The Dark-Eyes War

Chapter 4

Grinsa jal Arriet had never imagined that he would return in disgrace to the sept of E'Menua, the Fal'Borna a'laq who had made him and his family captives of the Qirsi clan. He and the men with whom he had journeyed-two Eandi merchants and Q'Daer, a young Fal'Borna Weaver of the sept-had been sent to find a Mettai witch and defeat the curse she had created, which was spreading across the land, killing Qirsi and destroying their villages. Upon completing these tasks, Grinsa, his wife, Cresenne ja Terba, and their young daughter, Bryntelle, would be free to leave. And the Eandi merchants, Jasha Ziffel and Torgan Plye, who had been condemned to die for having sold cursed Mettai baskets to the Fal'Borna, would be spared and released.

Grinsa was a Weaver himself, a Qirsi who wielded all varieties of magic, and who could bind the magic of many Qirsi into a single powerful weapon. Against great odds, he had survived a war in the Forelands, where he'd spent most of his life, and had defeated a renegade Weaver who sought to conquer the Eandi realms of that land. He had saved the life of an Eandi noble falsely accused of murder. He was not at all accustomed to failure.

But he and the rest of his company had failed miserably in this undertaking. Yes, the witch, a woman named Lici, had been killed, but not by them. Rather, it had been her own Mettai companions, Besh and Sirj, who had defeated her. Besh had also found a way to overcome the woman's curse, only barely in time to save Grinsa's life and Q'Daer's. But Jasha was dead, killed by Torgan. And Torgan had escaped with a scrap of cursed Mettai basket that might still be used to sicken unsuspecting Qirsi.

At this point, Grinsa had little hope that E'Menua would allow him and his family to go free, particularly now that war had come to the plain.

He and the others-Q'Daer, Besh, and Sirj-were still several leagues from the sept, and they were making poor progress southward. Grinsa remained weak from the plague that had nearly killed him. Q'Daer had been sicker than he, and was still suffering as well. And Besh, though spry for his age, was old to be braving the cold winds of the late Harvest.

As soon as they received word that an Eandi army was gathering on the eastern bank of the Silverwater, and that a Mettai force was marching with them, Grinsa had encouraged Besh and Sirj to leave Fal'Borna lands. They had been declared friends of the Fal'Borna by another a'laq, but the Qirsi of the plain were fierce warriors and showed little mercy for their enemies. That declaration would mean little now.

But Besh had insisted that they remain and help other Qirsi combat the plague that Lici had loosed upon the land. And Grinsa had his doubts as to whether the two Mettai could reach the safety of Eandi territory without being found and killed by the Fal'Borna. For better or worse, their fates were now tied to his.

The four of them said little as they rode, Grinsa and Q'Daer on horseback, Besh and Sirj on the cart that had once belonged to Lici. Besh had a blanket about his shoulders. Q'Daer sat wrapped in a rilda skin, and Grinsa wore a woolen riding cloak he had brought from the Forelands. He pulled it tighter now, as another gust of cold wind made the grasses bow and dance. Only Sirj seemed immune to the elements.

"It must be good to be young and never feel the cold," Besh said, as if reading Grinsa's thoughts.

Grinsa glanced their way. Both men were looking at him, wearing grins. "I wouldn't remember," Grinsa said. "It's been too long."

Besh laughed. "If you're old, Forelander, then what am I?"

Q'Daer looked back at the rest of them, a frown on his youthful, square face, but he didn't say anything and a moment later he faced forward again.

Grinsa would have preferred to steer his mount to Besh and Sirj's cart and ride alongside them for a while. But it seemed that something was bothering the Fal'Borna Weaver. He spurred his horse to catch up with Q'Daer.

"You seem troubled," he said, pulling abreast of the man.

"They're slowing us down," Q'Daer said, staring straight ahead.

"This pace is best for all of us. You and I are just a few days removed from having almost died. We're lucky to be riding at all."

"We could go faster."

"I'm not sure-"

"We could ride faster," the man said, turning to face him. His pale yellow eyes looked almost white. "We could take short rests, but more of them. They're slowing us down, Forelander. And we need to get back to the sept."

Grinsa could have argued the point further, but he'd learned that reason rarely worked in discussions with Q'Daer. He was too young, too stubborn, too much a Fal'Borna. Better simply to get to the point.

"What would you suggest?"

"They should leave, go hack to their own land."

"You know how dangerous that would be for them. We owe them our lives, and I think it's up to us to protect them until it's safe for them to return to their homes."

"They won't be welcomed in the sept. The Mettai have made themselves enemies of the Fal'Borna. They should leave us now, while they can."

"The time for that has passed," Grinsa said. "They chose to remain with us so that they could protect the Fal'Borna from Lici's plague. We've no choice now but to guard them, be it from other Fal'Borna or from E'Menua himself."

Q'Daer twisted his mouth sourly, but after a moment he appeared to acquiesce. "Then we should abandon their cart and have them ride. That at least would be quicker. We have Jasha's horse still. They can ride together, or one of them can ride with us."

Grinsa didn't think that Besh and Sirj would like this idea. He hadn't seen either of them on a horse, and from what he knew of the Mettai they didn't seem to be riders. More to the point, they might well object to leaving Lici's cart. By all rights it was theirs now, as was the horse pulling it.

"What about their animal?"

The young Weaver glanced back at the cart horse and frowned, as if he hadn't thought of this. The Fal'Borna revered horses. Q'Daer would have been more reluctant to put the beast in peril than to endanger the two men.

"She'll be able to keep up without that cart behind her," he said. "We won't be able to go as fast as I'd like, but it would still be an improvement."

"All right," Grinsa said, the words coming out as a sigh. For all the time that Torgan and Jasha had been with them, he had served as intermediary between the Fal'Borna and the merchants. Torgan and the young Weaver had hated each other, and more than once Grinsa probably had kept Q'Daer from killing the one-eyed merchant, something he'd since come to regret. Now he found himself caught between Q'Daer and the Mettai. "I'll speak with them. Maybe they can have Torgan's cart or Jasha's, assuming that the a'laq hasn't burned them yet."

"Yes, maybe."

Grinsa turned his mount once more and rode back to the Mettai. Both men eyed him with curiosity as he approached and fell in beside them. "What's wrong?" Besh asked.

"Q'Daer thinks we're going too slowly, and he…"

"He thinks we're slowing you down," Besh said.

Grinsa nodded. "I'm not sure I agree with him. I'm still weak from Lici's plague. I don't know how much faster I can ride."

Besh stared ahead at the Fal'Borna, the expression on his round face revealing little. "What's his solution to this?"

"He wants you to leave your cart here. One or both of you can ride Jasha's horse, or ride with one of us."

"You want us to ride?" Sirj asked. The younger Mettai rarely said much, and when he did it was usually to the point and insightful. Grinsa couldn't remember hearing him sound this unsure of himself.

"What about our animal?" Besh said, before Grinsa could answer.

"The Fal'Borna would never do anything to harm a horse. Q'Daer said that we'd bring her with us, and maintain a pace that she could match. But I don't think you'd want to ride her."

A small grin flitted across Besh's features. "And I don't think she'd want it, either."

"I'm no rider," Sirj said. He shook his head and looked at Besh. "I don't like this."

Besh laid a hand on the other man's arm and offered a reassuring smile. Then he faced Grinsa once more. "We Mettai are not horsemen. We never have been. As for Lici's cart…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"What about her cart?"

Besh shrugged. "I was going to say that it's not ours to abandon. But of course it is now It's of no value to us except as a way of getting from one place to the next. My first point stands, though. We're not horsemen, Grinsa. Riding is…" He smiled weakly. "I'm sixty-four years old, and I've ridden perhaps three times in my entire life."

"I've never ridden," Sirj admitted.

"Fal'Borna horses are well trained," Grinsa said. He looked at them both, but eventually his gaze came to rest on Sirj. He sensed that if he could convince the younger man, Besh would agree. "I don't think either Torgan or Jasha were experienced riders, but these animals bore them. They'll bear you."

Sirj turned to Besh, looking like a frightened boy.

"This is your decision," Besh told him. "If you don't want to give up the cart, we won't. And if Q'Daer is in too much of a hurry to ride with us, they can leave us here."

"No," Sirj said, shaking his head. "We can't do that. We both know what the Fal'Borna would do to two Mettai out here alone on the plain." He faced Grinsa and took a long breath. "We'll ride."

Grinsa smiled. "That took some courage."

"I haven't done anything yet," Sirj said. "We'll see if I can actually bring myself to climb onto one of those beasts."

"Would you rather ride with one of us?"

The Mettai shared a look.

"No," Besh answered. "We'll share Jasha's horse."

"All right."

Grinsa called ahead to Q'Daer, who halted and turned. When Grinsa explained to him what was happening, the Fal'Borna rode back to where they were.

"You're willing to ride?" he asked, looking at both men.

"If the horse is willing to carry me," Sirj answered. He still looked deeply frightened.

Q'Daer, though, grinned at this. "Of course he'll carry you. He was trained by the Fal'Borna. He'll carry anyone."

It didn't take them long to empty the cart. Besh and Sirj had few belongings and had apparently gotten rid of Lici's things long ago. They removed the harness from the white nag, and tied their sleeping rolls to the saddle on Jasha's horse. There was little they could do with the cart. They didn't dare burn it, for fear of drawing attention to themselves. But if they left it where it was, someone would spot it eventually. In the end, with Besh's permission, Grinsa shattered it with shaping power, so that all that remained was a low pile of broken wood. Then Grinsa and Q'Daer helped them onto Jasha's mount and they resumed their journey southward.

They started out slowly, allowing Besh and Sirj to accustom themselves to riding. Besh sat in front and held the reins; Sirj gripped the back edge of the saddle so tightly that his knuckles turned white. But after a short while they seemed to grow more comfortable, as did the horse. The nag followed behind the others, her tail swinging slowly from side to side, as if she was pleased to have shed her burden.

They rested three or four times during the course of the day, and after the second stop, Sirj actually sat in front of Besh. By the time they halted for the night, both Mettai appeared at least somewhat at ease sitting their horse. Besh moved stiffly after dismounting, but that would pass in a few days. Grinsa wasn't convinced that they had gained much on this day by leaving the cart behind, but he had no doubt that they would be able to ride faster in coming days. Even Q'Daer seemed in better spirits than he had in some time.

As darkness fell, however, and the four men walked through a small copse gathering wood for a fire, Q'Daer, who was a short distance from Grinsa, suddenly looked up, alarm on his face.

"Do you hear that?" he said.

Grinsa shook his head. "What-?"

Q'Daer silenced him with a raised hand.

The Mettai were ahead of them, and a moment later Sirj called out, "Riders! From the north!"

"Damn," Grinsa muttered. "Fal'Borna?"

Q'Daer looked at him bleakly. "Or Eandi warriors."

Grinsa and the Fal'Borna started back toward their camp, where they'd left their horses. After a few strides they broke into a run.

The men were almost upon them by the time they reached their animals. Sirj got there a moment later. Besh was some distance behind him. He was jogging, and Grinsa could hear him gasping for breath.

"Besh?" Grinsa called.

"I'm all right. Worry about them, not me."

Grinsa nodded and turned to face the riders. There were two dozen of them, perhaps more, all of them with long white hair that they wore tied back from their faces. Fal'Borna. Grinsa supposed he should have been relieved that it wasn't an Eandi army, but at that moment he wasn't certain that they were much better off facing a Qirsi force.

Sirj reached for his blade, probably to cut the back of his hand and ready himself to conjure. Grinsa reached out and stopped him, drawing a nod from Q'Daer.

"He's right," the young Fal'Borna said. "Not yet. We don't want to draw attention to the fact that you're Mettai if we don't have to."

Grinsa reached forth with his magic to determine the abilities of the approaching warriors. "The man leading them is a Weaver," he said in a low voice.

"Yes," Q'Daer said. "But he's the only one."

They had several shapers in their company as well, and more than a dozen men who could wield fire magic. If this came to a fight, Grinsa and Q'Daer would be at a disadvantage.

Besh reached them at last and took his place beside Sirj. "We should have our knives out," he said.

Q'Daer looked at him as if he were a fool. "Only if you wish to convince them beyond any doubt that you're Mettai."

"Look at us," the old man said. "Look at our eyes, our skin, Sirj's hair. What else could we be but Mettai?"

"No knives yet," Q'Daer said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

A moment later the leader of the riders reined his mount to a halt a few fourspans from where they stood. His warriors spread themselves in an arcing line so that in a matter of moments Grinsa, Q'Daer, and the Mettai were nearly surrounded. The Fal'Borna held their spears ready, and Grinsa sensed that all of them were prepared to use their magic at a moment's notice.

"Who are you?" the leader demanded, eyeing each of the four men. "What are you doing here?" He was powerfully built, as all Fal'Borna men seemed to be. His face was round, his cheeks full, as if he was still more boy than man. But there was a confident look in his bright yellow eyes, and Grinsa had no doubt that he would prove a formidable foe if it came to a fight.

"My name is Q'Daer. I'm a Weaver in the sept of E'Menua, son of E'Sedt. With me is Grinsa, a Weaver from the Forelands who has joined our sept."

Grinsa wasn't sure he agreed with the characterization, but this didn't seem like the time to quibble.

"And who are you, friend?" Q'Daer asked.

"I am B'Vril. My father is S'Bahn, a'laq of my sept."

Q'Daer nodded. "I know of S'Bahn. E'Menua considers him a friend, and speaks often of his strength and the many Weavers he commands."

"And all who live on this plain know of E'Menua's wisdom and might." He looked at Besh and Sirj. "Are these men your prisoners then, Q'Daer?"

"They're our companions," Grinsa answered before the young Weaver could say anything.

B'Vril regarded him briefly. Then he faced Q'Daer again. "You had a cart. We found the remains of it earlier today and followed your tracks to here. Why did you leave it behind?"

"It was slowing us down," Q'Daer told him. "War is coming, and I'm eager-we are eager-to rejoin our a'laq and ready ourselves for battle."

"I can't help noticing that your companions…" He paused, his eyes flicking toward Grinsa for an instant. "Look Mettai."

"They are," Q'Daer said, holding his head high. "They have been declared friends of our people by F'Ghara, a'laq of a sept to the east."

"We know F'Ghara," B'Vril said coldly. "His sept is small, and he has no Weavers other than his daughters."

"That doesn't change the fact that he gave these men his stone."

As if anticipating what Q'Daer had intended to say, Besh was already holding up the necklace that F'Ghara had given him and Sirj as a token of friendship. It was a simple necklace, much like the ones Q'Daer and B'Vril both wore at their throats. It consisted of a thin black cord from which hung a single white stone.

"So you're telling me," B'Vril said, after barely glancing at the necklace, "that you left that cart back there because you're so eager to ride into battle, and yet you ride alongside those who would make war against us and steal our lands."

"These men killed the Mettai witch responsible for the plague that's been sickening the Fal'Borna," Grinsa said. "They've done more to save your people than any Qirsi warrior on this plain."

"You mean 'our people,' " B'Vril said, glaring at him.

Grinsa winced slightly, but held the man's gaze. "Yes, you're right. That is what I meant. I've only been in the Southlands for a few turns; this is all still very new to me."

B'Vril turned back to Q'Daer. "I don't know what to believe. You tell me that you and your company are returning to your sept, that you wish to fight the invaders. And yet from all that I see, you seem more like traitors than warriors. You ride with the Mettai, and this…" He gestured toward Grinsa with his chin, "this Forelander."

Grinsa expected Q'Daer to bristle at being called a traitor, but to the young Weaver's credit, he kept his temper in check.

"I'd think the same thing if I were in your place," he said. "And I can't offer any proof that we're telling you the truth. You're just going to have to trust us."

B'Vril shook his head. "I don't."

Q'Daer's expression hardened. Apparently his forbearance only went so far. "Suit yourselves. But one way or another, I think it's time you and your men were leaving."

The other man's laugh was harsh and abrupt. "How do you intend to make us go, Q'Daer? Do you have an army hidden somewhere nearby?" His soldiers laughed.

"No," Grinsa said. "But we have two Weavers to your one. And we have these two Mettai, as well. We're not your enemies, and Q'Daer is no traitor. But you'd do well to leave now."

"You have much to learn about the Fal'Borna, Forelander."

"And you have much to learn about magic." He glanced at Q'Daer. "I'll handle the Weaver," he said. "I've some experience with men like him. You control the others. Don't let them do anything."

Q'Daer nodded, tight-lipped, his eyes watchful.

"Besh," Grinsa went on, "I seem to remember you using a spell in S'Vralna that drove off some men who were trying to hurt you. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember. I used that spell against Lici, too."

Out of the corner of his eye, Grinsa saw both Mettai men reach for their knives. He knew that the Fal'Borna would try to shatter their blades with shaping magic; that was what he would have done in their position. But he was ready for them. B'Vril, he sensed, had already readied his magic and was aiming his shaping power at Besh's knife. Grinsa reached out with his own magic and took hold of the Weaver's power.

B'Vril's eyes snapped to his. Grinsa could feel him fighting to use his magic, to free himself from Grinsa's control. But Grinsa had done this before. While still in the Forelands he had led an army of Qirsi against the renegade Weaver who sought to rule all the seven realms. That Weaver had been stronger by far than this man. And in the end Grinsa had won.

Shaping. Fire. Mists and winds. Language of beasts. Shaping, again. Even healing and delusion. B'Vril tried every magic at his disposal. And each time he reached for a new one, Grinsa was there to stop him.

Grinsa heard Besh speaking in a low voice-he was conjuring. "Wait, Besh," he said.

He knew that the old man had turned to look at him, but Grinsa didn't look away from the Fal'Borna rider. Finally, B'Vril let out a roar of frustration.

"Do something!" he yelled at his men. "Use your magic!"

"We can't!" said one of the other warriors. "The Fal'Borna won't let us."

"Damn you!" B'Vril said, glaring at Grinsa.

But Grinsa hadn't finished with him yet. Thus far, all he'd done was keep the man from attacking them. Now, he took hold of B'Vril's shaping power and slowly began to squeeze the man's skull, as if he intended to shatter the bone.

Suddenly the Fal'Borna stopped grappling for control of his various magics and instead fought desperately to expel Grinsa from his mind.

"You feel what I'm doing to you?" Grinsa asked the man.

B'Vril nodded, wide-eyed, his mouth agape.

"You understand that I could kill you with a thought?"

He nodded a second time.

Grinsa eased the pressure on the man's head, but he didn't release his magic.

"Who are you?" the man asked, still regarding Grinsa the way he might a demon from Bian's realm.

"Just a Weaver, like you," Grinsa said. "And believe it or not, I'm a friend."

B'Vril merely stared back at him.

"If Q'Daer was a traitor-if I was in league with the Eandi who are marching against your people-we'd have killed you all by now. There's nothing stopping us."

"What was it the Mettai were going to do?"

Grinsa hesitated, but only for an instant. If it turned out that they still had to fight these men, he felt confident that Besh and Sirj could think of another way to attack them. He nodded to Besh.

Besh cut the back of his hand with his knife, caught the welling blood on the flat of the blade, and mixed it with the earth he already held. He spoke a few words as he did this, though he kept his voice so low that Grinsa couldn't make them out. The dark mud in his palm began to swirl and as it did Besh threw it straight up into the air. Before their eyes, the mud appeared to fracture into a hundred pieces. An instant later, each of those clumps of dirt had begun to buzz, so that the air around them was filled with the sound.

"Hornets?" B'Vril whispered, staring at the cloud of insects.

The insects circled over them once and streamed away toward the nearby wood.

"Hornets," Besh said, grinning.

B'Vril stared at him. After a moment he began to laugh. "You were going to attack us with hornets?"

"It would have worked," Sirj said, sounding angry.

"I don't doubt it," the Fal'Borna said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "But I was expecting you to try to kill us. And you were going to use hornets." He looked at Grinsa again. "You can release my magic, Forelander. I believe you now."

The other warrior looked at his leader, clearly puzzled. "Weaver?" he said. "It's all right. Lower your weapons."

"Now it's my turn," Grinsa told him. "I'm not sure I trust you."

B'Vril threw down his spear, pulled the knife from his belt, and threw that onto the ground as well.

"We both know that your weapons are meaningless in this fight."

"It doesn't matter," Q'Daer said. "If he's laid down his spear, this fight is over. That's our way."

Grinsa and Q'Daer shared a look.

"You can let go of his magic," the young Weaver told him. "There isn't a Fal'Borna alive who would drop his weapon before another Fal'Borna and then attack."

Still Grinsa hesitated. If B'Vril truly thought that Q'Daer had betrayed his people, would he still consider him Fal'Borna?

"The rest of you do the same," B'Vril called to his men. "Your spears and your blades."

The other warriors dropped their weapons on the ground beside their mounts.

Grinsa took a long breath and then, with great reluctance, eased his grip on B'Vril's magic. The man smiled with obvious relief and nodded.

"Thank you," he said. "Perhaps one day you'll show me how you did that." Grinsa had to grin. "Perhaps."

B'Vril dismounted, walked to Q'Daer, and held out his hands. Q'Daer gripped the man's wrists from below so that B'Vril could grip his wrists from above at the same time. It was a traditional Fal'Borna greeting, one that Grinsa had seen before. When B'Vril released Q'Daer and turned to him, offering his hands in the same way, Grinsa knew just what to do.

"I see you've learned some of our customs," he said.

Grinsa nodded. "Some, yes. There's still much I don't know."

B'Vril let go of his arms and turned to the Mettai. He didn't approach them, nor did he offer the customary greeting. But he looked both men in the eye.

"Your people are marching to war against us."

"Yes," Besh said. "I don't know why. I never thought I'd see the day when we involved ourselves in your battles with the Eandi."

"Your people are also responsible for the pestilence that's been destroying Fal'Borna villages. Is it such a leap to believe they'd bring war as well as plague to our plain?"

"The plague was brought here by one person," Sirj said hotly. "And Besh killed her. We've told you that already."

Besh placed a hand on Sirj's shoulder.

"Her name was Lici," the older man said. "She's the one Sirj is talking about. She came from our village, and we followed her. Eventually we captured her, and in the end I had no choice but to kill her. You're right, though. It was a Mettai curse that killed those people and razed their villages. It was also a Mettai spell that cured Grinsa and Q'Daer of Lici's plague. I created that spell, and I can use it tonight to make you and your men immune to the plague, so that if you encounter any more of Lici's cursed baskets you'll be safe. And later, you can use your healing magic to spread my spell through your entire sept. Your people need never fear that curse again."

Clearly, this was more than B'Vril had expected. He eyed Besh with obvious curiosity, but his mistrust seemed to have vanished, and a small grin played at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, this has been a most extraordinary evening," he said at last. "I'll consider your offer, Mettai. Even before this war, I never thought that I'd allow a Mettai to use his magic on me, but I would be… relieved to know that I was immune to that plague."

"Let me know when you're ready," Besh said.

B'Vril nodded to him, gave Sirj a quick, uncertain look, and turned back to Q'Daer. "We should talk, Weaver to Weaver. I need to know…" He faltered, glancing once more at the Mettai. "I have questions for you."

"Of course," Q'Daer said. "When you arrived, we were about to build a fire and eat. We don't have enough food to feed you and your men, but you're welcome to sup with us."

"I'd like… I'd like to speak with you and the Forelander alone." Q'Daer looked at Besh and Sirj.

"Yes, all right," Besh said, his voice flat. "We'll make our own fire. I'm tired anyway. Too much riding."

Grinsa caught Besh's eye. "Where I can see you," he said.

The old man nodded, casting a wary eye toward the Fal'Borna warriors. "Yes, I understand."

He and Sirj walked off a short distance, taking with them the wood they had gathered. Grinsa and Q'Daer quickly built their own fire, and soon were sitting beside it, eating a bit of dried rilda meat and cheese, while B'Vril sat across from them, also eating rilda.

"You had questions?" Q'Daer asked after some time.

"Are you sure you can trust them?" B'Vril asked immediately, as if he'd been aching to say the words the whole time. "The Mettai, I mean."

Q'Daer smiled thinly. "I knew who you meant." He looked at Grinsa briefly. "For a long time I wasn't sure. And then I got their plague and I was certain that they had cursed me. But they saved me. The Forelander, too. That spell Besh offered to use on you… Let him. It'll protect you."

B'Vril nodded once, but he still looked uncertain. "So, these Mettai can be trusted. But the rest…"

"The rest have made themselves enemies of the Fal'Borna," Q'Daer said.

"That's right," B'Vril said. "And that's why I wanted to speak with you. We know so little about their magic. At first I thought that finding you was nothing more than chance, but I realize now that it's a gift from the gods." He leaned forward. "You've seen them conjure," he went on in a lower voice. "Now, tonight, I've seen it, too. But there's so much more I need to know."

"Yes, of course."

"Q'Daer," Grinsa said, frowning.

The young Weaver looked at him, as if daring Grinsa to say more.

And really, what could Grinsa say? A group of Mettai had joined the Eandi army that was marching toward Fal'Borna land. The Qirsi had every right to defend themselves and to speak of what they knew about blood magic.

Grinsa shook his head and stared into the fire. "Never mind," he said quietly.

"From what I've seen, there are three elements to Mettai conjurings," Q'Daer began. "Blood, which they get by cutting themselves on the back of their hands, as you saw the old man do; earth, which they can simply pick up; and the spell itself, which you heard the man speak to himself."

"Do they have to say it out loud?" B'Vril asked.

Q'Daer said nothing. Grinsa realized that both men were watching him, waiting for him to answer.

"I'm new to this land," he said, not bothering to look at them. "I don't know any more about their magic than you do."

"You talk with them," Q'Daer said. "I've seen you. I think you know a great deal about how they conjure."

Grinsa didn't answer.

"They're marching against us," the young Weaver went on, sounding angry. "And if you think that the Eandi army and their allies will spare you or your woman or your child because you're from the Forelands rather than the plain, you're a fool and worse. Your hair is white; your eyes are yellow. To them, you're the enemy regardless of where you were born."

Grinsa knew Q'Daer was right, though it made his chest ache just to admit as much to himself.

"Yes, they have to say it aloud," he finally told them. He felt as though he was betraying Besh and Sirj, and he wanted to rail at Q'Daer and B'Vril for drawing him into their war with the Eandi.

Instead he raised his eyes, meeting Q'Daer's gaze. "What else do you want to know?"