The Sorcerer's Plague

DREAMING MOON WANING

Rois Dungar had been captaining merchant ships for thirty years ow, almost since the day of his Fating, when the white-hairs in the tent at Bohdan's Revel, with their strange pale eyes and their magical stone, had shown him at the wheel of a vessel. He'd been barely more than a boy then, just a few days past sixteen, and still enchanted by the festival, by the Qirsi fire conjurers and the tumblers and musicians. It hadn't occurred to him then to care that his fate was shown to him by a Qirsi, that somehow through their gleanings at the Revel, the white- hairs had made themselves the arbiters of everyone's future. And by the time it did, he no longer cared.

Thirty years. Long ago he'd made enough gold to quit, had that been his desire. He could have bought a piece of pastureland near Rennach up in the Forelands and raised sheep as his father had done, and his father's father before that. But even before white-hair magic touched his life, Rois had heard the call of the sea. He started his life as a captain by running the short trade routes along the northern coast of the Forelands, learning his craft by navigating the waters around the Wethy Crown and along the Sanbiri coastline. Later, he'd begun to sail the Sea of Stars farther south, past the cities of Sanbira and the lofty peaks of the Border Range to the crimson cliffs of the Aelean shoreline and the prosperous port cities in Tordjanne and Qosantia. There weren't many of his kind-captains who carried trade between the Forelands and the Southlands-but those who were willing to brave the long voyages and the stormy waters of the south were rewarded with riches beyond the imaginings of most common merchants.

Some of those who traded between the two lands stuck strictly to the western waters, just as Rois stuck to the east. They traded with the Braedony empire in the north and with the Qirsi clans of the Southlands. None of that for Rois. No white-hair trade if he could help it. The eastern realms of the Southlands were held by the Eandi, and they would remain in Eandi hands. That suited him fine.

There'd been a good deal of trouble with the Qirsi in the Forelands in recent turns. There'd been talk of rebellion and war, of a Weaver, one of those white-hairs with all different sorts of Qirsi magic, who was intent on destroying the Eandi courts. Word now was that the war had been fought and won, that this renegade Weaver was dead. But that didn't change much as far as Rois was concerned. There'd be more where this one came from, and there'd be more trouble. They went together, white-hairs and trouble did, just like east winds and rain.

All of which made somewhat curious the fact that he had agreed to give transport to three Qirsi on this run to Aelea. The short answer he gave to any among his crew with nerve enough to ask was that gold was gold, and these white-hairs were paying plenty for the privilege of sailing on the Fortune Seeker. The truth might have been harder to explain.

Had it been just any three Qirsi, he would have refused their gold and left them at the dock in Rennach, where they first sought passage on his ship. Three grown Qirsi were more trouble than any gold could cover. But these three weren't grown, leastaways not all of them. This was a family. A man, broader and taller than any Qirsi he'd met before, a woman as pretty as her man was formidable, and a babe who couldn't have been more than six or seven turns old.

Even so, he still might have refused. But there was talk trailing these three, rumor that gave Rois pause and that eventually convinced him to take their gold and allow them aboard his ship. Usually he didn't credit whispers of this sort. The rumors of ignorant men were worth about as much as weather predictions from a land-bound fool. But these rumors came from guards at the Rennach port, and they echoed things he'd heard in Eardley and Thorald as well. A tall Qirsi, his shoulder slightly malformed, traveling with a beautiful woman who bore his child; that's how they described him.

As to what this man had done, well, that was a bit more difficult to figure. Some said he'd killed the renegade Weaver with his bare hands. Others said he'd bested him with magic, proving that he was a Weaver as well. Still others claimed that he'd been in league with the renegades himself, but had turned on them at the last, just like Carthach, the Qirsi traitor whose betrayal thwarted the first Qirsi invaders, who had come to the Forelands from the Southlands nine hundred years before. Rois wasn't sure what he believed, but he felt reasonably certain that the man was no traitor. He'd seen his share of liars, cheats, and scoundrels in his time, and all of them had a shifty look to them, something in their face or bearing or manner that made him uneasy. However imposing this Qirsi man might have been, he had an open face, and pale yellow eyes that didn't shy from a direct gaze.

For a time, when he first saw this couple and their child, Rois did think the man a brute, and the worst kind. The woman's face, pretty as it was, bore subtle scars, pale thin traces of a razor's blade or a finely honed dagger. In his day, the merchant had seen men brutalize in the most evil ways the women they professed to love, and he assumed that this white- hair was no different. It didn't take long, however, before he realized his mistake. These two never strayed far from one another, and the man doted on her constantly, attending to her as if intent on never letting a moment of pain or fear intrude upon her happiness. And it was no act. Some loves could be feigned; Rois had seen it done. This was the genuine article.

A story followed the woman as well, one that reached the captain's ears after he had first started forming an opinion of this odd pair. She had once been a servant of the evil Weaver and in betraying him had incurred his wrath. It was he, and not the man she so clearly loved, who had given her those scars, despite the fact that she was sheltered at the time by the king of Eibithar himself. That much Rois could believe, and it began to make some sense, not only of what he saw between these two, but also of why they would seek to leave the Forelands for the South- lands. For while he conducted a good deal of trade in both lands, he rarely carried passengers between them.

In every way then, it was unusual for there to be Qirsi of any kind on the Fortune Seeker. It seemed that Rois carried the gods as familiars on his shoulder, the way some captains carried birds or other creatures they found in their travels. Because had it not been for the Qirsi man standing now in the middle of his ship, Rois, his vessel, and his crew would have been lost hours ago.

Clouds had hung low and menacing over the jagged white peaks of the Border Range for the better part of a day, but such was the weather in the highlands, and Rois thought nothing of it as he steered his ship parallel to the coast. But with this day's dawn had come the urgent ringing of the watchman's bell, and shouted warnings from the night crew. The captain could feel that the waters had grown rough, and even before emerging onto the deck from his cabin, he knew that a storm was almost upon them.

Stepping out into a stiff wind and steady rainfall, he saw that it was even closer than he had feared, and that it looked to be a beast of a storm, summoned, it seemed, by Morna herself. The sky was a deep angry purple; the water around them looked as cold and hard as steel. Within moments, a gale began to howl in the sails, nearly tipping the Fortune Seeker onto her leeward side. Swells pitched the vessel to and fro as if she were but a toy, and broke over the sides of the ship, dousing the deck and making the crew's work that much more treacherous. Rois shouted for his men to lower the sails and go to sweeps, but he could hear the hull and deck groaning like wraiths, and he knew that they couldn't possibly carry out his orders quickly enough to save the ship.

It was then that he heard the voice at his back, as even and calm as the sea was rough.

"Can I be of assistance, Captain?"

Turning, Rois saw that the white-hair stood just behind him, with his feet spread wide to keep his balance. He hadn't said more than good morning to the man since he first boarded the ship. At that moment he couldn't have recalled his name for all the gold in Tordjanne. More than once he'd regretted taking him and his family on board in the first place. Whatever the Qirsi might have done for the courts in battling that other Weaver, he was still a sorcerer.

Now, though…

"Can you tame a wind?"

"I can raise a wind against it. The effect will be much the same." "Quickly then, man! Before she's torn to pieces!"

The Qirsi stepped past him and closed his eyes, rain running down his face like tears. Almost instantly, Rois felt a wind rise out of the west, an answer to that fierce gale raging across the churning waters. The force of the storm blunted for the moment, the ship righted itself, and several of the crew scrambled up the masts and started lowering the sails.

"I'm grateful t' ye," the captain said, stepping forward to stand beside the man.

The white-hair still had his eyes closed, but he smiled and nodded. "My pleasure. It was getting a bit rough below."

"No doubt. How long can ye hold this wind?"

"That depends on the storm. If it strengthens further, probably not very long. I'd suggest you get your men on their oars and steer us clear."

Rois nodded. He might not have liked Qirsi, but this man at least spoke plainly.

His was a seasoned crew, and they soon had the sweeps out and were rowing toward shore. This took them into the teeth of the storm, at least for a short while, but with the darkest clouds almost upon them, it made no sense to race this monster farther out to sea. Best to steer them to waters that had already seen the worst of the storm. The seas were high, and it was slow going, but the Qirsi held to his wind. Rois no longer feared for his ship. Those men who remained on deck stared at the Qirsi as they stepped past him, but they said nothing to him, and the captain made certain that they didn't disturb the man in any way.

For nearly an hour now, they had been on sweeps, and at last it seemed that the storm was passing. The waters ahead appeared calmer, and just above the line of shore in front of them, Rois could see faint hints of blue sky in among the clouds. He descended the steps from his wheel and walked to the Qirsi. The man looked terribly pale, and he seemed to be trembling, as if chilled to the bone.

"I think ye can stop now," Rois said.

The white-hair opened his eyes and staggered. He would have fallen had the captain not put a steadying arm around him.

"Thank you, Captain," he said hoarsely.

Rois helped him to a barrel, holding on to him until the man was seated.

"Can I get ye somethin'?" the captain asked. "Water? Somethin' stronger?"

The Qirsi shook his head and glanced up at the sky.

"Aye, it's passing. Ye saved us all, and th' ship." He nodded once. "Again, ye have my thanks."

"Perhaps there are advantages to having Qirsi aboard."

Rois grinned. "Could be." He started to walk away, then stopped and turned to look at the man again. "In th' excitement an' all, I's forgotten yer name," he said.

"Grinsa."

"And th' woman?"

"Cresenne. Our daughter is Bryntelle."

"And a beauty she is."

Grinsa smiled. "Thank you."

"Maybe th' three of ye would do me th' honor of supping with me tonight."

"Last I saw of Cresenne she was vowing never to eat again," the Qirsi said. "But I imagine that with the storm passing, she might reconsider. Thank you, Captain. It's a kind invitation, and I accept on their behalf."

"Good. At eight bells then."

"Eight bells." The man climbed to his feet and made his way below, moving stiffly, as if he had just come through a great battle.

Rois watched him go before turning his attention back to his ship. She had come through the storm with relatively little damage, but she looked a mess and he set the crew to cleaning her up.

By eight bells, the skies had cleared and the sun shone from just above the mountains, bathing the sea and ship in hues of gold. The winds had died down as well, and the water's surface reflected the few soft clouds that glided overhead as if it were a looking glass. Looking west, a man might never guess that the Sea of Stars had been roiled by a storm only a few hours before. The sky to the east remained dark, however, and occasionally it flickered with the glow of distant lightning.

The white-hairs arrived for supper just as the peal of the bells faded away. The man looked rested and none the worse for his struggle with the storm. The woman, on the other hand, seemed pale, leading the captain to wonder if she still felt sickened by the motion of the boat.

She smiled, though, as Rois extended a hand to her.

"Thank you for inviting us, Captain," she said. "It's very generous of you."

"It's th' least I can do, ma'am. What with this kind gentleman saving my ship and all."

She smiled, glancing briefly at Grinsa.

"Sit, please," the captain said, stepping back out of the doorway and waving them into the cabin. "There's not a lot o' room, but I daresay it'll do.,,

They took seats at the table on either side of Rois's chair. She held the babe, who was looking about with wide eyes, her gaze finally coming to rest on the oil lamp burning brightly above the table.

"Cook will be in with th' meal soon enough. I hope bluefish is all right."

"Yes, of course," Grinsa said.

Cresenne smiled, but the captain could see that it was forced. He didn't expect that she'd eat much.

"In th' meantime," he said, "how's about a bit o' wine?"

As Rois filled three glasses with some of the pale golden wine he had traded for during his last visit to Qosantia, his first mate, Pelton Fent, arrived, taking the fourth seat at the table. Usually Pelton ate with the crew, but the captain had asked him to join them. True, Grinsa had saved the ship, but still Rois didn't relish the notion of passing the evening alone with a family of Qirsi.

He introduced Pelton to the white-hairs and poured the man some wine. Then he raised his own glass, and with a glance at Cresenne, offered a toast. "To smooth waters th' rest o' th' way."

The woman smiled. She really was a beauty. "To smooth waters," she repeated.

They all sipped their wine.

"That's very good, Captain," Grinsa said. "Can I ask where it's from?"

"Th' lowlands," Rois said. Seeing the puzzled look on the Qirsi's face, he added, "Qosantia. One o' th' Eandi sovereignties of th' eastern Southlands."

The man and woman exchanged a look before Grinsa faced the captain again.

"Am I to understand, then, that there are separate Qirsi and Eandi sovereignties in the Southlands?"

"Ya didn't know?" Pelton asked in his heavy lowlands accent, eyeing the man.

Grinsa glanced at Cresenne again and shook his head. "No. We were… eager to leave the Forelands, and in our haste I'm afraid we didn't learn as much about our new home as we might have otherwise."

"More's a pity," the first mate said. "Ya woulda been better off taking th' otha route down."

The white-hair frowned and looked at Rois.

"What he means is the Qirsi clans hold th' west, th' Eandi th' east. Ye'll have little choice now but t' cross through th' Eandi sovereignties if ye're t' reach Qirsi lands."

"Do no Qirsi live among the Eandi?" the woman asked, her brow creased.

Whatever his feelings about Qirsi, Rois would have liked to find some way to smooth that pale forehead once more. But he wasn't going to lie to them.

"Very few, ma'am. And them that does have a hard time of it, if ye follow me."

"If you knew this when we first-"

The man laid a hand on her arm, silencing her. She continued to glare at Rois for another moment, though, before finally looking away and raking a hand through her long hair. The baby let out a small squeal, but no one else made a sound.

After some time, there was a knock at the door and Cook and his assistant came in bearing the fish and two loaves of bread. The old man had a smile on his face when he opened the door, but seeing the captain's expression and the frowns of his guests, Cook's face fell. He and the boy served everyone quickly and without a word, before fleeing the cabin.

"I swear t' ye, ma'am," Rois said when they were gone, "we thought ye knew."

She stared at her wine, her lips pressed thin, but after a moment she nodded.

"Ye've paid t' go as far as Yorl, in Aelea-"

"And how much farther is that?" Grinsa asked.

"We're about to Redcliff now," Rois said. "With a bit o' luck and a bit o' wind, we'll reach Yorl in the morning. But what I was going t' say is this. Ye having saved my ship and all, and me taking a shine to th' baby there-Bryntelle, isn't it?"

The man smiled. "Yes. Bryntelle."

"With all o' that, I could see clear to take ye south to Shevden, in Tordjanne. Or better still, Ferenham. That's in Qosantia. No charge, o' course."

Grinsa glanced at the woman, who gave a quick shake of her head. He held her gaze, though, and after a moment she shrugged, looking unhappy. "That's a generous offer, Captain," the man went on, facing Rois again. "What would we gain by going farther?"

"Well, some o' th' sovereignties are better fer yer kind than others. Stopping in Aelea, ye'll have t' go through that one and Stelpana before ye reach Qirsi land. Them's two o' th' worst."

"Why are they so bad?" Cresenne asked.

The captain shrugged. "They bore th' brunt o' th' Blood Wars when they was fought. Folks don't forget, even after more than a century." He wasn't sure that either of them knew anything about the Blood Wars, but they didn't ask, and he didn't see any reason to go into it lest it lead to more ugliness. "In any case," he said instead, "once ye're in Qosantia, ye can cross t' th' Ofirean Sea and get passage across t' whichever o' th' clan lands ye want."

Again Grinsa and the woman shared a look. After a few moments, Grinsa actually smiled and reached to take Cresenne's hand.

"Actually," he said, "I'm not certain that we want to spend that much more time aboard any ship, even one as fine as yours, Captain."

Rois nodded. "I think I understand. In that case, let me offer ye this. I know a farrier in Yorl who's always got a few beasts he's tryin' t' sell. I expect I can get ye a pair o' horses at a fair price. Yorl's the farthest point inland on th' Aelean shore. Ye can make for Eagle's Pass and head due west across th' center o' Stelpana. They're no kinder t' Qirsi there, but there's fewer o' them. There's more people in th' north, near the Companion Lakes, and in th' south near th' seacoast. Steer clear o' those areas."

"All right, we will. Thank you."

"How well do ye know th' lay o' th' land?" Rois asked.

The white-hair shook his head. "I'm afraid we don't know it at all. If you have a map we can look at, I'd be most grateful."

"I don't," the captain said. "But I can describe it for ye some." He looked at Cresenne. "Go ahead and eat a bit, ma'am. It'll do ye good t' have a bit in ye."

She gave a tight smile and nodded. And as they all finally tucked into Cook's fish, Rois began to tell Grinsa and the woman about a few of the more important features of the land south of the Border Range. Pelton put in a word or two along the way, and both Qirsi asked questions now and again. Describing a land so large to strangers without the aid of a map was a bit like guiding a blindfolded man through a rocky shoal, but by the end of the meal, both of them seemed to have a better sense of the Southlands.

The woman's anger faded during the course of the supper, but only slowly, and even as the evening was ending, Rois could see that she remained withdrawn.

"Is there anything else you can tell us about these Blood Wars you mentioned earlier?" Grinsa finally asked, as they lingered over one last cup of wine.

Rois shifted in his chair. He felt the first mate staring at him, but he ignored him for the moment. "There's not a lot t' tell," he said. "There've been Blood Wars in th' Southlands for hundreds o' years."

"Some say there were only th' one," Pelton put in.

"But they've been over for a hundred years," Grinsa said, looking from mate to captain.

Pelton nodded. "They 'ave."

"And still it's not safe for us in Eandi lands."

The first mate looked away. "Joost 'cuz th' wars ended doesn't mean folks like white-hairs any more 'an they did."

"Are you from the Southlands, Pelton?"

The first mate pushed out his cheek with his tongue and nodded, his eyes trained on the table. "Naqbae," he said.

Grinsa frowned.

"Th' southernmost sovereignty," Rois told him. "Th' Horsemen, they're called."

"And yet our Horseman is a sailor," Grinsa said.

Pelton looked up at that, a grin on his round face. "I can ride, too. All us Horsemen can."

"But you don't like our people very much, do you?" Cresenne asked him, a guarded look in those ghostly pale eyes.

"Fighting white-hairs is what my kind are famous fer," he said, not shying from her glare. "No other sovereignty has held back th' Qirsi armies th' way th' Naqbae did. When th' Stelpana were bein' pushed back across th' K'Sand and th' Thraedes and finally th' Silverwater, an' th Qosantians an' Tordjannis were countin' their gold, we were forcin' th' T'Saan back int' th' hills. T' this day, we hold both banks of th' Grand Salt."

"That doesn't answer my question," she said.

"It's as much o' 'n answer as I got," he told her.

The baby had long since fallen asleep, but she stirred now, perhaps sensing her mother's anger, and she began to fuss.

"Perhaps it's time we were getting back to our quarters," Grinsa said, a smile fixed on his lips. "Thank you for a fine meal, Captain, and as well for all you've offered to do on our behalf."

Rois held out a hand, which Grinsa took in a powerful grip. "It's th' least I owed ye." He stood, stepped to the door, and held it open for them. As the woman walked past him, he inclined his head slightly, and said, "Ma'am."

A small smile touched her lips, but she said nothing.

"We'll put int' Yorl by midmornin'," he told Grinsa, as the Qirsi stepped past him. "Once we're in Eagles Inlet, th' waters should be calmer. Th' lady shouldn't have any more troubles, on this trip at least."

"Thank you, Captain. You've been very kind to us." He turned to look at Pelton. "Mister Fent."

The first mate gave a curt nod.

When they'd gone, Rois closed the door and exhaled heavily.

"I'm sorry, Captain," the mate said. "I'd 'ave done better t' keep my mouth shut."

He returned to his seat and poured the rest of the wine into his cup. "Ye did fine." He felt weary. The storm, this supper with the Qirsithey'd worn him out.

"It could be dangerous for 'em in Aelea," Pelton said. "An' Stelpana's even worse. They should sail farther south."

"I know that," Rois said. "But it seems they've made up their minds." He sipped his wine. "I have th' feeling they can take care o' themselves. Seems they came through all tha' trouble in th' Forelands all right. And I'd wager there's more t' both o' them than meets th' eye."

"Maybe," the first mate said. "But th' Eandi sovereignties are no place for a Qirsi family, 'specially one what doesn' know th' ways o' th' land."

They walked back to their cramped quarters without saying a word, except for Bryntelle, who fussed and cried and would have given

both Cresenne and Grinsa an earful had she been able. Once they were alone, a candle lit and the door closed, Cresenne pulled off her shirt, sat on the small bed, and began to nurse the child. Grinsa stood in the center of the chamber, his eyes trained on the floor. After a moment, he looked up at Cresenne and smiled.

"The captain was right. It's calmer."

"You were nicer to them than I would have been," she said.

"It's really not their fault that we know so little about where we're going. It's mine. Entirely."

He was always doing this: finding reasons to forgive people for their failings, be they friends or utter strangers. It was one of the reasons she loved him, and yet she often found it annoying. She did now.

"I'm not so sure I agree with you. I think they were so eager to take our gold that they gave no thought at all to anything else."

"And they should have?"

She frowned. "Yes! Of course they should have! We have a child with us. It should have been clear to them that we were strangers to the Southlands. Our accents alone mark us as being from the Forelands."

"Yes, they do. But I doubt many people embark on a voyage like this one without learning a bit more about their destination. I certainly wouldn't have had we been given the choice."

Cresenne could hardly argue with that. They'd been forced by circumstance to leave the Forelands. She had once been party to a Qirsi conspiracy that very nearly succeeded in toppling the Forelands' Eandi courts. Grinsa was a Weaver, a sorcerer who could bind together the powers of many Qirsi into a single tool. Or a single weapon. Since the Qirsi invasion of the Forelands nine centuries ago, Weavers had been feared, persecuted, and, when captured, put to death, along with their families. Yes, the two of them had allied themselves with the courts, risking their lives to fight the conspiracy, but the law of the land was clear. Eibithar's king had shielded Cresenne from punishment for her earlier crimes against the courts, and he had refused to treat Grinsa as anything other than the hero he was, but his land was riven by conflict and he could not risk civil war by summarily doing away with nine centuries of legal tradition.

They might have made a life for themselves in another realm of the Forelands, but the other Eandi courts were every bit as fearful of Weavers as was Eibithar. And so they chose the Southlands.

There was something romantic in the notion, something mysterious and wonderful. The Southlands. Home of the first Qirsi to come to the Forelands. True, they had come as would-be conquerors, but that did nothing to diminish the allure of the place, at least not as far as Cresenne was concerned. Perhaps here, Grinsa wouldn't have to hide the fact that he was a Weaver, as he had done in the Forelands, making his way through Eibithar with Bohdan's Revel, pretending to be nothing more than a festival gleaner, a Qirsi who used his power to offer others glimpses of their futures. Perhaps here, if Bryntelle grew up to be a Weaver like her father, she could wield her powers with pride rather than fear. Perhaps here, Cresenne could forget the shame of having been labeled a traitor by Eandi and Qirsi alike, of having joined the movement to overthrow the courts only to realize that the man who led it would prove to be a worse despot than any Eandi monarch in the history of the Forelands. She had such great hopes for this journey, all of which made what they had learned tonight from the captain and his first mate that much more disturbing.

"I'm still angry with them," she said at last. "And I still think you're being too…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

Clearly Grinsa knew what she was going to say, because he smiled, looking away.

Too forgiving. That was another of his faults. Cresenne shuddered to think what her life would be like if it wasn't. For he had forgiven her.

Their love had begun as a seduction, an elaborate deception on her part so that she might learn from this man what he knew of the courts and the gleaned fate of one particular noble. Twice, while still a part of the conspiracy, she had sent assassins to kill him, and even after Bryntelle's birth, when she should have been doing all she could to reconcile with Grinsa, she had instead railed at him, calling him a traitor to his people and worse. Yet still he loved her, and she him. She had finally found the strength to admit as much both to him and herself. She had loved him from the start, and-gods be praised-he had forgiven her for all that she had done to deny and destroy that love, which she had once mistaken for a weakness.

"If it makes you feel any better," he said after some time, "I didn't like Pelton any more than you did. But I do feel that the captain was trying to make amends. And I promise to make certain that he gets us those mounts at a fair price."

She had to smile. Would that she could be as fair-minded.

"And will you hold him to his promise of smoother seas?" she asked.

He sat beside her on the bed and kissed her shoulder. "I will. And if he breaks his word, I'll summon a wind and smooth them myself."

"Well, all right then." She looked down at the nursing child. "In that case we'll let him stay, won't we, Bryntelle?"

The baby paused in her suckling to look up at her mother briefly. After just a moment she resumed her meal.

"That's a yes," Cresenne said.

Grinsa laughed. "I'll take your word for it."

For some time, they sat together, watching Bryntelle eat, smiling as the baby's pale eyes gradually closed and she fell into a deep sleep.

Cresenne carried the child to the small crib the captain had found for them before departing Rennach and gently placed her on the bedding, taking care to cover her in case the night turned chill. Then she re-

turned to Grinsa's side and kissed him softly on the lips. She lay down on the bed and pulled him to her.

"Are you feeling well enough?"

She nodded, smiled. "I'm fine, and I have it on good authority that we're done with rough waters."

They kissed again, deeply this time. Then she undressed him, and quietly, tenderly, they made love.

After, as Cresenne rested her head on his chest and stared at the small bright flame atop the candle, she began to ponder once more all they had heard this night about the new land to which they'd sailed.

"It never occurred to me that things might be worse in the South- lands," she murmured.

Grinsa stirred, as if he had nodded off briefly. "What did you say?" he asked, sounding sleepy.

"Nothing. I just was thinking about supper. About what they told us." "Are you having second thoughts?"

She shrugged. "Would it matter? Where else can we go?"

He seemed to consider this for a few moments. "We could go back to the Forelands," he finally said. "We could find a small town in Sanbira or Caerisse. Some place where they wouldn't know us."

"No. I don't want that. I was just hoping that the Southlands would be different."

He laughed at that. "I gather that it is."

She smiled, too. "You know what I mean. I had hoped that all of this wouldn't be as bad down here, that maybe the races had found a way to live together, without conspiracies or blood wars, or anything else of that sort."

"Well," he said, "from what the captain says I gather the Blood Wars have been over for a long time. There's peace now. Maybe in building separate societies, they've found the answer. It's not what I had in mind either, but it's working. Really, that's all that matters."

She lifted her head and looked at him. "I wouldn't have expected that from you."

"And I wouldn't expect you to mind."

He was right. He had worked so hard to defeat the conspiracy, forging an alliance of loyal Qirsi and Eandi who waged war against the renegades. Since the day she met him, he had devoted himself to bringing the two races together. And though she owed her life to his success, and admired his courage and resolve, she knew that she wouldn't have sacrificed so much for the same ends. She had expected herself to welcome this change in him, seeing in it the promise of a quieter, more peaceful life. Instead, she was unnerved.

"It's not that I mind," she said, holding his gaze. "I'm just not sure that I understand."

"I'm tired, Cresenne. It's that simple. I'm tired. We came here to start over, and that's what I want to do. I don't want to worry about whether the person standing next to me in a marketplace knows that I'm a Weaver. I don't want to spend Bryntelle's childhood worrying all the time about what powers she's going to develop." He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her brow. "Even Weavers don't live forever. I don't know how many years I have left, but I want to spend them with you, without having to worry all the time about what the rest of the world is doing to destroy itself. If the Qirsi and Eandi of the Southlands have found peace by living separately, so be it."

She gazed at him another moment. Then she kissed him, and once more they gave themselves over to the passion they shared. And for a time she couldn't tell the rhythm of their movements from the gentle motion of the ship as it sailed Amon's waters.