The Dark-Eyes War

Chapter 21

The freedoms E'Menua granted Besh and Sirj just before he led his warriors out of the sept did much to improve the spirits of both Mettai men. It bothered Besh that the a'laq had not actually spoken to them again before leaving and that the man had said nothing about their future beyond the end of this war. But Besh had faith in Grinsa, and that faith had been bolstered by the fact that he and Sirj were no longer prisoners in their shelter.

The two Mettai had spent the first several evenings after the warriors' departure with Grinsa's wife and their beautiful daughter. She spent her days working with the Fal'Borna women in their tanning circle. But late on that first day, when her work was through, she retrieved her child from the girls who cared for the sept's young children, and walked to Besh and Sirj's shelter.

"I understand you're free to leave your z'kal now," she said, after they had greeted her.

"Yes," Besh said, exchanging glances with Sirj. "I believe we have your husband to thank."

"Probably," she said. "I was wondering if you'd like to eat your meals with Bryntelle and me. The Fal'Borna give us food now, because Grinsa's a Weaver. And I'd enjoy the company."

"We'd enjoy that as well," Besh said.

He and Sirj followed her to the shelter she usually shared with Grinsa, where they ate a small meal and chatted deep into the evening.

Cresenne appeared to enjoy their company, and being around the woman and her child was a balm for Besh's heart. He'd been away from Elica, his daughter, for too long, and he missed his grandchildren, Mihas, Annze, and Cam, terribly.

In many ways, Cresenne reminded him of Elica. She was strong, with a sharp wit and a keen mind. Even her laugh was similar to Elica's, low and strong, as if it came from her heart.

He and Sirj ate with her again the following night. Sirj was quiet during their evenings with the woman, though he, too, seemed to enjoy himself.

Still, Besh could only imagine how much the man missed Elica and their children, and he wondered if being with Cresenne and the baby brought him some comfort or made him feel even worse.

On this third day, as the sun started its slow descent in the west and they waited for Cresenne to come to their shelter again, Besh asked Sirj if the two of them should have their supper alone that night.

"Why?" Sirj asked, clearly puzzled by the suggestion.

Besh shrugged. "I thought that maybe…" He stopped, frowning slightly. "I don't know if it's hard for you to be with Cresenne and Bryntelle. If it makes being apart from Elica and the children even worse."

"Nothing could make that worse than it already is," Sirj said in a low voice, staring off across the sept.

Besh put his hand on the man's shoulder. "No," he said. "I don't suppose it could."

"I like going," Sirj said. "She's a good woman. She and Grinsa… they belong together."

For a moment Besh thought that Sirj would say more. But he didn't and Besh didn't see any need to belabor the point. When Cresenne appeared in the distance a short time later, he raised a hand in greeting and when she neared, he and Sirj stood to greet her.

They didn't talk about much as they walked back to her z'kal. Besh asked her about what work she had done that day, but she didn't have much to say. She seemed quieter than usual, though her daughter was chattering enough for all of them. Since the first night they had supped together, the girl had taken a special interest in Sirj. Cresenne said that she thought that it was Sirj's dark, wild hair and beard, which were so different from the white hair of the Qirsi and even from Besh's grey. She didn't think that the babe had ever seen anyone who looked like the young Mettai.

Whatever the reason, the girl peered at Sirj as they walked, her pale eyes as wide as they could be, a faint smile on her perfect little mouth.

After a few moments of this, Cresenne said, "Would you like to hold her?"

Sirj looked at the woman, a slightly panicked expression on his face. "Hold her?"

"You have children, right?" she said. "You've held babies before." Besh fought hard to keep from laughing.

Cresenne stopped walking and held out her daughter for Sirj to take. He hesitated a moment and then took the child in his arms. She let out a delighted squeal and immediately grabbed hold of his beard with both hands.

"Bryntelle!" Cresenne said, laughing.

"It's all right," Sirj said, looking up from Bryntelle's face. "It doesn't hurt. At least not much." He grinned, but there were tears in his eyes.

"All right," Cresenne said. She glanced at Besh, her expression pained.

They walked on, and had nearly reached Cresenne's shelter when the woman abruptly halted.

"Damn," she said under her breath.

Looking in the same direction she was, Besh saw the n'qlae standing in front of the shelter, her arms crossed over her chest.

"What do you think she wants?" Besh asked in a whisper.

Cresenne shook her head, her lips in a tight line. "I don't know. But she and her husband don't seem to like any of us very much. Better let me do the talking."

He nodded. Cresenne took the baby back from Sirj and they walked on.

"Good evening, N'Qlae," Cresenne said, stopping in front of the woman.

The n'qlae nodded to Cresenne and then, after hesitating for just a moment, nodded to the two Mettai as well.

"Is something wrong?" Cresenne asked. "Has something happened?"

"I've had no word from the a'laq, if that's what you mean."

Cresenne appeared to relax somewhat. "Then what can I do for you?"

"I've noticed that the three of you sup together each night," the woman said.

"What of it?" Cresenne demanded, her voice hardening. "Is that why you've come? You think we're plotting against your sept? I would have thought that after the a'laq's dream the other night you'd know better." She shook her head. "You and your people will never trust me, will you? Just as you'll never trust these men, though they've saved your life and that of every person in this sept."

Besh had some idea of how the Fal'Borna honored their a'laqs and n'qlaes, and he feared that Cresenne had pushed the woman too far. But the n'qlae's expression hardly changed, except for a vague smile that touched the corners of her mouth.

"Are you through?" she asked.

Cresenne blushed. Abruptly she seemed unwilling to look the woman in the eye. "Yes."

"I've noticed that the three of you sup together each evening, and I was wondering if you would join me tonight in my z'kal. The food would be little different from what you've been eating. And like you," the n'qlae said, looking at Cresenne, "I'm without my man right now. I grow tired of supping alone every night."

There was a lengthy silence. Sirj caught Besh's eye and raised his eyebrows. The n'qlae was smiling again.

"I owe you an apology, N'Qlae," Cresenne said at last.

"Yes, I believe you do. But I also believe that settles an old debt. We won't speak of it again."

"Thank you, N'Qlae."

"Come along then," the n'qlae said after another brief silence. "I'm hun_gry, and it's too cold to be standing out here doing nothing."

They followed the woman back to her shelter. A fire already burned within, and there were several bowls of food arrayed on the far side of the shelter… Some of it was similar to the food Besh and Sirj had eaten with Cresenne in recent nights: smoked rilda meat, boiled roots, and flat bread. But there were also dishes that Besh didn't recognize, including some sort of dried fruit that smelled wonderfully sweet.

They sat by the fire and the n'qlae began to pass the bowls around, urging her guests to take as much as they wanted.

As the bowls made their way around the circle, the n'qlac pulled out a small flask, unstoppered it, and poured a small amount of golden liquid into four cups.

"What is that?" Sirj asked.

The woman grinned. "Sweetgrass whiskey," she said. "Usually I only drink it with E'Menua. But you're guests, and I've been thinking about it all day."

She passed a cup to each of them.

When Cresenne took hers, Bryntelle reached for it and looked down into the cup.

"She wants some, too, eh?" the n'qlae said, and laughed.

Besh sniffed at the cup and was entranced. It smelled like sweet clover and honey and wine all mixed together. "What did you say this was?" he asked in amazement.

"Sweetgrass whiskey," the n'qlae said. "It's the one thing we Fal'Borna won't trade with the Eandi or even with another Qirsi clan. Our people make it here on the plain and only a few know how it's done. We have to trade for it with other septs, because no one in this sept can make it. We rarely share it with outsiders. Few who aren't from our clan have even tasted it."

"You honor us, N'Qlae," Besh said.

She waved off the remark. "I wanted some, and I didn't want to drink it alone." She winced. "I didn't mean that as it sounded."

Besh smiled. "I think I understand."

Sirj lifted his cup to his lips, but before he could drink, the n'qlae raised a finger.

"Slowly," she warned. "It's very strong."

Sirj nodded, took a sip, and nearly choked.

Cresenne was the next to try it, and though she managed not to cough or spit it out, her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. Bryntelle tried to grab hold of the cup, but Cresenne held it beyond her reach.

"You next, Mettai," the n'qlae said to Besh, a friendly smile on her face.

Besh took a sip and made a face that he imagined must have been very similar to Cresenne's. The whiskey was pleasantly sweet, but the flavor was nearly lost in the burning sensation on his tongue and throat.

The n'qlae nodded approvingly and then sipped from her cup. She swallowed and inhaled deeply through her teeth, but otherwise seemed unaffected.

"I think I need to try that again," Sirj said. He took another sip and this time had no trouble with it.

They began to eat, taking occasional sips of the whiskey throughout the meal. While they ate, the n'qlae asked Besh and Sirj about Kirayde, their village, and the lands surrounding it. As usual, Sirj deferred to Besh most of the time, leaving the old man to answer. He chose his words with care, though he sensed no dark intent in her questions. The n'qlae seemed most interested in the animals that the Mettai trapped in the Companion Lakes area, and after some time Besh finally turned to Sirj, who knew far more about trapping than Besh ever had.

At first Sirj spoke reluctantly, his eyes fixed on the fire and his voice low. But after a time he became more animated.

Eventually, the n'qlae seemed to run out of questions and it grew quiet in the shelter. Besh had finished his food and his whiskey, and he felt both full and slightly light-headed. Bryntelle had fallen asleep in her mother's lap, and Cresenne appeared weary as well.

"It's getting late," the n'qlae said, climbing to her feet. She grinned. "And if the whiskey hasn't made you tired yet, it will."

The others stood as well, Sirj taking Bryntelle for a moment as Cresenne got up. They stepped out into the night, and immediately Besh shivered. The sky was clear and a cold wind blew from the north. Both moons hung low in the eastern sky, casting long pale shadows across the sept.

"Thank you for inviting us to your z'kal, N'Qlae," Cresenne said. "And thank you as well for allowing us to taste the sweetgrass whiskey. It was wonderful."

The n'qlae nodded. "You're welcome." She turned to Besh and Sirj. "You may not know this, but you saved my husband's life a few nights ago."

Besh frowned. "What?"

"A Weaver can walk in the dreams of other Qirsi. That's how the a'laq of one sept speaks to other a'laqs elsewhere on the plain."

The old man nodded. "This I knew from Grinsa."

"The night before he left, E'Menua entered the dreams of an a'laq who was sick with the plague. He should have fallen ill himself, but he was immune. And the spell you conjured spread to the other Weaver and cured him, too."

Besh wasn't sure what to say. This explained the freedoms he and Sirj had enjoyed in recent days. But a part of him wondered why the woman had waited so long to tell him all of this.

"Anyway," the n'qlae went on after a moment, "I wanted to thank you for saving him. For saving all of us."

"You're welcome," Besh said.

She nodded and started to duck back into her shelter.

Before she could, however, someone called to her by her title. She straightened and turned, searching the darkness. After a few seconds a warrior appeared. He was an older man, broad in the shoulders and chest, but also thick in the middle. Nearly all the younger warriors had ridden to war with the a'laq. The men who were left were either old, like this man, or just barely of age to wield magic. The man stopped in front of the n'qlae and bowed to her.

"What's the matter, I'Yir?" the woman asked.

The man eyed Cresenne and the Mettai as if unsure of whether he could speak freely in front of them.

"It's all right," the n'qlae said. "Tell me."

"We're not sure what it is, N'Qlae," the warrior said. "G'Hirran and we were on patrol-and we thought we heard horses to the west of camp. That was earlier, and when we didn't hear anything more we decided we'd been imagining it. But just now we heard it again, and this time we're sure."

"Horses?" the n'qlae said, clearly unnerved. "You're certain?"

"Yes, N'Qlae," the man answered.

"What does this mean?" Besh asked.

The n'qlae stared westward into the darkness, as if trying to see what the warriors had heard. "I don't know. The Eandi army is largely on foot. They wouldn't send horsemen, and I don't think they'd approach a sept by night. But the J'Balanar would."

"The J'Balanar are the ones who have markings on their faces, right?" Cresenne asked.

The n'qlae nodded, still gazing into the gloom. "Yes."

"They'd attack when we're at war with the Eandi?"

At that, the Fal'Borna woman faced her, smiling slightly. "You said 'we.' Are you Fal'Borna now?"

"I'm Qirsi," Cresenne said, "just as I always have been."

"The answer is, yes, they would. The Fal'Borna and the J'Balanar have been rivals for centuries, and though we fought together during the Blood Wars, they probably want to take advantage of our weakness, just as the dark-eyes have done."

"They can't think they'd hold this land," Cresenne said.

"No. They'll take horses, food, any goods that they can trade. And they'll take children to sell as slaves."

Cresenne appeared to clutch her child a little more tightly, but to her credit, her voice remained even as she asked, "So, what can we do?"

"It will be a large raiding party," the n'qlae said. "Forty strong, at least. The J'Balanar never come with fewer than that. And they'll have two or three Weavers with them. Chances are they'll take positions to the west and east of the sept and attack from both sides at once."

"You've dealt with these people before," Besh said.

"As I told you, we've been rivals for a long time. E'Menua goes on hunts every year. He makes certain I know what to do in case of an attack." She raked a hand through her long white hair. "But usually he leaves me with at least one other Weaver. I don't think he believed the J'Balanar would be so treacherous as to raid our lands when we were at war with the Eandi."

"We only have a few warriors," Cresenne said.

"You're a warrior. Your friend F'Solya is a warrior. Every woman in this camp is a warrior. That's the way of the Fal'Borna."

Cresenne nodded, looking white as a ghost.

"I suppose, then, that we're warriors as well," Besh said, drawing a smile from the n'qlae. "What would you like us to do?"

"What can you do?"

The old man grinned as he pulled his knife free. "I won't be much good to you in a fight," he said. "But I can conjure. I'm very good at that."

"Why aren't they attacking now?" Cresenne asked.

"They must be getting in position. But as long as it's dark, we have the advantage. We know our sept; they don't. They'll attack at first light, thinking that we'll be unprepared."

"We could use language of beasts to frighten their horses," Cresenne said. "Show them that we know they're out there."

"Yes, we could," the n'qlae said. "I just don't know if that's the best way to handle this."

"What if we were to wake everyone and lead them out of the sept?" Besh asked. "They'd attack in the morning and find no one here."

The n'qlae seemed to consider this for several moments before shaking her head. "I don't like the idea of abandoning the sept, and I'm not sure we could get far enough away tonight. They would still be able to see us come morning, and they'd simply ride us down."

"Can you fight them?" Sirj asked. "There are more than forty women in the sept. We'd outnumber them."

"The number of Weavers matters more," the n'qlae said. "They'll be able to attack with several magics at once, and I'll only be able to block one of them." Her brow furrowed in concentration. "No, we need to think of something that will forestall their attack. If it comes to a fight, we'll lose."

"The a'laq was afraid of the creatures we could conjure," Sirj said, looking at Besh.

The n'qlae bristled. "The a'laq fears nothing."

"Perhaps fear wasn't the right word," Besh said. "But he wanted to know what creatures we could call forth with our magic. He seemed most… most concerned with the creatures of legend that our people can summon."

The n'qlae stared at him. "You can conjure such things?"

"There may be those among us who can. I know that the Mettai of old-those who fought in the Blood Wars-could call forth demons and creatures of myth."

"But can you?" Cresenne asked.

Besh shrugged. "I've never tried. I'm not sure I know the spells." Clearly he had the n'qlae's attention now. "What about other creatures?" she asked. "Real creatures? Can you conjure those?"

He nodded. "Yes. Wolves, wild dogs, highland lions, bears. I've used hornets against… enemies. They work quite well."

The n'qlae shook her head. "Fire magic," she said. "A Weaver with access to fire would have little trouble against a swarm. And shaping would work against these other animals you've mentioned." She shook her head a second time. "We'd need something more difficult to fight, something that would surprise them so much that they wouldn't know what magic to use."

They stood there in silence for several moments, all of them seemingly lost in thought. And then Sirj began to laugh.

They looked at him.

"What are you laughing at?" Besh asked.

At first Sirj didn't answer. He was laughing still, but now his brow was creased in thought.

"You say that fire magic would protect them against a swarm," he finally said, looking at the n'qlae. "How would that work?"

The woman gave a small shrug. "They'd see the swarm coming and they'd use fire to burn it out of the air. It would be fairly simple really. Even if we use the hornets now, in the dark, they'll hear them and they'll be able to direct fire at them."

"So they'd need to see it," Sirj said.

"Well, yes, of course."

"What is it you're thinking?" Besh asked.

Sirj laughed again. "You'll think I'm mad."

Besh grinned. "I've thought that before."

"Quickly!" the n'qlae said, clearly annoyed by how amused both men seemed. "What is this about?"

"Ants," Sirj said, facing the woman. "Armies of biting ants. By the time the J'Balanar understand what we've done, it will be too late for them to do anything about it without burning themselves."

The n'qlae appeared unconvinced. "Ants," she repeated.

Sirj nodded.

"Can you make enough of them?" Cresenne asked.

"Absolutely," Besh said. "The harder part will be getting them to the J'Balanar. For this to work, we'd have to do it before they mount their horses, but as long as it's dark we can't see where to send them."

"Then we'll just send them west for now," the n'qlae said. "We know that at least some of the J'Balanar are there. Maybe if this works, the others will give themselves away."

"We should be ready to strike at them," Cresenne said. "We should wake the others, and when Sirj's ants stir up the J'Balanar, we should attack. They'll be distracted, even the Weavers."

The n'qlae gave her a hard look, but then nodded. "Yes, all right." She turned to the warrior. "Wake every adult, but do it quietly. Have the children remain in the z'kals, and have at least one older child with the younger ones. Quickly, I'Yir."

The man nodded, bowed, and hurried off.

"It would be helpful to know just where they are," Sirj said, scanning the dark plain beyond the sept.

Besh nodded. "It would be. But there might be a way to do it without knowing. It would be more complicated, but we can direct the magic at the Qirsi. We just have to make certain that there are no Fal'Borna in front of us when we do."

"How soon can you do this?" the n'qlae asked.

"I need some time to work out the spell. Not long. A few moments. I'll let you know when I'm ready."

The woman took a breath. "Yes, all right."

She appeared tense, even afraid, although no more so than Besh felt. He trusted that she would lead her people well. It was up to Sirj and him to give the Fal'Borna a chance. The two men walked a short distance from Cresenne and the n'qlae.

"How do we do this?" Sirj asked quietly.

"The ants are easy," Besh said. "It's the rest of the spell I need to work out." Mettai magic worked best when the elements were recited in groups of four. This spell would be too complicated to be accomplished with four elements, which meant that he needed eight, or perhaps twelve.

"We need to send them in a mist," Sirj said. "They can only become ants when they reach the Qirsi. Otherwise this will never work."

"I agree."

He heard whispers and light footsteps coming from the shelters around him. The Fal'Borna were stirring, preparing for this battle. Before long they'd be ready for his magic.

"Blood to earth," he muttered, practicing the spell, the words empty of magic without his blood. "Life to power, power to thought, earth to mist, mist to magic…"

Sirj was watching him, waiting. Seeming to realize that Besh had faltered, he frowned. "Three more elements."

"I know," Besh said. "But I'm not sure how to finish it. That's the hard part-getting the incantation right."

Sirj repeated the spell as Besh had spoken it, trailing off at the same point.

Besh scoured his brain, searching for the right words for the spell, knowing that he was close. He wished that he hadn't tried any of that sweetgrass whiskey. His mind felt sluggish, and he knew that he wouldn't have a second chance to get the spell right if he failed the first time. Still, nothing came to him, and he began to grow frustrated.

"She's coming," Sirj whispered.

Besh looked up to see the n'qlae walking toward him, followed by Cresenne, who no longer held her child.

He drew himself up, preparing to tell the n'qlae that this magic couldn't be rushed.

"We hear horses moving again," the woman said before he could speak. "I fear the J'Balanar have noticed all the activity in our sept. We need to act now."

"Is it possible they'll move on?" Sirj asked. "Perhaps find another settlement?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. It's more likely that they're taking up new positions, or that they're preparing to attack before dawn. Are you ready?" she asked Besh.

What choice did he have? "Yes," he said.

Sirj shot him a look, but Besh kept his eyes on the n'qlae.

"Good," she said. "We are as well." She started to make her way toward the south end of the sept, leaving Besh and the others with little choice but to follow. "They seemed to be moving in this direction," she said as they walked.

"All of them?" Besh asked.

She slowed. "I'm not sure."

Besh halted, and began to retrace their steps. "We should start in the west, since that's where they were."

The others looked like they might come with him, but Besh held up a hand to stop them. "Just Sirj and me. We'll try to stay out of sight. You keep going to the other side of the sept. Let them believe that we think they've gone there."

The n'qlae nodded and started south once more.

Sirj and Besh went back to the west end of the settlement, taking care to keep low to the ground, lest the J'Balanar were watching.

"Have you figured out the spell yet?" Sirj asked in a hoarse whisper.

"No, not yet. But it'll come to me."

Sirj looked at him. "When?"

"Soon, I hope."

They crept past the last of the shelters, and pulled their knives free. Besh reached for a handful of dirt and cut his hand, catching the blood on the flat of his blade. He mixed the blood and dirt and then closed his eyes.

"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, earth to mist, mist to magic, magic to Qirsi…" He trailed off again. He only paused for an instant, but that was long enough. He even managed a smile. Why limit the spell to the warriors, when he could disrupt the J'Balanar's plans so much more? "Magic to horses, mist to ants."

He let the magic fly from his hand.

"You heard?" he said, looking at Sirj.

Judging from the grin on the man's face, he had. He chanted the same spell and threw the blood and earth in the same direction.

Already Besh could hear men muttering in the distance. They weren't directly in front of him, but it seemed that the spell had found its way to the Qirsi just the same. A horse whinnied, and then another.

"Come on," Besh said.

They ran back into the sept and to the southern edge, where the n'qlae and her warriors were waiting for them.

"It sounds as though your spell is working," the n'qlae said.

Besh smiled. "Yes, it does." Sirj had already grabbed more dirt and was cutting his hand. Besh did the same, and the two of them spoke the spell in unison before throwing it into the night. Once again, it didn't take long for them to hear voices rising in surprise and anger.

"You attacked their horses?" the n'qlae demanded, sounding displeased.

Besh knew that he should have anticipated this. The Fal'Borna were fiercely protective of their own animals, and were said to be as merciful with their enemies' horses as they were merciless with the enemies themselves.

"The animals are in no danger, N'Qlae," he said. "They'll have some discomfort, but that's all."

"We need to strike at them now, N'Qlae," Cresenne broke in.

The woman didn't appear mollified, but after a moment she nodded to Cresenne, and said in a soft voice, "Language of beasts."

Besh saw several of the Fal'Borna nod in response, but otherwise he couldn't tell what was happening. An instant later, however, he heard the sound of galloping horses and more angry shouts from the J'Balanar.

"Those of you with language of beasts go to the west end of the sept and send away the horses of the men there," the n'qlae said. She looked at some of her other warriors. "Shapers."

This time the sound that followed made Besh's stomach turn. He'd been attacked with shaping power; he knew how much it hurt to have the bone in his leg shattered by magic. The muffled cracks and screams of pain that rent the night brought back those memories far too vividly.

The n'qlae turned to look at several other Fal'Borna, and then at Cresenne. "Fire."

The flame seemed to rise from the ground, like an orange mist. But it fanned out quickly, lighting the night. Besh could see the J'Balanar now. Most of them were sprawled on the ground. Some were still upright, but were vainly trying to outrun the n'qlae's fire. They never had a chance. It swept over them like floodwaters, and when it had passed, all on the plain was still.

They could hear more shouts coming from the west, and the n'qlae wasted no time.

"Follow me!" she called, sprinting in that direction. Besh, Sirj, and the other Qirsi did as she commanded.

Before they could reach that end of the sept, however, they saw a second wave of fire. This one was headed toward the sept.

"Damn!" the n'qlae said. She halted, closed her eyes, and held out her hands.

Besh was running beside Cresenne and now he saw her stumble, right herself, and stop, swaying slightly.

Another wave of fire formed, sailed over the shelters that were still in front of them, and then swooped down to meet the J'Balanar's magic. The two walls of fire crashed together a short distance from the sept, lighting the night as if the sun itself had fallen to earth. But the enemy's flame was stopped.

The n'qlae started running again, shouting "Shapers!" as she went. Perhaps a dozen of the Fal'Borna women ran after her. The others followed, too. And before they made it past the last of the shelters another wall of fire was headed at them from the J'Balanar.

The n'qlae called on those with fire magic once more and sent another flame to meet that of the enemy. The two bursts of fire magic met farther from the sept this time, but the effect was much the same as it had been last time: brilliant and violent. He could see the J'Balanar beyond the conflagration, the dark markings around their eyes stark against their pale skin.

"Shapers!" the n'qlae said again, even before the fires had faded.

Silence, and then that terrible snapping sound, and the howls of agony.

"Why haven't they attacked us that way?" Sirj asked of no one in particular.

"I think they must have sent their shapers to the south end of the sept," Cresenne said, her voice low. "They're dead already."

"Fire!" the n'qlae said, a note of triumph in her voice.

Already another flame was forming out on the plain, but this one was small and weak-a far cry from the attacks that had come earlier. The n'qlae's answering fire dwarfed that of the J'Balanar. It rushed toward what remained of the raiders, smothering that small flame and abruptly cutting off the low moans and cries of those who had been wounded.

Silence descended on the plain, broken only by the wind, the dry crackle of burning grass, and the crying of a young child from one of the z'kals.

The n'qlae turned to all of them, the smile on her face harsh and exultant. "The night is ours!" she said.

A cheer went up from the Fal'Borna.

The n'qlae approached Besh, Sirj, and Cresenne. "The three of you fought well! The a'laq will hear of what you did tonight." She looked around at her fellow Fal'Borna. "These three fought as Fal'Borna! It'll soon be dawn and I say we should feast on the morrow and all day to honor them as new members of our clan! What say you?"

Again the Fal'Borna shouted their approval.

The n'qlae nodded, still smiling. "So be it!" She looked at Cresenne and the two Mettai. "You have our thanks. We'll see to the young ones and then gather the dead," she said, raising her voice again.

She walked away, followed by the women and those few men who were still in the sept.

Watching her go, Besh felt sick to his stomach. He had done what he had to-and he would have done it again if it meant saving Sirj and himself, and Cresenne and her child. But this had been his first battle, and though he and Sirj hadn't killed anyone, they'd had a hand in the deaths of dozens.

"Are you all right?" Cresenne asked him, seeming to read his thoughts.

"Yes, thank you."

"You saved us all," she said. "Both of you did. The a'laq is sure to free you now, no matter what happens."

Besh nodded, but neither he nor Sirj said anything.

"I need to check on Bryntelle," the woman said, backing away from them, clearly anxious to find her daughter.

"Of course. Go." Besh made himself smile, though it faded as soon as she turned her back on them and hurried away.

"We're warriors now," Besh said, as they watched the woman disappear into the night. "First Lici made me a killer, and now I'm a warrior."

"What did you expect would happen when we cast that spell?" Sirj asked. "I didn't think about it."

Sirj turned to look at him. "Well, I did. If we'd lost, the J'Balanar would have killed us both, and that woman, and her baby. Maybe I should feel guilty, but I don't. You promised Elica that you'd keep me alive, and you did that. Again. So, unless you regret it, I'd suggest you stop feeling sorry for yourself and instead thank the gods that we're still alive to tell Mihas and Annze and Cam the story of this night."

"You're right," Besh said.

The younger man seemed surprised by this. After a moment he nodded once and then walked away.

Besh remained where he was, staring out over the plain, watching as the last of the small grass fires burned themselves out. He wanted to weep, but he didn't allow himself that release. Cresenne and Sirj were right: People were going to die this night no matter what. Better the J'Balanar raiders than them.

But a part of him couldn't help wishing that he'd never left Kirayde.