan had wondered what their leaders could have been thinking. The Fal'Borna were savage warriors and skilled sorcerers. No one knew better than he how merciless they could be with their enemies. And no one with any knowledge of the Blood Wars could doubt that they were more than a match for whatever army the sovereignties sent across the Silverwater.

Or were they? He'd seen the devastation at S'Vralna. He knew what this plague had done to the mighty Fal'Borna. The leaders of the Eandi must have known this as well. They were counting on the fact that the white-hairs were weak, their numbers depleted, their cities ruined. The Fal'Borna were no longer the formidable enemy they once had been.

There was hope for this invasion. And though Torgan had been intent on reaching the wash and the safety of Eandi lands, he now saw that the opportunity for the armies of Stelpana was also an opportunity for him. If this army could retake the Horn, they would reestablish an Eandi presence on the plain for the first time in more than a hundred years. The new Eandi outposts would need goods; they would need trade. They would need a merchant with knowledge of the Qirsi to help them provision themselves. They would need him.

Yes, there were risks. But he'd overcome worse in the past several turns. He'd escaped the Fal'Borna who held him prisoner, and more to the point, he'd thrown off his own cowardice. He still feared death, but he also feared living out the rest of his days as a pauper. He'd made plenty of enemies during his more prosperous days; many of them would delight in seeing him broken and humiliated. Regaining his wealth in Tordjanne or Stelpana or any of the other Eandi realms wouldn't be easy.

But as the first merchant in a new Deraqor, he'd be in a position to make a fortune. And traveling with this army, he'd be safer than he would be trying to complete the journey to Stelpana on his own.

As the idea took form in his mind, he became conscious of the men around him. He watched the marshal and the captains who rode with him, trying to determine which of them was most likely to help him.

He also watched the Mettai woman who had as much as called him a liar. He entertained no hope of winning her support, but he wanted to know what he was up against. And it became clear to him almost immediately that she was no threat at all. She and her people walked in the van, alongside the captains and Stelpana's bowmen. But in all other ways the Mettai clearly were outcasts in this army^,. They didn't trust the Eandi, and they knew that they themselves were mistrusted.

That left him with one obvious enemy.

"Excuse me," he said to one of the soldiers marching beside him. "Can you tell me who that woman is riding with the marshal?"

"Tha's Tirnya Onjaef," the man said, in a voice that told Torgan that she was a woman of some renown. "She's th' marshal's daughter."

That much he had gathered.

"And she's a captain in his army?"

The man nodded. "Didn' think much o' her a' first. Bu' she's bett'r 'n most. An' she's good with a sword, too. Nearly beat old Enly hisself in this year's tournament."

Torgan nodded. "I see. And Enly is?"

The soldier pointed at another of the captains, a trim, dark-haired man. "Enly tolm. He's-"

"Ah!" Torgan said. "The lord governor's son."

"Tha's right."

"What else can you tell me about the Onjaef girl?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "Wha'chya wan' t' know?"

Torgan forced a smile. "Forgive me. I don't mean to seem disrespectful. I'm curious, that's all. It's not often that one encounters a woman like that leading an army to battle."

"She is a beauty, air' she?" the man agreed. "There's some wha' says tha' she an' Enly are a pair, if ya knows wha' I mean."

"Really?" Torgan said. "Is it true?"

The soldier shrugged. "Don' know. Don' really care. Long as they leads us right, th' rest don' matter t' me."

Torgan asked the man a few more questions, but though the soldier talked for the better part of an hour, he learned precious little about Tirnya Onjaef. They called her the Falcon, just as they had once called her father the Eagle. She had lost the Qalsyn battle tournament in the final match three years running. And each time she had been beaten by Enly. That did strike Torgan as useful information, though he wasn't yet certain how to use it.

After a while, he thanked the man and increased Trey's pace enough to pull ahead of him. He rode alone for the rest of the day, and when the army halted for the night and began to make camp, he did his best to stay out of everyone's way. He lingered near the marshal and at one point even caught the man's eye. But though the marshal nodded to him, he didn't approach or give Torgan any indication that he wished to resume their conversation.

"That was all right with Torgan. This was much like making a sale in the marketplace. He had something that the marshal might well want at some point. But if Torgan pushed too hard or seemed too anxious for the marshal to use it, he'd never close the deal. Better to wait for the man to come to him.

If he still had his wares and belongings with him he would have pulled out his flask of Qosantian whiskey and approached the captains. He'd never yet known a soldier to turn down a sip of the Qosantian brew, and over the years he'd found that it could loosen even the tightest of tongues. But he had nothing to offer these men or the marshal's daughter, and he wasn't sure what kind of reception he'd get if he tried to inject himself into their conversation. None of them seemed to give a thought to approaching him.

He sat beside a small fire at the fringe of the camp, savoring the full feeling in his belly while Trey grazed nearby. He listened to the quiet hum of the campground, catching snatches of distant conversation and laughter, or verses of battle songs sung slightly out of tune. And he waited. He felt reasonably sure that he wouldn't have to wait long.

She didn't like the merchant. Not at all. She couldn't say why; she just …I didn't trust him. Even now, sitting with the other captains, she could feel his one eye on them, on her. He kept a respectful distance, but he intruded with his furtive glances. He made her skin crawl.

Most of all, she was repulsed by his suggestion that they use the plague to attack the Fal'Borna. And she was deeply disturbed by her father's willingness to consider the notion.

All along she had been the one who had pushed Jenoe-the invasion had been her idea, as had the alliance with the Mettai. But in the past several days her father had changed. The Jenoe she knew would never have allowed his men to kill enemy warriors as they slept. He would have rejected out of hand Torgan Plye's offer of help. Leading this army had changed him.

Tirnya could hardly blame him. She had lost two men in a skirmish with road brigands and it had taken every bit of her courage and composure to face the parents of one of them. Jenoe had lost hundreds of men the last time they faced the Fal'Borna, and they had yet to encounter a white-hair force as large as their own army. She could hardly imagine the burden he carried.

She knew only that with each day that passed her father seemed more like a stranger to her, and that she herself was to blame. Her idea, her fault.

"You look troubled."

She looked up from the fire. Gries had come to sit beside her. Several of the other captains had left them, probably to go sleep. Enly sat opposite her, speaking in low tones with Stri and one of the captains from Waterstone.

"I'm all right," she said, smiling weakly.

"I see." Clearly Gries didn't believe her.

She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and exhaled heavily. "It's the merchant," she told him. "I wish my father had sent him away."

"You must have known that he wouldn't."

Tirnya shrugged.

"If what he's saying about that basket he carries is true, he's offering us a powerful weapon. More powerful even than the wolves and eagles of the Mettai."

"So you think we should use it," she said, her voice flat.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Enly was watching them, but she tried to ignore him.

"I don't want to," he said. "I sense that you don't, either. But we can't simply refuse. We don't know yet what's waiting for us at the Horn. We don't even know what we'll have to face at the next sept. We have to consider every possible weapon we have at our disposal."

"Not this one," she said without thinking.

"Is using the plague that different from what we've already done?"

"It is if we can't keep it from killing children."

"I don't think it kills children," Gries said. "Remember the first sept we found. Most of the adults had died-the survivors were mostly children who hadn't yet come into their power."

"Yes," Tirnya said, turning to face him. "Nearly all the survivors were children, but not all the children survived. They did at the second sept, because we made sure of it."

He offered a small shrug, as if conceding the point.

"You think I'm being soft," she said, straightening. "You think that I argue this way because I'm a woman."

Cries actually laughed. "You're putting words in my mouth."

Tirnya blushed, and was thankful for the darkness. "I'm sorry. I do that sometimes. My father hates it."

"No need to apologize. And I don't think you're being soft."

She looked at him doubtfully.

He laughed again. She liked the way he laughed. It was full-throated without being too loud, and it sounded genuine, unforced.

"All right," he said. "I don't think you're being soft because you're a woman. Different people respond to these things in different ways." He grinned. "How's that?"

"Better," she said, smiling in turn.

She glanced across the fire again. Enly and Stri were gone, as were most of the others.

"It's getting late," Tirnya said, starting to stand.

Suddenly he was holding her hand, his grip gentle but insistent. His fingers felt warm and slightly rough, though in a comforting sort of way.

"It's not that late," he said quietly.

She slowly sat back down.

"What will you do if you win this war, Tirnya?" he asked, holding her gaze.

She swallowed. "My father and I will have a great deal to do. We intend to make this plain an Eandi stronghold again. We want to return Deraqor and Silvralna to the glory of their early history. That will take work. It'll take years."

"It sounds like a hard life," Gries said. "Lonely as well."

"It might be," she said, trying to sound sure of herself. He was still holding her hand and she found herself staring at their fingers. "But it's something that he and I have pledged ourselves to do, for our people and for their children."

Actually, Tirnya wasn't quite sure where all this was coming from. She and her father had said little about what would come after the war. Prior to leaving Qalsyn, all of their planning had been for the march into Fal'Borna land and the battles that would ensue. Her father remained utterly focused on their next encounter with the Qirsi. She wasn't sure he had given any thought to what would happen once they recaptured the Horn. They hadn't really talked about the lives they would lead there.

"And is there no room in that future for anything more?" the Fairlea captain asked.

Abruptly Tirnya was trembling and she didn't know why. "I… I'm not sure. That's such a long way off."

He inclined his head slightly. "I suppose it is." He reached forward with his free hand and touched her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze again. "But I'd ask you to consider whether you don't deserve to be happy as well. You say that you do this for your people and their children. What about you, Tirnya? What about your children?"

She couldn't speak. She merely gazed back at him, scared by what he was saying, unwilling to get up and walk away.

After a moment, Gries leaned forward ever so slowly, his face drawing near to hers. She leaned away just a bit and he hesitated. But she didn't say anything to stop him, and her gaze kept flicking from his dark eyes to his lips. He leaned forward again and brushed her lips with his own. Once, then again.

Tirnya closed her eyes, her lips parted, her pulse racing like a river in flood.

He kissed her. No brushing of lips this time, but a full kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft and he caressed her cheek with a finger.

After a moment, Tirnya pulled away.

"This is a bad idea," she whispered, her eyes still closed, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

"You think so?" he whispered back. He brushed his lips against her cheek. "I thought it was rather brilliant myself."

She giggled, but her hands were shaking and she felt cold.

"I can't do this now, Gries. Maybe… I don't know. There may come a time. But not now, not in the middle of this war."

He kissed her again, and she let him.

"You're sure?" he asked in a husky voice.

"No," she said.

He leaned back, smiling. "I didn't expect that."

She felt her cheeks coloring again. "Neither did I, actually."

"So…?"

"I need some time to think," she said. "I don't…" She trailed off, shaking her head, unsure of what she intended to say.

He held a finger to her lips. "I think I understand." He leaned forward again and kissed her brow. Then he stood. "Good night, Captain Onjaef." She smiled.

"Good night, Captain Ballidyne."

Tirnya watched him walk away and took a long, deep breath. After a moment she glanced around, half expecting to see that Enly was watching her. He wasn't.

But the merchant was, his one good eye glinting in the firelight. Tirnya shuddered.