The Horsemen's Gambit

Chapter 3

The cold winds of the Harvest had come early to the plain, carrying with them steel grey skies and bands of hard rain that could soak through the thickest woolen wraps in mere moments. Even during the warmest, most pleasant days of the Growing, when soft breezes stirred the grasses and wildflowers bloomed on the hillsides in more shades of red, purple, orange, and yellow than one could imagine, these were inhospitable lands. Few trees grew among the boulders and grasses, and when the days turned hot, travelers found little shelter from the Growing sun. The Growing storms, when they struck, were harsh, violent affairs: hail, wind, lightning that seemed to make the air crackle, and thunder that could cause the mightiest warriors to cringe.

But only when those warm days gave way to the Harvest, with its drenching rains and merciless gales, did the weather on the plain begin to bare its teeth. And yet even the Harvest was mild when compared with the cruelty of the Snows. Judging from this year's rains, it seemed that the cold turns ahead would be truly monstrous.

For Lariqenne Glyse, these lands were doubly dangerous. Apart from the climate and the terrain, she had to contend with the hostility of nearly every man and woman she encountered. Such was the fate of an Eandi merchant looking to make her gold in Fal'Borna lands. The Qirsi warriors of the plain were among the most fearsome of all the white-hairs of the Southlands, and they were second to none in their hatred of the Eandi. Yes, Lariqenne-Lark, as she was known-was a merchant, and of all the people of the sovereignties, traders were most accepted by the sorcerer race. But still, her arrival in a Fal'Borna sept never failed to cause a stir. It didn't help matters that she was a woman. The Fal'Borna of the plain were strictly patriarchal-women were expected to serve their men in all ways imaginable. This made haggling with Qirsi men over the price of her wares interesting, to say the least.

Yet Lark had survived, even prospered. There were times when she had to endure cold glares and insults. Men who found her too unyielding in striking a bargain often walked away bitter, their pride wounded. Over the years, some had called her a whore. A few had threatened to kill her and one, a young warrior in a village near the Fallow Downs, had tried to make good on his threats. Only the timely intervention of an older Fal'Borna who knew her from her previous visits had kept him from succeeding. She still bore a scar on her breast from the first thrust of his blade.

Over the years, she had learned the ways of the Fal'Borna. She always sought out the a'laq-the sept leader-sometime on the day of her arrival in any settlement. She suffered the tales of men who thought it amusing to recount their romantic conquests in vivid detail, and on those occasions when she found herself haggling with Qirsi men, she always did so in even, respectful tones. On the other hand, she no longer lowered her eyes when dealing with Fal'Borna men. Early on, she had done so as a matter of course, thinking it safest to appear respectful, lest the men think that she was challenging them. She had learned, however, that the warriors often took this as a sign of weakness, as license to treat her as they would a Fal'Borna woman. By meeting their gazes straight on, by letting them see the dark brown of her eyes, she reminded them of who and what she was. You may not like me, she told them with her directness, but you will not take advantage of me.

Perhaps as a result, she had earned something of a reputation among the septs of the Central Plain, not only for the quality of her wares, but also for her courage. Her friends among the other Eandi peddlers might have called her Lark, but to the Fal'Borna she was K'Lahm, so named for the small, wild dog of the highlands known for its fearlessness.

On those few occasions when she returned to her native Stelpana to visit with family and old friends, her conversations turned invariably to the difficulties of trading with the Qirsi.

"Why would you want to do business with the white-hairs," her father often asked her, "when you can just as easily trade here, with your own kind?"

She always responded the same way. "There's more gold to be made on the plain than in any Eandi city."

This was true in a sense. Certainly there were riches to be made in the large cities of Stelpana, but there were also far more merchants there, competing for their share of the gold. Out here, on the plain, she was one of only a small number of Eandi merchants bringing Eandi goods-Qosantian blankets, Tordjanni wines, smoked fish from the shores of the Ofirean-to the Qirsi clanfolk. She would have to work harder, travel farther, endure hardships unknown to the merchants of the sovereignties, but she would grow rich more quickly here than she could anywhere else.

Her father could only shrug when she argued thus, because he knew she was right. But this wasn't the real reason she returned to the plain again and again. The truth was, she liked the challenge, the danger. She enjoyed returning to her home village with tales that left her father and brothers wide-eyed, wondering that their little Lariqenne should see and say and do such things. The scar she still bore high on her breast had been enough to win her brothers' unwavering admiration. Trading in the cities of Stelpana would have bored her to death, so instead she risked her life trading with the Fal'Borna.

Her goods were always of decent quality; not to the level of Torgan Plye, or even Brint HedFarren, Young Red, as he was known in their circle, but good enough that she was now known as a merchant who could be trusted, no small thing among the clans.

Today, though, she was carrying in her cart items of such quality that she didn't quite know how to trade them. When she first saw Young Red's baskets at the bend in the river, where she often gathered with her fellow merchants to share food and wine and good conversation, she had been overwhelmed. Never had she seen baskets of any sort, Mettai, Aelean, or B'Qahr, that could match these in both color and tightness of weave. Usually Lark wasn't one to carry items that would fetch too high a price. She preferred to turn over her stock with some frequency, as opposed to someone like Torgan, the one-eyed Eandi trader, who was willing to hold on to goods for several turns, even as long as a year, until he got the price he wanted. But these baskets had called to her, and she had purchased sixteen of them from Young Red, at a price of one and a half sovereigns apiece.

It had been an extravagance, one she had regretted ever since. Such baskets made the rest of her wares appear coarse by comparison, and if she were to make any profit at all, she'd have to charge at least two sovereigns for them, making them easily the dearest items in her cart. And so, she'd kept them packed away in the first two settlements she visited. Better to save them for the proper setting, she told herself. But really she was afraid, though she couldn't say why. Maybe she feared that she'd been duped by young HedFarren, though she knew the man better than to think that he'd take advantage of his friends in such a way. But what if she had made an error in buying them? What if she had squandered her twenty-four sovereigns on baskets that looked pretty, but were worth only a fraction as much? Or what if they were just as fine as Brint and the others had said, and she sold them for too little? What if she got her two sovereigns for each, only to learn later the Stam Corfej had sold his dozen for twice that amount?

She kept them hidden away, pretending she didn't have them, only taking the time to look at them again when she was alone on the plain. In truth, she would have liked to keep them all. Regardless of what they were really worth, she thought them beautiful.

At last, though, she resolved to sell them, or at least to try. She was close enough to the Thraedes that she could venture all the way to its banks and stop in some of the larger established settlements there. Selling such finery in the septs might have proven difficult, but the men and women of the Qirsi cities were every bit as willing to spend their gold as those who lived in the largest cities of the Eandi sovereignties.

On this morning, the third of the waxing, she had come within sight of S'Vralna, one of the more hospitable cities in Fal'Borna lands. It seemed as good a place as any to try to sell the baskets.

Like so many of the fortified settlements in the central plain, S'Vralna had once been an Eandi stronghold. Silvralna, the Eandi had called it, until it was taken from them during the last of the Blood Wars. As with most other cities lost by the Eandi-Ubrundai, Deraqor, Raetel-Silvralna had been renamed by its Fal'Borna conquerors. Not drastically, but rather just enough to be familiar and yet clearly Qirsi. It almost seemed that the white-hairs sought to taunt the former denizens of the settlements. "It was yours once," these new names said, "but now it belongs to us."

S'Vralna, or Silvralna, as Lark preferred to think of it, sat at the elbow of a small bend in the Thraedes, its stark white walls ghostlike against the dark clouds that hung overhead. Gates along the north, south, and east walls, six in all, were guarded by armed Fal'Borna warriors, though no army had threatened the city in more than a century. Towers rose above each gate and also above each of the four corners of the city walls. Two archers stood in every parapet. Lark couldn't help feeling that all these guards and weapons were merely for show, and yet she also couldn't deny that she was impressed by the Fal'Borna's continued vigilance, even in the face of more than a hundred years of peace. It bespoke a strength and discipline that her own people would have been hard-pressed to match. And the thought came to her with the power of a revelation: This is why we lost.

As she approached the east gate, Lark noticed that the guards were stopping peddlers' carts and searching them and for a moment she thought about passing the city by and continuing on to the south, toward Deraqor. But the guards appeared to be making quick work of their searches, and she had already come a long way in the past few days. She needed food and wanted to find a bit of wine as well, something other than the pale Qosantian honey wine she was selling. Best just to remain here.

Before long, she had reached the front of the column. One of the guards approached her, his eyes so pale they appeared white, just like his hair, which was tied back from his face.

"What are you selling today, dark-eye?" the man asked, sounding bored.

"My usual wares," Lark told him, refusing to flinch away from that wraithlike gaze. "Blankets, cloth, a few blades, some smoked fish, wine-"

"Any baskets?" the guard demanded.

Lark blinked. "Yes. Several."

Instantly, the man's entire bearing changed. "Where did you get them?" he asked, his tone crisp. Had his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword?

"From another merchant," she said. "What's this about?"

"The merchant's name?"

"I won't tell you that until I know why you're asking."

His blade was out and leveled at her neck before she could draw breath. "The a'laq takes this matter most seriously, dark-eye," he said, low and menacing. "Don't toy with me. Now I'll ask you one last time, who sold you your baskets?"

She swallowed, reluctant to give Brint's name to this Qirsi, but knowing that if she defied the man again, angering her friend would be the least of her worries. "His name is Brint HedFarren."

The soldier appeared to relax somewhat at the mention of Brint's name. "And where was this?" he asked.

"East of here, on the plain."

"How long have you had them?"

"Half a turn perhaps."

"And have you stopped in other Fal'Borna septs in that time?"

"Yes, a few."

"And you've noticed nothing unusual."

Lark shook her head. "No, nothing."

He nodded and lowered his blade. "Very well." He stepped away from her cart and motioned her through the gate. "You can pass."

She frowned. "Can't you tell me what this is about?"

"Apparently some are trading baskets that carry the pestilence with them. Obviously, we don't want any of them in our city."

The pestilence? In baskets? "No," Lark said, still not quite understanding. "Of course you don't."

"Get moving there!" came a voice from behind her; one of the other merchants no doubt.

Lark flicked the reins and clicked her tongue at Ashes, her dappled grey gelding. The old horse started forward through the archway. But still Lark shook her head, her brow furrowed. How could the pestilence come from baskets, except through some dark magic? Were the Fal'Borna at war with one of the other clans? Were they fighting their own kind?

She steered Ashes through the broad stone lanes to the large marketplace in the center of the city. This late in the morning, the market teemed with peddlers and buyers alike. Her mind fixed on what she had heard from the Qirsi guard, Lark noticed immediately that few of the other peddlers had any baskets for sale. She should have been pleased. Stam or Brint or any of the others would have been. Her baskets were sure to fetch a good price and sell quickly. But as before, Lark wondered if she should just leave them in her cart for today. Perhaps people here would be afraid to buy them. They might even be offended if she displayed them with her other wares.

She found a small space between two Eandi traders. She guessed that they were from Tordjanne, or maybe the southern shores of Qosantia: both were fair-skinned, with well-groomed beards and yellow hair that they wore short. They displayed goods from every other sovereignty except Tordjanne, but this wasn't all that unusual. Tordjannis were born merchants; they made few articles themselves.

The men nodded to her as she took her place between them, spread a blanket on the ground, and began to put out her goods.

"Good day so far?" she asked the one on her left as she worked.

The man shrugged and grimaced, then gave a slight shake of his head. Looking at him again, she saw that his hair and beard weren't so much fair as white, and his face was more deeply lined than she'd first noticed.

"Not so good," he said. "It's harvest time. Everyone's selling; no one's buying."

Qosantian. Definitely. She'd know that accent anywhere. "You're from Ferenham," she said. "Or maybe Harborton."

The man grinned at that, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "Ferenham. And you're from north shores of the Ofirean. Stelpana, if I had to guess."

She smiled. "I'm Lark."

"Lark, is it? The woman who sings so well. I've heard of you." He tapped his chest. "The name's Antal Krost."

"Nice to meet you." She glanced over at the merchant on her other side, but he seemed intent on ignoring them. She cast a questioning look at Antal, who merely shrugged again, an amused grin on his face.

"What are you selling, Lark?" Antal asked, pulling out a skin and taking a small drink. He offered it to her. "Wine?"

She shook her head. "Too early for me, thanks." She gestured vaguely at her old display blanket, which was already half covered with bolts of multicolored cloth and heavier woolen blankets. "Nothing that unusual," she told him. She hesitated, but only for an instant. "I have some baskets in my cart, but I'm wondering now if I should just leave them there."

Antal raised an eyebrow. "Baskets, you say?"

Lark nodded.

He stood and walked to her cart. "Let's have a look."

She joined him at the back of her wagon, and pushed aside the cloth that covered her goods. Seeing the baskets, Antal whistled through his teeth.

"You'd be mad to leave those in the cart. They'll bring a good price, even this time of year." He glanced at her. "If you hadn't noticed, there's a hit of a shortage of good baskets in S'Vralna."

"So I heard. What's this about the pestilence?"

"I'm not certain I understand it,"^- Antal said. "Seems there's been pestilence east of here, near the wash. Somehow the Fal'Borna have convinced themselves that the baskets are spreading it. They think it's some Mettai curse, and they think that our kind are using the baskets to attack the septs."

"It's no' jest any pestilence."

Lark and Antal turned to look at the other merchant, who continued to sit just as he had, staring straight ahead, as if still ignoring them.

"What do you know about it?" Antal demanded.

"Jest what I's heard. It's no' a pestilence like any other. It's a white-hair plague." He looked at them, dark eyes peering out from beneath a shock of yellow hair. He wasn't a young man, but neither was he as old as Antal. "It don' touch our kind," he went on. "Jest them. That's why they's so scared. It only kills them." He stared at them another moment. Then he faced forward, his expression unreadable. Had Lark not seen him speak, she might have thought that the words had come from someone else.

She turned back to Antal. "Those baskets are Mettai," she said in a low voice. "And I was near the wash when I got them."

Antal smiled and shook his head. "Don't let him scare you," he said, dropping his voice as well. "Mettai curses? White-hair plagues? If you ask me it's all nonsense." He nodded toward her cart. "What did you pay for them?"

"One and a half sovereigns for each."

"You'll get three for them here. Two and a half at least. And they may well be the only things you sell." He shrugged. "It's up to you of course, but if it was me, I'd have them out already."

Lark knew Antal was right. Ignoring her lingering doubts, she retrieved the baskets from her cart and placed them on the blanket, pushing aside goods of lesser quality in order to make room for them. She started by putting out eight of them, but at Antal's urging, ended up with all sixteen on display.

"That's it," the older merchant said as she laid out the last of them. "Let them be seen. No one ever bought any goods of mine that they didn't see first." He winked at her and smiled.

Even with her baskets out for all to see, it proved to be as slow a morning as Lark could remember having in any of the larger Fal'Borna cities. It seemed that the cold winds had people frightened of the coming Snows. Or maybe word of the pestilence had scared folk so much that they were refusing to buy any goods from Eandi peddlers. A few people wandered past and some lingered over her display, but none of them so much as touched any of her wares, and many of those who did pause to look at her goods stared warily at those colorful Mettai baskets.

"Maybe I should put them away," she muttered, as the midday bells echoed through the marketplace. "I think they're scaring people."

But Antal merely shook his head. "Give it time. They'll come around."

Not long after, a young Fal'Borna woman stopped in front of Lark and surveyed her offerings. Like so many of the women in the plains clan, she was short and muscular, with bronzed skin that would have been quite unusual for a daughter of any other Qirsi nation. She planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest before nodding toward the baskets.

"Where did you get those?" she demanded.

"The eastern plain," Lark said. "I bought them from another merchant."

"You know what's been done to our people with baskets like those?"

"I do now. I heard about it today for the first time."

"Yet you continue to display these. No doubt you hope to make a tidy profit by selling them."

"That's what we do," Antal said, drawing the woman's glare. "We're merchants."

The Fal'Borna woman twisted her mouth sourly.

"They're as fine as any baskets I've ever sold," Lark said. "You're welcome to pick one up and look at it. I'm sure you'll agree that they're beautifully made."

"I'm not certain I want to touch them at all," the woman said.

Two other Fal'Borna had stopped near Lark's blanket and were listening to their conversation.

Lark nodded, taking care to hold the woman's gaze. She wanted to keep the other two interested as well, but she knew that the woman was the key. If she could be convinced to buy, the others would follow her example. And once people in the marketplace saw that some had bought the baskets, their fears might be allayed somewhat. "I understand why you might be afraid of them," she said. "If I'd heard all that you probably have, I'd be scared, too. But the guards at your gate let me through. They asked me questions about the baskets, but they came to the conclusion that your people have nothing to fear from them. Even if you don't trust me, you must trust them, right?"

Lark sensed Antal nodding his approval.

The woman hesitated, then squatted down and reached for one of the baskets. Her hand paused over the handle, but then she took hold of it and stood. It was a deep basket, with a simple arching handle and grass osiers. It was brightly colored-reds, blues, yellows-and the coloring was as even and vivid as any Lark had ever seen. Had she the means to keep some of the baskets for herself, this would have been one of them.

"How much for this one?" the woman asked.

All of them were watching her-the other Fal'Borna, Antal, even the ill-tempered merchant on her right. Still, Lark held the woman's gaze. "Three sovereigns," she said.

The Fal'Borna frowned and shook her head. "Too much." But she didn't put the basket down. "One and a half."

Lark smiled. "No." She turned to the Fal'Borna who were standing nearby. "Can I interest you in a basket? Perhaps two?"

The first woman glanced at them, taking a small step toward Lark, as if to put herself between the merchant and the other Qirsi. "Wait, now. We're not done here. How much for this?"

"The price is three sovereigns," Lark said evenly.

The woman pressed her lips thin, looking angry. "I'll pay two and a half. Not a silver more."

Two and a half was a good price, and though she agreed with Antal that the baskets might well fetch three somewhere, they wouldn't bring that much here, not with all that had been said about Mettai baskets on this day. She made a show of mulling over the offer, but she'd made up her mind almost immediately.

"Very well," she said after a suitable pause. "Two and a half."

The Fal'Borna pulled a small coin pouch from within her wrap and counted out the money. After handing the coins to Lark, she turned and walked away, saying nothing more. Typical Fal'Borna manners.

Lark pocketed the coins and turned to the other Qirsi, who had already begun to sort through the remaining baskets. Within the next few moments she sold six more of them, all for two and a half. She also sold a blanket and two bolts of cloth. Antal sold several items as well, and for a short while it seemed like a normal day in any market. Then, just as quickly, their flurry of sales ended, and the merchants were alone again, the crowd of customers gone.

"There'll be more," Antal said, looking around, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "It's early yet."

Lark just nodded, hoping he was right.

"I was surprised you let the baskets go for so little," the man added a moment later.

She nodded, then sighed. "I know. There are others who might have held out for three."

Antal shrugged, but she could guess at what he was thinking.

"I just thought that with all these tales of the pestilence flying around, I was lucky to be selling them at all."

The man's eyebrows went up. "Well, you might be right about that. Hadn't looked at it that way."

Before either of them could say more, a second cluster of buyers came by, and many of them were drawn immediately to the baskets. This time Lark held out for three sovereigns, and though two of the Fal'Borna walked away, refusing to pay that much, three others paid the price, and two of them bought a pair each.

"Seems you were right," Lark said after they'd gone. "From now on, I'll take nothing less than three."

Antal grinned and nodded.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way. Occasional waves of buyers interrupted long periods when the merchants had little or nothing to do. It made for a long, slow day, but by the time sunset neared Lark had sold several blankets, some cloth, a bit of wine, and much of her smoked fish. Best of all, she had sold all but five of her baskets-eleven in all. And aside from the first few, she'd managed to sell each of them for three sovereigns.

"Looks like you had a good day after all," Antal commented, as he packed up his wares. "Better than I did, that's for certain."

Lark smiled. "I did pretty well," she admitted.

"Well, I'm glad for you. You moving on, or will you be here tomorrow?"

"I'm moving on," she said. "I'll sleep outside the gates tonight and head toward D'Raqor in the morning."

"More's the pity."

Lark paused over her goods, glancing at the old man. Her travels had been lonelier than usual since that night at the bend when she supped with her fellow merchants. Until today, that is.

"How 'bout if I buy you a meal before I go?"

Antal looked up at her and grinned. "I have some food with me as well. I can supply a bit of cheese, some dried breads maybe."

She shook her head. "No, I mean I'd really like to buy supper for you-in a tavern here in the city. An ale as well."

The man frowned, though he appeared interested. "You certain?"

"I had a good day, and thanks to your prodding, I got a few extra sovereigns for those baskets. Supper and an ale seems the least I can do."

Antal nodded once, smiling once more. "All right, then. You convinced me. Supper it is. Where?"

She shook her head. "I don't know the city all that well. You'll have to choose."

He laughed. "I can do that. In fact, I know just the place."

It was called simply the River House and it was tucked away on a narrow lane near the quays, at the southern end of the city. They drove their carts to a small alleyway near the river, and left them there, Antal assuring her that their wares and their horses would be safe.

"I've done this before," the man said. "Never had any problem."

The River House didn't look like much from outside, but within it was brightly lit with candles and oil lamps and the bar and tables were clean and well tended. It smelled of fresh bread and roasted fish.

"Best river bass in the city," Antal said, with a nod and a knowing look. "Trust me."

Lark had to smile. One might have thought from the way he was acting that he would be the one paying for their meals. Too late it occurred to her that Antal might have taken her invitation as something more than just a friendly gesture. She would have to tread carefully; she had no interest in a romance with the man, but neither did she wish to hurt his feelings.

As they sat at a table near the back, Antal signaled the barkeep for a pair of ales.

"So you're off to D'Raqor, eh?" Antal said, after a brief, awkward silence. "Yes. And then south to the Ofirean."

"You been there before? D'Raqor, I mean."

Lark nodded and smiled. "Many times. I've been selling in Fal'Borna lands for the better part of twenty years."

"Then I needn't tell you that the white-hairs aren't any friendlier there than they are here. In fact they might be worse."

"Yes, I-" She stopped, frowning. She could hear the gate bells ringing again. "Now what's that about?" she said, looking toward a small window by their table.

Antal shrugged. "Probably the twilight bells."

"No," Lark said, shaking her head. "They rang the twilight while we were driving our carts over here."

Antal frowned in turn. "You're certain?"

Lark nodded. After a moment she stood and walked to the door, thinking that she could hear… Yes. When she reached the doorway, she was certain of it. People were shouting, and the voices were coming from several directions.

"What do you suppose it is?" Antal asked, joining her at the door.

Lark shivered, feeling the hairs on her arms stand on edge. Something about this troubled her. "I don't know," she muttered.

"It's probably-"

She cast him a look, silencing him. "Listen!" she said. "Can you make out what they're saying?"

He closed his eyes, as if in concentration. Lark did the same. At first, she still could not make out what was being said. But gradually, as those who cried out moved closer to the river, certain words began to stand out among those that remained unintelligible.

"… Gates… Market… Fever… Healer… Eandi… Pestilence…"

Lark's eyes flew open. Antal was already watching her, looking pale and frightened.

"It can't be!" she whispered. Abruptly she was trembling, her stomach tight and sour.

"Those baskets-"

"No! It's not possible!" But she knew it was, had known all day, from the time the guard first alerted her to the possibility. Had she visited other septs with those baskets? he had asked her. And she had told him the truth: that she had. But she'd neglected to tell him all. "I never took them out of my cart in the other septs."

"What?" Antal demanded.

Lark hadn't even known that she was speaking the words out loud. "Nothing," she muttered, shaking her head. "I need to find the people who bought those baskets."

"It's too late for that," the old merchant said. "You need to get out of this city, before the Fal'Borna find you."

"But all those people-"

"They're dead already," he said, his words striking at her like a fist. "If this really is the pestilence, there's nothing you can do for them now, even if it did come from your baskets."

"We're not sick."

"No," Antal said. "We're not. What was it Kary called it? A white-hair plague? Seems he was right."

She turned to look at the man, raking both hands through her dark hair. "So, you're saying that I should run away?"

"It's all you can do." He said. "You can't help them, but you can save yourself. We'll find-"

Suddenly there were voices nearby. Antal grabbed Lark's arm and pulled her into a narrow byway not far from the tavern entrance. They pressed themselves against the building wall as a pair of uniformed Qirsi walked by.

"There's pestilence in th' city!" one of the men shouted, his voice echoing through the lanes. "Th' gates ha' been closed, an' so has th' market! Stay in yer homes! If'n ye has a fever, light two candles an' leave 'em by yer door! A healer will be along! Stay away from Eandi merchants! If'n ye bought somethin' from one, burn it now! There's pestilence in th' city. Th' gates ha' been closed…"

"How do I leave now?" Lark asked when the men were gone. "You heard them: The gates have been closed."

Antal rubbed a hand over his mouth, his eyes trained on the wall behind her. "They'll have to open them again, eventually. You have no choice but to wait them out."

"Wait them out? Where? I have no place to stay! They'll be looking for our carts! For all we know they've taken them already."

"I doubt that," Antal said. "But I take your point. Let's get back to them and see if we can't find a better place to hide. We can't be the only Eandi left in the city."

They hurried back to the river and, to their profound relief, found the horses and carts just where they'd left them. Unfortunately, while they were still on the small byway where they'd left them, they heard another pair of guards approaching.

Once again, it seemed the gods were smiling on the merchants: the guards turned off the broader avenue before reaching their alleyway. But it was clear to Lark that she couldn't evade the Fal'Borna forever. She didn't know the city well enough, and though Antal did, so long as they remained together, they would be easier to spot.

"Maybe I should just go to them," she said. "Give myself up."

Antal shook his head vehemently. "No. They'll kill you. You've been trading with the Fal'Borna long enough to know their ways. You'd be better off…" He trailed off, gazing toward the water.

"What is it?" she asked, twisting around, trying to see what he was looking at.

"I was going to say that you'd be better off throwing yourself in the river. But maybe that's not such a bad idea after all."

"The river?"

"It's deep here. Too deep to cross. But if we can stay by the river and get to the north end of the city, we might have a chance. It's still deep, but not as."

"How do you know?"

"I used to work the trading boats between here and the Ofirean. I have some knowledge of these waters." He climbed onto his cart and took up the reins. "Follow me," he said. "And try to keep your animal quiet."

Lark nodded and whispered a soothing word to Ashes before climbing into her seat and starting after the man. By this time it was growing dark, and the lanes by the quays were narrow and poorly lit. Again, though, Antal's knowledge of the city served them well. He navigated the alleys and byways confidently, and Lark surrendered all to faith and simply followed. They had no more near encounters with guards, but they could hear shouted warnings in the distance. Occasionally they also heard low conversations coining from the quays or the ships moored there, but whoever was speaking didn't seem to notice the merchants.

After some time Lark asked, "How much farther?," taking such care to keep her voice low that she wasn't even certain Antal had heard her until he swiveled in his seat to look back at her.

Before he could say anything, however, a streak of fire blazed overhead. An instant later, a second beam carved through the darkness at a different angle, and then a third. At the same time, more voices rose from the city. These were nothing like the shouted litany of the Fal'Borna soldiers. People were screaming in terror, crying out in pain.

"What is it?" Lark asked, her voice rising as well.

Antal just shook his head. Shafts of flame continued to arc above them, and a baleful orange glow began to illuminate the low clouds. Fire. The city was burning.

The smell of burning wood reached her and a moment later something else. Flesh. She gagged. She heard a strange moaning sound and then the rending of wood. It seemed that the city was being ripped apart.

"Magic!" she called to Antal. "It's all magic. The fire, the buildings-"

Before she could say more, Ashes reared, kicking out his front legs and neighing in terror. Antal's horse did the same.

"Easy, Ashes!" Lark called to her beast. "Easy!" But the animal continued to rear and kick. They were in yet another narrow lane, and Lark feared that the animal would hurt himself. Antal struggled to control his horse as well.

"Off your carts, dark-eyes!"

Lark twisted around, still struggling with the reins as Ashes continued to buck.

There were six of them, all men, all Fal'Borna from the look of them. Four of them held long blades; the other two were unarmed, although Lark wasn't sure that really mattered with sorcerers.

"I said, get off your carts!"

They weren't soldiers. Most likely they had come from the quays. But Lark felt certain that they had heard the warnings.

Ashes reared again, drawing her gaze once more. "I can't get off until I calm my horse," she said over her shoulder. "If you can calm him, great. Otherwise you'll just have to wait."

Almost immediately the two horses began to calm down.

Lark took a long breath.

"Now," the Qirsi said. "For the last time, get off your carts."

Slowly, Lark and Antal climbed down from their seats and turned to face the men.

"Eandi merchants," the Fal'Borna said grimly. "I don't know what you've done to my city, but we're going to find out."