The Dark-Eyes War

Chapter 24

They were farmers and trappers, wheelwrights and smiths. They had lived their lives under the Curse of Rheyle, coaxing livings from a stingy, blighted land. They weren't wealthy or powerful, but they were her people. They had left families behind in Lifarsa, men and women, boys and girls who prayed every night for their safe return to the village.

And now more than two dozen of them were lost, crushed as if by the war goddess herself. It had happened in an instant, without warning. That was the power of Qirsi magic. No blood, no earth, no spell. Just a thought, and in an instant more than a score were dead. If Fayonne and Mander had been standing with the others, they would have died as well. Being eldest didn't impart to her any special powers-she was no Qirsi Weaver. She would have been as helpless as the rest. But she was the leader of these people, and she felt their deaths in her heart in ways no one else on this plain could imagine.

And when she heard the cheer go up from that small party of Fal'Borna that had ridden forward on the left side of the battle plain, she knew that they were responsible.

It was a rash choice, especially after what had happened by the river in their encounter with the last Fal'Borna army. Fayonne didn't care. These white-hairs had killed her people, and now they were celebrating.

She bent down and grabbed a handful of earth, then held it over her head for just an instant.

"Blades!" she called to the Mettai who were still with her. "The poison spell!"

"Mother, no!" Mander said, whirling to face her.

"You heard me!" she said, ignoring him.

The others stared at her. A few of them exchanged troubled looks.

"You saw what they did!" she said, her voice carrying over the din of battle. "You saw how many of our people fell. And now you can hear the white-hairs cheering. We'll be next, unless we stop them, unless we avenge those we lost."

Mander strode to where she was standing and planted himself right in front of her. "Mother, you can't-!"

It happened so fast that she didn't realize she'd slapped him until he raised his hand to his cheek. She saw the imprint of her hand forming there, red and stark on his pale skin. Fayonne felt her own face coloring, but she didn't apologize.

"Blades!" she said again, stepping around him and cutting her hand.

She caught the blood on her knife, mixed it with the dirt she held, and began to recite the poison spell. Some of the others merely stood there, watching her. She didn't need them. Enough of the others were speaking the spell with her to take care of that small company of Qirsi.

"Mother, you can't do this!" Mander said from behind her, his voice tight with rage and humiliation.

She glanced back at him. "I have to do it."

"But the curse-"

"The curse is not absolute!" she said. "I know what happened last time, but you know that it's not that predictable." The eldest actually laughed, though she sounded slightly mad to her own ears. "I wish that it was so predictable! Our people would have overcome it generations ago."

"There will be a cost!" Mander said.

Fayonne nodded. "Perhaps. But there must be a cost for the Fal'Borna as well."

She faced forward again, spoke the spell once more from start to finish as the others completed reciting it, and sent the deadly silvery mist at the Qirsi.

The effect was immediate and absolute. The white-hairs who had been gloating over the deaths of her people moments before now clawed at their throats and toppled off their horses. Their animals fell, too, which was unfortunate but unavoidable.

Seeing the Fal'Borna die, Fayonne knew a moment of satisfaction, though it was fleeting. When it had passed, she felt terror take hold of her heart, like a cold, taloned hand. There will be a cost.

Suddenly she was aware of the tumult that surrounded her: The attacks of the wolves and snakes and eagles, the Qirsi wind that swirled around them, the moans and cries of the wounded.

She scanned the Eandi army for the marshal and, unable to find him, felt another wave of fear crash over her. She wasn't overly fond of the man, but she trusted him far more than she did any of the other leaders of this army.

To her relief, she spotted him after a moment. He was stiffly climbing to his feet, looking around as if dazed. And then he looked up, his mouth falling open.

Fayonne raised her eyes as well.

One of the magical eagles was beating its wings above him, struggling to keep aloft. It had been struck by so many arrows she found it hard to believe that it could still fly. But more remarkable, it held a soldier in one of its clawed feet.

He was struggling to break free; Fayonne could see his sword flashing as he struck at the bird's foot repeatedly.

A voice reached her. A woman's voice. Captain Onjaef.

"Enly!" she cried out over and over.

"Gods!" Mander said. "It's Captain Tolm."

No sooner had he spoken the words than the eagle let the man drop.

It hadn't seemed such a long way-other eagles were circling far higher than this one. But it seemed to take Enly forever to fall. Fayonne felt rooted to the earth. She couldn't bring herself to move. It seemed none of them could, until he smashed into the ground.

Fayonne didn't think she'd ever forget that sound, or the scream that came from Tirnya when he hit.

Then all of them were running: Tirnya, Jenoe, Mander and Fayonne, and a dozen other soldiers the eldest barely noticed. Jenoe reached the captain first, but Tirnya pushed past all of them and fell to her knees beside the man, tears streaming down her face.

Fayonne felt certain that Enly was already dead. He had to be after that fall. He lay on his side. His shoulder and back were a bloody mess, and blood oozed from his nose and ear. His legs were splayed at odd angles-she could only assume that the bones were shattered in a dozen places. But his chest rose and fell, each breath sounding wet and labored. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open and, though they looked dull and lifeless, he seemed to recognize Tirnya.

"Your father?" he whispered.

She was sobbing, but she nodded. "He's here; he's all right. You saved him."

"Don't tell my father," he said. A faint smile touched his lips, but then he began to cough and he winced, closing his eyes.

"We need a healer," Tirnya said. And then she shouted it. "We need a healer!"

"Tirnya," Jenoe said, and shook his head. "There's nothing a healer can do."

"There has to be!"

Fayonne had never cared for the woman, but her heart ached for her nevertheless.

"There has to be!" Tirnya said again.

She looked up at Fayonne, their eyes locking.

With Q'Daer's name still on his lips, Grinsa sprinted to his mount, intending to ride to the young Weaver and his men. Perhaps… He didn't complete the thought. He had to see for himself.

Before he could get on the horse, however, the animal reared, kicking out with its front hooves. Grinsa jumped back, then turned a quick circle. Someone had made the horse do that with language of beasts. Having used that magic many times himself, he was certain of it.

O'Tal was staring at him, still sitting his mount a short distance away. "You did that!" Grinsa shouted.

"Yes. And I'll do it again if you try to ride to Q'Daer."

The Forelander glared at him for another moment before turning back to his mount and trying to climb into his saddle again. He used his own magic to keep the animal calm, but with O'Tal wielding his power, too, the horse remained jumpy.

"Damnit!" Grinsa faced the a'laq again, his fists clenched.

"I don't know what that spell was," O'Tal said. "But it killed them in an instant. And I'm not letting you or anyone else get near them."

Grinsa opened his mouth to argue, but then stopped, a vision of Cresenne and Bryntelle flashing through his mind. What would Cresenne have wanted him to do? If this was one of the spells Besh had described for him, there was nothing to be done for Q'Daer. O'Tal might well have saved his life.

He closed his eyes and took a long, shuddering breath. He felt as though a spear had pierced his heart.

O'Tal steered his mount to where Grinsa stood.

"You and Q'Daer were close," he said.

Grinsa actually laughed, though his eyes stung. "No," he said. "That's the funny thing. We fought all the time."

"I have a brother. We fight all the time, too."

The Forelander nodded, unable to put a word to his emotions. "We have to end this, A'Laq," he said.

"We're trying."

Grinsa looked up at him. "No. I don't mean we have to win it. I mean we have to end it." He gestured at the dead beasts around them, the eagles circling above, the Eandi soldiers fighting off wolves in the distance. "This is madness. The Eandi were in retreat. Let them go. End this now."

O'Tal's expression hardened and he looked away. Grinsa was sure he'd refuse.

"That's not the Fal'Borna way," the man said with quiet intensity.

"It can be today. H'Loryn won't fight you. E'Menua would have, and Q'Daer, too. But they're gone. You lead us now, and you have to stop this battle before it spreads. Too many-"

"Enough!" O'Tal was eyeing him again, his jaw set. He looked out over the battle plain. After a few moments he raised himself up in his saddle and shouted, "Fal'Borna riders! Return to me now!"

L'Norr and his men were the farthest away, and at first they didn't appear to have heard him. But O'Tal called for them again, and this time L'Norr turned to look back at the a'laq. Seeing that others were gathering around O'Tal, he and his company started back, too. Grinsa could see him scanning the plain as he rode, no doubt looking for Q'Daer.

"If one of the dark-eyes takes so much as a step toward our lines," O'Tal said, his voice low and hard, "I'm going to signal an advance again, and we'll kill every last one of them."

"I wouldn't expect anything different, A'Laq," Grinsa said.

The man nodded, though he still looked unsure of his decision.

"What's happening?" H'Loryn asked as he steered his mount toward them. "Why have you called us back?"

O'Tal glanced at Grinsa before facing the other a'laq. "E'Menua is dead. Q'Daer and his company are dead. The Forelander believes it's time to end this war, and I agree with him. The dark-eyes were retreating. We're going to let them go."

H'Loryn looked from one of them to the other, as if not quite believing what he had heard. "I think that's a wise choice, O'Tal," he finally said. O'Tal didn't answer. He looked out over the plain once more, seeming to mark L'Norr's approach. "He's young to be a'laq." He faced Grinsa again. "Have you considered-?"

"No," Grinsa said. "The sept is his."

"Where's my a'laq?" L'Norr said as he drew near. He scanned the faces of those gathering around O'Tal, his gaze coming to rest at last on Grinsa. "Where's Q'Daer?"

Grinsa walked to where the young Weaver had halted his mount. "The a'laq is dead, killed by one of the Mettai snakes. And Q'Daer and his company are lost as well."

L'Norr merely stared down at him.

"You lead our sept now, A'Laq."

The man shook his head. "I'm not… I can't."

"Of course you can," O'Tal said. "You must. There's no one else."

L'Norr cast a look at Grinsa, a question in his pale eyes. But Grinsa shook his head.

"Yes, all right," L'Norr said quietly.

"H'Loryn and I have decided that this war must end," O'Tal said. "But you're a'laq of your sept now, the leader of your men. And you've lost two Weavers today. If you say we should fight on, that's what we'll do."

L'Norr stared back at him, clearly unnerved. He glanced at Grinsa, but only for an instant. Then he began to look around, as if taking in the carnage that surrounded them. Finally he gazed out in the direction Q'Daer had led his men. Facing O'Tal again, he shook his head. "I want vengeance," he said. "I want to see every one of the dark-eyes dead."

O'Tal frowned, but recovered quickly and nodded. "Very well."

L'Norr looked down at Grinsa. "Aren't you going to argue? Aren't you going to tell me that I'm being reckless and foolish?"

"No," Grinsa said. "I understand how you feel. I think it's likely that E'Menua would have made the same choice."

L'Norr nodded. "I agree. It's the Fal'Borna way."

"That doesn't make it right," O'Tal said.

They all looked at him.

"We may be able to destroy them," he went on, directing his words at L'Norr. "Or they may destroy us, just as they did Q'Daer's company and P'Rhil's warriors. For some reason, the dark-eyes were already in retreat, even though they had prevailed in a battle with the first army we sent to meet them." He stared across the battlefield at the Eandi. "I have a family that I want to see again. I have no stomach for this war, and I have no confidence that we can defeat this enemy. We should let them go, and live to defend our land another day."

"Is that what you believe, too, A'Laq?" L'Norr asked H'Loryn. The older man nodded.

"And you?" he asked Grinsa.

"I think you know the answer to that."

L'Norr eyed them all for several moments, until finally his body seemed to sag slightly. "Yes, all right," he said, his voice falling low. "We'll let them go."

Grinsa exhaled, and exchanged a look with O'Tal. He nodded to the man, careful not to let L'Norr see. O'Tal nodded in return.

L'Norr steered his mount away from the others, and Grinsa stared after him, trying to imagine what the young Weaver must have been thinking and feeling just then. For his part, though, Grinsa thought that he would make a good a'laq.

You have to save him!" Tirnya said, desperate now, her vision clouded by tears, her throat aching.

"I can't," the eldest said. She actually took a step back, as if afraid of what Tirnya was suggesting.

"You have that magic!" Tirnya said. "I know you do!"

Fayonne shook her head. "I don't think our magic can save him. His injuries… He's too far gone."

"No!" Tirnya cried. She looked down at Enly's broken body. "He's alive still! You can do this!"

"Tirnya," Enly whispered. "Let me go. There's nothing she can do."

"I don't believe that!" She stared up at the eldest again. "And you don't, either. You know you can do this."

The eldest's eyes flitted from Enly's face to Tirnya's to Jenoe's, making her look like a cornered animal. "I don't know what the curse will do to any healing spell I use. I could try to heal him and wind up killing him."

Tirnya shook her head. "It doesn't matter. As you said yourself, he's dying already. At least he'd have a chance. Please," she said, her voice breaking on the word.

"The curse could do other things. It could…" Fayonne shook her head. "The risk is too great."

"Then I'll do it."

Tirnya looked up into Mander's face. "Thank you," she whispered. "No!" Fayonne said. "I won't allow it!"

"I don't need your permission, Mama. And I won't just let him die. We conjured those eagles. This is our fault."

"Not ours! The curse did this!"

"Yes," Mander said. "The curse. Our curse." He knelt beside Enly and pulled out his knife. Looking at Tirnya, he said, "I don't know if I can save him. But I'll try."

"Thank you," she said.

Fayonne dropped to her knees on the other side of Enly and stared intently at her son. "You can't do this, Mander! It's too dangerous!"

He smiled thinly. "I have to do it. That's what you said before, isn't it? Well, I have to do this."

The eldest blinked once, then sat back on her heels.

Mander took a handful of dirt, cut his hand, and mixed the blood and soil. "Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, power to life."

He didn't release the mud, as Tirnya had seen the Mettai do with other spells. Instead, he merely held his hand over Enly's body and closed his eyes. For what felt to Tirnya like an eternity, everything on the plain seemed to stand still. Enly barely moved, except to draw breath. No one around them spoke. It even seemed that the fighting had stopped. At one point Mander opened his hand, and to Tirnya's amazement it was empty, completely clean. She saw not a trace of the earth and blood that had been there before. But he picked up more dirt, cut himself again, and repeated the spell, and in a moment he was healing Enly once more.

There was sweat on the young Mettai's brow, and his skin had turned ashen. His hand even appeared to be trembling. Still, he didn't stop. After some time Enly's color began to improve, as if Bian's grip on his heart had loosened. His face, which had been grey, now had a pinkish tinge. He looked pale still, but Tirnya could definitely see improvement.

"Mander?" Fayonne said, sounding frightened.

He raised a finger on his other hand, as if to silence her. "Not yet," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm not done yet."

He continued to heal Enly in silence, pausing once more a short time later to cut himself yet again. Then he resumed his conjuring.

Soon after, Enly's eyes opened and he looked up at the Mettai man. "Thank you," he said in a weak whisper.

Mander smiled faintly, but he didn't open his eyes or speak. He looked terrible.

At last, he opened his hand, glanced down at it as if to convince himself that it was empty, and then let it drop heavily to his side.

"By the gods," Jenoe said, looking at Enly the way he might have regarded a ghost. "I thought you were dead for sure."

"I'm not sure I wasn't," Enly said.

Tirnya's tears had started to fall again, though this time she couldn't keep from smiling.

"Thank you," he said to her, staring up into her eyes.

She swallowed, frightened by how full her heart felt just then. "I just wanted another chance to beat you in the Harvest Tournament. I wasn't going to let you get out of a rematch so easily."

He grinned, turning to Mander. "Thank you as…" He trailed off, his smile fading.

Tirnya looked at the young Mettai and gasped.

His eyes had rolled back into his head, and his face was the same color Enly's had been a short while before.

"Mander?" Fayonne said. "'Mander?"

The man swayed for a moment and then toppled over onto his side. "Mander!" the eldest screamed.

His mouth moved, but Tirnya couldn't hear what he said.

"What?" his mother said, bending closer to him, panic in her eyes. "What was that?"

"I told you there would he a cost," he said, his voice as soft as a Growing breeze.

"No!" the eldest sobbed. "No! Mander!"

But he didn't move again.

Some of the other Mettai led the eldest away. She was sobbing still, and though Tirnya was grateful beyond words for Enly's life, she grieved for the woman and her lost son.

Eventually Enly found the strength to sit up and drink some water, but he remained weak, his movements stiff. As it became clear to all of them that he really was going to survive, they began to realize just how many others had been lost. Scores of Stelpana's soldiers had been killed, and countless others lay wounded on the bloodied grass. The carcasses of the Mettai's creatures were scattered everywhere, but it seemed to Tirnya that none of the beasts remained alive.

Jenoe had ordered his archers back into position, but he stood near where Tirnya still knelt beside Enly, gazing across the plain at the Qirsi.

"What is it they're doing?" he muttered.

Tirnya laid a hand gently on Enly's arm before standing and walking over to her father. The Fal'Borna, she saw, had re-formed their lines. But they gave no indication that they intended to attack.

Gries joined them, looking as puzzled as Jenoe.

"Could they be waiting for us to start fighting again?" "Tirnya asked her father.

"I never would have believed that they'd do such a thing," the Fairlea captain said before Jenoe could answer. "But I think they are."

At that moment, four men rode forth from the white-hair lines. They bore no spears, and they halted halfway between the two armies.

"A parley?" Jenoe asked.

Cries shrugged.

"Get Hendrid," the marshal said. "The four of us will speak with them."

"What if it's a ruse?" Gries asked.

"Then I suppose we'll be killed."

Cries raised an eyebrow, and went to find Waterstone's marshal.

The two of them returned a short while later with their horses as well as Jenoe's and Tirnya's.

"You think this is wise?" Jenoe asked, taking the reins from Cries. "They're on horses," Gries said. "I believe it puts us at a disadvantage to face them on foot."

Jenoe looked at Tirnya.

She nodded, taking a breath. "I agree."

"So do I, actually," Jenoe said. He looked at Hendrid, who nodded in return.

They swung themselves onto their mounts and rode out to meet the enemy, halting a short distance from them and eyeing them warily. Three of the men who waited for them were clearly Fal'Borna. They were stout and broad, with golden-hued skin and long hair worn tied back. The fourth man appeared to Tirnya to be from another clan. His skin was as pale as bone and he was taller than the others, though just as broad. Actually, she'd never seen a Qirsi like him, and she found herself continually glancing his way.

The three Fal'Borna were of different ages. One of the men appeared old for a Qirsi, and the other terribly young. But it was the third man who spoke, breaking a lengthy silence.

"By all rights, you and your army should be dead by now," he said, his voice as deep and cold as ocean waters. "Those of your kind who trespass on our lands rarely live to see their homeland again."

Jenoe smiled thinly. "I've seen no evidence yet that you're capable of killing us. So perhaps you should skip the idle threats and tell us what you want."

The Fal'Borna narrowed his eyes. "Without your Mettai friends, you're nothing."

"And with them we're more than you can handle. So I'll ask you again, what do you want?"

"You were leaving before we caught up with you," the pale stranger said.

"Isn't that so?"

Tirnya's father regarded him with genuine surprise. "I've never heard such an accent before. What clan are you from?"

"I'm from the Forelands," the man said. "But I ride with the Fal'Borna, and I'll die with them if I have to."

Jenoe stared at him for another moment before nodding slowly. "Yes," he said. "We were leaving. We've come to see that we were wrong to start this war, and we wish to return to Stelpana. As you've seen, though, we're willing to fight if you force the matter."

"We won't," said the Fal'Borna man. "If you leave now, we'll allow you safe passage out of our lands. Raise a weapon against us again, and we'll unleash the full might of our magic."

"What about other armies we might encounter between here and the Silverwater?"

"I can speak to other alaqs-Weavers have that ability. I'll tell them to let you pass. But they'll be just as unforgiving if you break your word."

Tirnya thought that her father would reply in kind with a threat of his own, but he seemed to think better of it.

"All right," he said. "We'll need time to care for our wounded, but you have my word as commander of this army that as long as we aren't attacked, we'll do nothing to harm any of your people."

"Done," the Fal'Borna said. He glanced at his companions, wheeled his horse away, and started back toward his army. The other men followed, though the Forelander hesitated just a moment, as if he wanted to say something more. Instead, he simply rode away with the others.

"I never thought I'd see this day," Hendrid said, watching them go. "The Fal'Borna agreeing to a truce; who'd have thought it possible?"

"Not me," Jenoe said. "Let's do what we have to and be on our way before they change their minds."