The Sorcerer's Plague

Chapter 11

Standing outside the walls of Yorl, gazing westward at the imposing peaks of the Aelind Range, Grinsa and Cresenne had felt daunted nearly to the point of despair. Already they had endured the bitter hostility of the Eandi living in the coastal city, and if the captain of the Fortune Seeker was to be believed, every man and woman they encountered in western Aelea and Stelpana would be filled with just as much hate for all Qirsi, if not more. Even knowing that Eagle's Pass lay due west of the city gate, they had wondered how they would ever manage to make their way through those mountains. Yes, they had food and they had horses. But they were strangers in a land that felt both unfamiliar and malevolent. Had there been any true alternative to crossing the plain that stretched out before them that first day, they would have taken it and counted themselves fortunate to have the choice.

But there were no alternatives, and, they soon realized, all was not nearly as bad as they had feared. While the plain had appeared to have few forests in which to find shelter, and fewer towns in which to find additional stores, they soon discovered that it was not nearly so barren. As they crossed the expanse they found several small woodlands, tucked away in shallow dales through which flowed rills and creeks. They also realized that the mountains had looked so formidable from the city walls because the distance to them was not nearly as great as they had assumed. As it turned out, Aelea was a small realm, at least when compared with the kingdoms of the Forelands. The distance between Yorl and the first line of mountains was but twenty-five leagues. Without pushing their mounts too hard, they were able to cross the plain in five days. And because they managed to complete the crossing so quickly, they were never in danger of running out of food and so had no reason to risk entering an Eandi settlement.

Grinsa had worried that they might have trouble finding Eagle's Pass, but once they reached the foothills, they spied a well-worn path that wound up into the peaks. When they found the path late in that fifth day a storm hung low over the mountains, and so they made camp in the shadow of the range and hoped the weather would improve by morning. It didn't, and once more he felt his apprehension mounting. Their swift crossing of the plain would be worth nothing if they were forced to remain in the foothills, eating what was left of their supplies and making no progress.

But late that night a storm passed over their small camp, soaking their sleeping rolls and clothes, and chilling them with a hard, steady wind. When morning broke, they were cold and wet, but the skies over the range had cleared and they were able to begin their climb into the pass.

To this point, Bryntelle had borne what few hardships they encountered without complaint. But the wind only increased as they rode farther into the mountains, and they had no dry blankets with which to keep her warm. She fussed loudly throughout the day, and by nightfall Cresenne feared that she had taken ill with a fever.

Once again, however, it seemed that the gods were smiling upon them. The wind died down overnight, and when Bryntelle awoke the next morning, her fever had vanished and, aside from being famished, she showed no ill effects from the day before.

There was a reason why Eagle's Pass was so well traveled. While the surrounding peaks towered above them, stark against an azure sky and gleaming with a fresh blanket of snow, the pass was broad and low enough to be lined on either side with forests of spruce and hemlock. Rainwater from the storms cascaded off the mountains, ribbons of silver against the stone cliff faces. The roar of rushing water overwhelmed all other sound and echoed through the pass. The track was muddy from all the rain-pools of standing water reflected the sunlight-but no snow blocked their way. Before long, they were steering their mounts down the far side of the pass. Enormous mountains still loomed in front of them, but Grinsa could see a clear path through.

Still, it took them another full day of riding before they emerged from the mountains into the dry foothills west of the range. Reaching a small clearing, they dismounted and allowed the horses to graze. Grinsa and Cresenne stepped to the end of a stone ledge and once again found themselves staring out at a broad plain. This time, however, there were no mountains in sight. Just pale heath and farmland, and in the distance, a pair of broad rivers, carving through the grasses and pastures, as dark as sapphires and running to the horizon in both directions.

"Maifor's Wash and Ravens Wash," Cresenne said softly.

Grinsa glanced at her. "Thank you. I'd forgotten the name of the first one."

"There's a third, beyond these two. Silverwater, I think it called. We'll have to cross all three of them to reach Qirsi land."

"I know."

She shifted Bryntelle so that the child's weight rested mostly on her hip. "And we're going to need to find food in the next day or two. We're almost out."

He took her free hand. "I know that, too. It'll be all right."

She smiled at him, though as she faced the plain again her expression sobered. "I've never seen a land so beautiful. And I've never been anywhere that scared me more."

"We'll find a town along the river, someplace that isn't too small, someplace that will have seen Qirsi before. There have to be Qirsi peddlers who trade in these lands."

"How do you know?"

"I don't really," Grinsa admitted. "But it makes sense. Back in the Forelands there was always trade among all the realms, even between the most bitter enemies. What was the old saying? 'Kings must have their wars, and merchants must have their gold'? I'd wager the same is true here."

"And how does that help us?"

"If we can find a town that sees some Qirsi traffic, even if it's just the occasional peddler, we'll stand out less. That's got to be better than winding up in a village that a Qirsi hasn't passed through since the last Blood War."

"I suppose," Cresenne said. She didn't sound convinced.

They made camp that night in the foothills before descending to the plain the following morning. Once on level terrain, they were able to make better time once more, and late in the day they reached the banks of Maifor's Wash.

It was a broad river, which had looked placid and slow from a distance. But as Grinsa and Cresenne drew nearer, they could see that in fact it ran so swift and deep as to make a crossing too dangerous. The waters of the wash swirled in tight eddies and looked turbid with silt and mud.

They followed the riverbank northward, hoping to find a spot where they might cross safely. Finding none before nightfall, they made camp and ate what was left of their food. In the morning, they resumed their search, still riding north.

Before midday they came within view of a large settlement set just beside the river. Farmhouses and barns dotted the land around the village, and broad lanes led into it from the south and east. More important, Grinsa spotted a broad stone bridge spanning the river from near the marketplace in the middle of the town.

"We have no choice, do we?" Cresenne said, eyeing the village grimly.

It was a pleasant-looking place. The houses looked clean and cheerful, the crops appeared to be doing well, and there were quite a few peddlers crossing the river into the village marketplace. Had they still been in the Forelands, or even the western half of this land, they wouldn't have hesitated to ride into town. But their experience in Yorl remained fresh in Grinsa's mind. He was no more eager than Cresenne to enter the village.

"I don't think we do," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "This may be our only chance all day to find more food. And who knows where else we'll be able to cross the river?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "All right. Lead the way."

He kicked his mount into motion and started up the lane again, with Cresenne just behind him.

"We'll get some food and be on our way," he said, glancing back at her. "Who knows? Maybe we'll find a Qirsi peddler."

She offered no response and they rode in silence the rest of the way to the village. Along the lane they passed an Eandi merchant who rode atop an old wooden cart, pulled by a grey nag. He glared at them as if he thought they had used their magic to pilfer his wares, but he said nothing, and they deemed it best to do the same.

Unlike the city of Yorl, this village, whatever its name, was not fortified. There was no city wall, no guarded gate through which they had to pass. But in other ways, it was all too similar to the coastal city. Once again, it seemed that every person they saw was Eandi, that every gaze that fell upon them was filled with hatred and fear. Grinsa slowed his mount slightly, allowing Cresenne and Bryntelle to pull abreast of him.

He scanned the lane as they rode, his gaze never resting, his magic ready, lest they be attacked.

But while the people in the lane didn't offer so much as a nod of greeting, neither did they give any sign that they intended to hurt them, or even demand that they leave. Grinsa wasn't certain if this was because they didn't dare challenge a Qirsi of unknown power, or if they were forbidden from doing so by the laws of the land. Really, he didn't care. He

watched them; they watched him. That was the extent of their interaction. Upon reaching the marketplace, Grinsa began to relax. There, among the Eandi peddlers with their carts and stalls, he spotted a few Qirsi traders. They were vastly outnumbered, to be sure. All told, there couldn't have been more than five or six. But they were there, and Grinsa steered his mount toward the nearest of them.

"It seems you were right," Cresenne said.

"Fortunately. I had my doubts when we first rode into the village."

They stopped and dismounted in front of the cart of the first Qirsi peddler, a young man who was just completing a transaction with an Eandi woman and her daughter. He wore his hair loose and long, and he had elaborate black markings etched into the skin around his right eye.

Grinsa and Cresenne waited until the Eandi had moved off before stepping up to the cart.

"Good day, cousin," Grinsa said, grinning at the man and offering a hand.

The man stared at him a moment, then glanced down at his proffered hand and sneered. "You're no cousin of mine."

Realizing that he had erred, Grinsa felt his smile melt away. Qirsi often called each other cousin in the Forelands, even if they were strangers. Most of the sorcerers there were descended from the invading army that had gone to the Forelands from these realms nine centuries ago, and so most assumed that they were related to one another. In addition, the fact that the Qirsi of the Forelands were so vastly outnumbered by the Eandi fostered a certain camaraderie; calling one another cousin came naturally.

But it occurred to Grinsa there were far more Qirsi in the Southlands, and nearly all of them probably belonged to one of the great clans. Here, calling a strange Qirsi "cousin" might well have been seen as presumptuous, maybe even insulting.

"Forgive me," Grinsa said. "Where I'm from, Qirsi often address each other so. I meant no offense."

"What is it you want, white-hair?"

Grinsa glanced at Cresenne, who raised an eyebrow.

"Quickly!" the man said. "Do you want to kill off all my business?" "You think that by standing here, we're keeping Eandi customers away."

The man glared at him as if he were simple. "Of course, fool! Now either buy something or move on!"

Grinsa glanced down at the man's wares, which consisted mostly of trinkets and extravagances-gems, ivory combs, blades with jeweled hilts, multicolored blankets. He had nothing Grinsa wanted to buy, at least nothing tangible.

"I need information."

The man frowned. "What information? I'm a peddler, nothing more."

"What's the name of this town?"

The man regarded them both through narrowed eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "Your speech is strange. Where are you from?"

"We've just come from the Forelands. We took a ship south to Yorl, then crossed Aelea, made our way through Eagle's Pass, and came here."

"I'm not certain I believe you," the man said.

"It's true. We're still learning about your land. We know that we're in Stelpana, on Maifor's Wash, but we don't know the name of this village." He eyed them a moment longer, then said, "Greysford."

"Greysford. Thank you. And your name?"

He hesitated. "M'Than."

"What clan are you from, M'Than?"

The man chuckled. "You are strangers to this land, aren't you?" He pointed to the markings on his face. "You see this? This means that I'm J'Balanar. Do you know of the J'Balanar?"

Grinsa shook his head.

"You will if you're in the Southlands for long. Our people are the swiftest horsemen of the uplands and the finest seamen on the Ofirean." "And which are you?"

He grinned. "Both. I grew up riding in the downs. When I reached the end of my fourth four, I left the uplands and made my way to Siraam, where I learned to sail."

His fourth four. While on the Fortune Seeker Grinsa had heard some of the men speak of fours, meaning four years. It seemed that this was common among both Eandi and Qirsi.

"How long have you been trading?" Grinsa asked the man. "Two years now actually almost three."

"And do you sell your wares in both Eandi and Qirsi lands?"

"Of course. Most peddlers do. There's a saying here: 'Commerce cares nothing for the color of a man's eyes.'"

Grinsa glanced at Cresenne, who nodded, a small smile on her lips. Facing M'Than again, he asked, "Does that mean that there are Eandi peddlers here who'll sell us food?"

"You have gold?"

"Forelands gold, yes."

"Gold is gold," M'Than said, much as had Captain Dungar. "They'll sell it to you if they've got it to sell. You won't get a good price, but there's little to be done about that. You might have a better chance in one of the middle nations-Qosantia or Tordjanne. But not in Stelpana." He grinned again, his teeth yellow and crooked. "When I'm here, I take as much gold as I can from a dark-eye. It's just the way of things."

Grinsa nodded. "Thank you, M'Than. You've been most helpful."

The peddler shrugged. "You can thank me better than that." He indicated his goods with an open hand. "Something for the lady? Or maybe the little one?"

Grinsa smiled and after a moment's consideration, chose a blanket of blue and green. "How much?"

"Ten of your qinde ought to do it."

He laughed. "I'll give you six."

"Eight."

"Six, or I walk away with the information and nothing else."

"Fine then," the peddler said. Grinsa got the impression that he was trying to sound cross, but there was a slight grin on the man's face. They both knew that the blanket was barely worth six.

"How far are we from Ravens Wash?" Grinsa asked, as he placed the blanket in his travel sack.

"No more than fifteen leagues, heading due west. You're going to the Far Borna?"

"I don't really know," Grinsa said, glancing at Cresenne once more. "We just want to reach Qirsi land as quickly as possible."

"It'll be the Fal'Borna, then. Not particularly friendly to strangers, but a fair bit better than the Eandi, I'd wager. Cut southward after you cross Ravens Wash. You want to get across the Silverwater, and that turns eastward as it heads south. You'll reach it quicker if you turn south."

"Again, M'Than, you have our thanks."

"Well, move on then. I'm wanting to get some dark-eye gold before the morning's done." He smiled again as if to soften the words, but Grinsa had no doubt that he did want them far away from his cart.

He nodded to the man once more, and he and Cresenne walked on to the next Qirsi peddler. He, too, was selling fabrics and jewels.

"They all will be," he muttered to himself, as they wandered away from the man's cart.

"What?"

He looked at Cresenne. "I'm just realizing now that we're not going to find any Qirsi peddler selling food."

"Of course not," she said. "They're too far from home to have brought it with them, and they'd have to spend too much buying it here from Eandi merchants."

"You'd already figured that out?"

She grinned, raising an eyebrow. "You hadn't?"

He shook his head, smiling ruefully. "I'm still thinking as a Forelander."

"Really? I would have thought the Qirsi with markings on his face would put an end to that."

Grinsa laughed, and Bryntelle let out a loud squeal.

"So, if we want food, we have to buy it from an Eandi," she said a moment later.

"I'm afraid so."

"Then let's get it over with and leave this place. I prefer the plain."

They circled the marketplace until they found a peddler who was selling food-cheeses, smoked meat, hard breads. Grinsa had steeled himself for an unpleasant encounter, but the Eandi peddler, an older man with white hair and a lopsided, ruddy face, proved easier to deal with than he had expected. He offered little in the way of pleasantries or conversation, and he tried to charge them far too much for what they wanted, but he wasn't openly hostile. When Grinsa refused to pay the four sovereigns the man demanded for all they were buying, he came down to three and a half.

"That's still too much," Grinsa told him. "That's seven qinde, and I won't pay it."

The man shook his head, his brow furrowed and his lower lip pushed out, as if he were considering the matter. "You won't find a better price in this marketplace."

Grinsa started to lead his mount away, and Cresenne followed. "Maybe not," he said over his shoulder. "But it won't be for lack of trying."

The man let him go five paces, perhaps to see if he'd stop on his own accord. Then he called out, "Two and a half!"

"Sovereigns?" Grinsa asked, turning to look at him.

"Yes. And not a silver less."

"Done." He led his horse back to the cart, paid the man, and began to pack the food in his travel sack.

"Where you from, white-hair?"

Grinsa glanced up at him. The man had asked the question mildly enough, and M'Than had called him white-hair as well. It was an aspersion in the Forelands; apparently in the Southlands it wasn't.

"The Forelands," he said.

"I figured that much. Where?"

"Eardley, on the eastern shore. You know it?"

"I used to sail those waters," he answered. "As a younger man. I know it."

He said nothing more, and Grinsa didn't pursue the matter. Clearly that was as much courtesy as the man was willing to show him. He finished packing the food, tied the sack to his saddle, and walked out of the marketplace with Cresenne and Bryntelle at his side.

They followed a lane west toward the wash, and soon found the bridge. A few more Eandi stared at them, and one old man went so far as to pull a dagger free, as if expecting them to assault him right there in the middle of the path. But as before, no one said anything to them, and in just a few moments they had crossed the bridge and were out of Greysford and back on the plain.

"That could have been far worse," Grinsa said, as they climbed onto their horses once more.

Cresenne kissed Bryntelle's forehead and nodded, but she didn't look relieved. "We're not out of Stelpana, yet."

They rode for much of what remained of that day, and spent the next two days riding as well. They maintained a course due west, and, on the third morning out from Greysford, came within sight of Ravens Wash. The weather had held for the first few days, but this one had dawned grey and windy. By the time they reached the water's edge, a steady rain was falling, chilling them and darkening their moods.

Once again, they found that the river was too deep and swift to cross. Had it been just the two of them, Grinsa and Cresenne might have made the attempt this time. Ravens Wash did not appear quite as daunting as had Maifor's Wash. But with Bryntelle in Cresenne's arms, they didn't dare. Remembering the advice given to them by the Qirsi peddler, they followed the wash southward. The rainfall increased throughout the day, and when the grey skies finally began to darken, they still had not found any shallows. But as the light failed, they caught sight of a village in the distance. It looked to be another league from where they were-they wouldn't reach it before dark, and if they couldn't find lodging in the town, they'd be forced to make camp in the dark and rain.

"At this point I'd pay ten qinde for a dry room," Cresenne said, looking miserable and pale as she sat huddled on her mount, a grey woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders and covering her head. Bryntelle fussed within her blankets, as if agreeing with her mother.

Grinsa felt much the same way. They rode on, reaching the town an hour or so after nightfall. It was located on the western bank of the wash, but just north of the village a narrow stone bridge spanned the water.

They crossed the bridge and made their way through the deserted lanes and marketplace of the village, looking for an inn. It was a far smaller settlement than Greysford, and Grinsa began to wonder if a town of this size would even have an inn. But near the southern end of the village, along a lane that led back onto the plain, they found a small tavern that seemed to have rooms for lease. A weathered sign hanging out front read THE THISTLE PATCH.

They tied the horses outside and stepped into the tavern. It was warm inside, and the air smelled of musty wine and some kind of spiced stew that made Grinsa's mouth water. A fire blazed in a large hearth near the back of the room. About half the tables in the tavern were taken, and several men stood at the bar, drinking ale and laughing loudly. The barkeep was in the middle of filling a cup, a smile on his round face, when he saw Grinsa and Cresenne standing near the door. Immediately, his expression hardened. Others noticed this and turned to look. Conversations stopped; silence spread through the tavern, until the only sounds were the drip of the rain and the high squeak of the sign swaying in the wind outside the door.

"You lost?" the barkeep finally demanded, his voice like stone grating on iron. He had red hair, a thick beard, and dark eyes that shone with the light of the oil lamps.

Grinsa met and held his gaze. "No. We'd like a room for the night, and some of that stew, if there's any left." He pulled out his money pouch and jangled it. "We have gold."

"We're full up," the man said. "An' the stew's gone."

"You're certain?" Grinsa said. He nodded toward Bryntelle, who clung to Cresenne, her large, pale eyes scanning the room. "It's not a night for a child to be sleeping out on the plain."

The man's mouth twitched. One of the others standing at the bar caught his eye and gave a small shake of his head. The barkeep shifted his ample weight to his other foot, his mouth twitching a second time.

"We're full up," he said again.

Grinsa held his gaze a moment longer before glancing around the tavern. All conversations had stopped and all the patrons were watching them, many of them looking fearful, as if they expected the Qirsi to tear the tavern to its foundations with their magic.

But after a moment, he merely shook his head and said to Cresenne, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

She continued to stare at the barkeep until at last he averted his eyes. "You should be ashamed of yourselves," she said. "Putting a family out on such a night, simply because of the color of their eyes."

"We didn' tell you t' leave your clan, missy," said the man sitting at the bar. "It's not our fault."

"We're not from a clan," she told him. "We're new to your land. And this is a fine way to treat strangers."

With that, they left the tavern. They untied the horses and began to lead them out of the village. At least they had managed to cross the river. The night wasn't a total loss.

Before they had gotten far, they heard shouts coming from behind them, and turning they saw the barkeep hurrying after them.

"Wait!" he was calling. "Wait!" When at last he caught up with them, he was breathless. His soaked hair clung to his brow and water ran down his face. "I can rent you a room," he said. "I thought you was clan Qirsi. I didn' know you was from another land. Th' Forelands is it? I've always wanted t' see th' Forelands."

He looked at one of them and then the other, making himself smile. "So, you'll rent a room to Qirsi from the Forelands, but not from your own land?" Cresenne demanded.

He rubbed the rain from his face, looking confused.

She looked back at Grinsa and gave a shake of her head. "No," she said. Then, facing the barkeep she said it more forcefully. "No. I won't give you gold. I don't care how cold and wet it is. I don't want my daughter sleeping even one night under your roof."

The man stared at them. "You're fools."

"And you're small-minded."

She turned and started leading her mount away, leaving Grinsa alone with the man.

"You can all rot for all I care," the barkeep said. "She's right. All you white-hairs are the same."

"Maybe," Grinsa said. "Fortunately I know plenty of Eandi who are nothing like you."

He followed Cresenne out onto the plain. After a time she stopped to fix Bryntelle's blankets and Grinsa caught up with her. She was crying.

"I'm sorry," she said, without looking at him. "We should have just taken the room and gotten ourselves warm. But I couldn't do it. I just couldn't."

"It's all right." He kissed her cheek, then took Bryntelle from her. "I didn't want to give him our gold either, but I wouldn't have had the courage to refuse him if you didn't."

A small smile touched her lips. "Is that a polite way of saying it's my fault that we're getting soaked?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

She climbed onto her horse and Grinsa handed Bryntelle up to her. Then he mounted as well, and they steered their horses away from the river.

They hadn't gone far before they spotted a fire burning in the middle of the plain. After a brief discussion they decided to ride toward it rather than around it. The blaze looked inviting, and given Grinsa's formidable powers, they knew that they wouldn't be in too much danger.

What they found as they drew near to the fire both surprised and delighted them. There must have been a dozen men and women gathered in the darkness, all of them Qirsi, all of them peddlers it seemed. Arrayed around them were carts and wagons filled with all sorts of goods. Several broad tarpaulins had been raised around the perimeter of the fire, so that every person was protected from the rain. One man had a lute in his lap and was strumming it softly, singing a song Grinsa didn't recognize. A few of the others were singing along. Others were listening. And still others were ignoring the music, carrying on conversations of their own. But all of them looked happy and warm.

Not wishing to unnerve them with their arrival, Grinsa called out and, raising a hand above his head, summoned a small flame so that the men and women could see them and know them for Qirsi.

"Come on, then," one of the men called. "Into the light with you. Let us see who's come."

They rode to the edge of their circle, dismounted, and walked into the firelight.

Grinsa started to say something, but the man cut him off.

"Not a word!" he said. "I don't want to hear your accent. I can tell your clan just from the look of you." The stranger was tall and thin, with long limbs that gave him the look of a child's puppet. His white hair was cut short, and he had a pale, wispy beard that made his face look even longer than it was. His face was lined, and Grinsa had the sense that he was old for a Qirsi, though his bright yellow eyes were clear and his smile revealed straight, strong teeth.

"Give up already, R'Shev," a woman shouted at him, laughing. "You haven't gotten one right in two turns."

The man spun toward her, looking aggrieved. "That's not true." He pointed at a woman with long white hair and intricate markings around her eye that were similar to those Grinsa and Cresenne had seen on the peddler in Greysford. "I knew G'Trayna here was J'Balanar the moment I saw her."

Everyone laughed uproariously, and the man turned back to them, narrowing his eyes as he looked first at Grinsa and then at Cresenne.

"Difficult," he said. "Very difficult. Your clothing is odd. The mounts could be those of the Fal'Borna, but your skin is too pale." He stared at them a moment longer before nodding once. "You're H'Bel, aren't you?"

Grinsa smiled. "I'm afraid not."

"Must be A'Vahl then. Had to be one or the other. I thought Talm'Orast for a moment, but neither of you is fat. All the Talm'Orast have gotten fat."

The others laughed at this as well, though Grinsa had no idea why.

"No, I'm afraid we're not A'Vahl either." The man opened his mouth to speak again, so Grinsa held up a hand to forestall another guess. "Actually, we're not from this land at all. We're Forelanders, and we've only recently arrived here."

This was met with stares and silence, and for a moment Grinsa feared that he and his family would be as unwelcome among these Qirsi peddlers as they had been among the Eandi. But a moment later, R'Shev grinned.

"Well, wherever you're from, you're here now. Come and sit. You look cold and hungry."

"We are that," Grinsa said, smiling in return. "Though we have our own food."

"All the better then!"

Several people shifted their positions, making room near the fire for the three of them. A skin of wine somehow found its way into Grinsa's hands and after only a moment's hesitation he drank a bit and handed it to Cresenne.

"So, what are your names?" R'Shev asked.

"I'm Grinsa jal Arriet, and this is Cresenne ja Terba."

"And the little one?"

"Bryntelle ja Grinsa."

"She's a beauty," R'Shev said. "Just like her mother." He winked at Cresenne, drawing a smile.

"You'll have to forgive R'Shev," said the J'Balanar woman. She looked to be older as well, the lines around her eyes blending with her markings to make her look like some strange demon in the firelight. She wore a smile, however, and her eyes flicked toward R'Shev as she spoke. "He sometimes forgets how old he is, and he starts to act like a rutting drel."

The others laughed.

"Unfair!" R'Shev said, shaking his head. "Unfair! Even a rutting drel tends to stay with only one ewe. I have no such scruples."

More laughter.

"Well, allow me to introduce this rabble," R'Shev said. He went around the circle, pointing at each person in turn, and saying their names and clans far too quickly for Grinsa to keep any of them in his mind. Turning back to Grinsa and seeing the frown on his face, the man waved his hand, as if dismissing all he'd just said. "Don't worry about it. You'll learn them eventually. Or you won't, and no one will hold it against you." He regarded the two of them briefly, his eyes narrowing. "What brings you to our circle?"

Grinsa shrugged. "We tried to find a place in the Eandi village back along the wash. I don't even know what it's called. The inn was the Thistle Patch. In any case, the barkeep refused to let us stay there, so we rode on, and happened upon you."

R'Shev nodded slowly. "Actually, I meant 'What brings you to the Southlands,' but we'll start with the village. It's called Bred's Landing, and I'm afraid it's all too typical of Eandi villages in Stelpana. I take it things are quite different in the Forelands."

Grinsa had to smile. "Yes," he said. "Very different. Qirsi and Eandi don't keep themselves separate the way they do here. They live side by side in villages and cities. Eandi nobles are served by Qirsi ministers."

"But you've had trouble with that," said the man with the lute, looking over at them even as he continued to pluck at the strings of his instrument. "Forgive me for interrupting, but we know you have. We heard about it down here."

"Yes," Grinsa admitted, his eyes flicking toward Cresenne. "We had some trouble, but that's over now."

"And yet you're here," R'Shev said, drawing Grinsa's gaze once more. "You left the Forelands. Why?"

"That's a long, difficult tale," Grinsa said.

Cresenne had been chatting with G'Trayna, while the older woman held Bryntelle on her lap. But she was looking at Grinsa now, appearing pale and wary. R'Shev seemed to notice her expression, because he smiled and patted Grinsa lightly on the shoulder.

"Perhaps it's best saved for another time, then," he said. "You should eat something." He handed Grinsa the wineskin, which had made its way around the circle to them once more. "And have some more of this."

"Thank you, R'Shev."

He started to pull food from his travel sack, but the man put his hand on Grinsa's arm, stopping him.

"Have something warm. I get the feeling you've got some distance yet to go, and that food needs to last. We've plenty here."

"Again, my thanks."

"Where are you headed?"

"Not north, I hope," said the man with the lute.

"If you want to join our conversation, D'Chul, I'd suggest you move over here. At least that way I'll know you're listening, and I won't say anything unkind about the way you play that lute of yours."

D'Chul grinned, looking ghoulish in the dim light, and made his way over to where they were sitting. He was a younger man, also thin, though not as tall as R'Shev. He wore his hair long, and tied back from his face, which was round and so fine-featured as to look feminine.

As he sat, Grinsa noticed that his lute was as beautiful as any instrument of its kind he'd ever seen. Its neck was inlaid with pale woods, and its rounded back was so finely smoothed that it shone in the firelight.

"Your lute is magnificent," Grinsa said.

"Thank you," D'Chul said, grinning again. "I made it."

"You made it?"

"D'Chul is M'Saaren," R'Shev said, as if that explained the man's obvious talent. "Woodland people. Their woodwork is the finest in the land."

"The A'Vahl would argue," said the younger man.

"Of course they would. And as usual, they'd be wrong." R'Shev glanced at Grinsa. "I'm glad you didn't turn out to be A'Vahl. As a rule, I can't stand them. Arrogant. Not nearly as skilled as they think they are. Or as smart."

"You said you hoped we weren't headed north," Grinsa said to the young man. "Why?"

"There's talk of the pestilence to the north." He cocked his head to the side. "You have the pestilence up in the Forelands?"

Grinsa nodded. His blood had run cold at the mention of it, fear for Cresenne and Bryntelle making him shudder. He'd lost Pheba, his first wife, to the pestilence. She was Eandi, and she might have survived, if only the other Qirsi in their village had been willing to heal her. But she was the Eandi wife of a Qirsi man, and the healers, seeing their marriage as an abomination, had let her die. He didn't mention this to the men sitting with him, but it did make him wonder if he'd been too quick to point out the differences between the Forelands and Southlands. Perhaps they weren't so dissimilar after all.

"I'd hoped we wouldn't have to worry about that here," Cresenne said quietly, staring at the fire.

Grinsa reached out and took Cresenne's hand. Her fingers were icy. "We'll be all right. We're headed south anyway. And both of us have healing magic, if it comes to that."

"You're trying to get across the Silverwater," R'Shev said. "Into Qirsi land."

"That's what we had in mind."

"That's a wise course. The Fal'Borna are hard as clans go, harder than most. But you'll be a good deal safer there than in Eandi land. And," the older man added, smiling kindly at Cresenne, "you'll be far from where the pestilence has struck."

"What about all of you?" Grinsa asked. "Where are you going next?"

"Oh, different places. Each of us goes his own way. I tend to move back and forth between the Silverwater and Ravens Wash, visiting the towns along both. I'll probably be in Bred's Landing tomorrow. I'm heading north, as it happens, though with the pestilence up that way, I'll turn back well before I get near the Companion Lakes. Others here are going in the opposite direction. At least a few of us find each other most nights. Sometimes we're only three or four. Other times we number as many as thirty."

"It sounds like a nice life," Cresenne said.

"We're Qirsi peddlers trading in Eandi lands. It's the only way to stay sane."

The wine came around again, and D'Chul began to play and sing. His voice was only ordinary, but he played wonderfully and the others sang along. Grinsa and Cresenne didn't know any of the songs, but they were happy just to listen. Bryntelle, who should have been asleep hours before, was wide awake, and seemed delighted by the music and laughter.

Eventually, people began to wander off to sleep. Many of them had small beds in their carts, and others had fashioned crude shelters from cloth and rope and wood. R'Shev told Grinsa and Cresenne that they could place their sleeping rolls under the tarpaulins by the fire, and after some time, Cresenne did.

Grinsa stayed up a while longer, speaking in low tones with R'Shev, learning what he could about the various clans, and the Eandi villages that lay between Bred's Landing and Fal'Borna land.

After a time, they fell silent. But just when Grinsa was ready to bid the man good night, R'Shev surprised him.

"You're a Weaver, aren't you, Grinsa?"

The Eandi guard he and Cresenne encountered in Yorl had divined this as well, so Grinsa wasn't completely unprepared. He did wonder, though, why the man was asking.

"I am."

"Is Cresenne?"

The guard had asked this, too.

"No, she's not. Why?"

"Forgive me," he said. "I don't mean to pry, but are the two of you joined, formally I mean?"

"As it happens, we're not." There hadn't really been time for a formal joining ceremony before they left the Forelands, and in truth, neither of them had seen a need for one. In all ways that mattered, they were husband and wife, their lives bound together not only by their love, but also by Bryntelle. In the Forelands, at least, formal joinings were usually reserved for nobility. But maybe that wasn't the case here. "What is it you're getting at, R'Shev?"

The man rubbed a hand over his narrow face. "It may not come to much. It will depend on which clan you settle with. But among some, Weavers are expected to marry other Weavers. It's a way of ensuring that more Weavers are born, and to some clans that's very important. There haven't been many wars fought among the clans in the last hundred years, but some of the rivalries remain, and, rightly or wrongly, Weavers are equated with power. The more a clan has, the better their prospects in battle with other Qirsi. And if ever the Blood Wars start up again, a clan with many Weavers will have the best chance of taking Eandi land. That's the thinking anyway."

"But I don't belong to any clan."

R'Shev smiled, though if anything, it made him look sad. "The clan you settle with may well see it differently." His brow furrowed. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. I hope I'm wrong. I hope it doesn't matter at all. But you should be prepared, just in case it does."

"Yes, of course," Grinsa said absently.

"I've troubled you."

He met the man's gaze. "As you said, I should be prepared."

R'Shev nodded. Standing, he stretched his back and began to walk off. "Good night, Grinsa."

"Good night, R'Shev. Thank you for everything. This could have been a miserable night for us. Instead it was the best we've had in the Southlands."

"I'm glad."

The man walked off, leaving Grinsa to brood on what the peddler had told him. After some time, he untied his sleeping roll, placed it beside Cresenne, and lay down. She stirred. He kissed her lightly on the lips and she smiled.

"What were you and R'Shev talking about?" she asked sleepily.

He hesitated, but only briefly. "Nothing we need to worry about right now," he said. He kissed her again. "You should sleep."