The Sorcerer's Plague

Chapte 21

So, if you don't go with them, they'll simply be executed?"

Grinsa nodded, afraid even to look at her. He'd left her once before to save the life of a man falsely accused, and it had nearly destroyed them both. Now they were the parents of a baby girl, trying to make sense of a strange land, held captive by a hostile people. How could he consider such a thing? That's what she would ask him; that's what he was asking himself.

Cresenne sat beside him, her eyes locked on his, and she asked, her voice as even as the plain, "What are you going to do?"

"What can I do?" he said. "I'm going to let them die. I can't leave you and Bryntelle. Not here; not now."

She raised an eyebrow. "So you'll just stand by while two men are put to death without cause?"

"They're strangers to us. Innocent people die every day. I can't be expected to put our lives at risk for every one of them, can I?"

Cresenne took his hand in her own, and lifted it to her lips. "Not every one, no."

He looked away, his gaze wandering the shelter until at last it came to rest on Bryntelle, asleep in a cradle by their pallet. "That's right. There's only so much one man can do."

"Even if he is a Weaver."

He faced Cresenne again. "What does that mean?"

"It means, this isn't you."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"Oh, come now, Grinsa. 'They're strangers to us'? 'Innocent people die every day'? You've never thought such things in your entire life. You've just convinced yourself that you can't leave us here, and you're trying to make peace with that."

"And you'd have me do different?"

"I don't want you to leave. You have to know that." She ran a hand through her long white hair. "But I also know that you'll never be able to live with yourself if these men are killed while you have a chance to save them."

"Who says I have that chance?"

She smiled, though the look in her pale eyes made his chest ache. "This is you we're talking about. If you decide to try, you have a chance."

He gave her hand a squeeze. "It's not that easy. In fact, I'm not sure it can be done. E'Menua wants to prove a point."

"Another test?"

"In a way. Only this time he wants me to fail. He's tired of me challenging him. I think he wants me to try this, and to return to him humbled, chastened. And Q'Daer and L'Norr just want me to go. I think they'd be happiest if I didn't come back at all." Grinsa shook his head. "I'm not sure I should give them the satisfaction."

"But E'Menua must want this Mettai woman stopped."

"I have the sense that he's not worried about her, or maybe he just expects that another sept will find her. No, I really think this is about him and me." He rubbed his cheek where the a'laq had struck him. "Did I mention that he hit me?"

"I saw the mark. I assumed you'd tell me about it eventually."

He grinned. The bruise felt tight and sore. "There's not much to tell. I argued with him in front of the other Weavers, the two Eandi, and a large number of warriors. He ordered me into his shelter and hit me."

Grinsa was still smiling, but Cresenne looked deadly serious. "You're lucky he didn't do worse."

He shrugged and looked away. "I suppose."

She bent lower, searching for his eyes, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I mean it, Grinsa."

"I don't think he's any more powerful than I am."

"That's not the point," she said. "And you know it. In any test of magic you'll stand alone against four of them. Strong as you are, you won't survive that."

"I know. You're right." He twisted his mouth. "While we're on the subject, I should also tell you that I hit Q'Daer. He challenged me after

I left the a'laq's z'kal, said he was going to teach me to respect Fal'Borna ways."

"And you hit him?" she asked, her voice rising.

He rubbed his hand. It was sore, too. He felt as though he'd come through a street brawl. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

She shook her head, looking frustrated. "Why are you trying to antagonize them? Is there some purpose to it, or is it just some Weaver thing?"

He had to laugh. "Some Weaver thing?"

She smiled reluctantly and shrugged. "You know, 'My magic's bigger than yours.' "

"No," he said, still laughing. "It's not some Weaver thing." He shook his head, his mirth fading. "Really, I'm not certain what it is. I can't help myself. Q'Daer is dangerous, I know. But I think I can handle him. When all is said and done, this is about E'Menua. And I honestly don't know why I keep defying him. The others are so quick to defer to him, even when he's wrong. I can't bring myself to do the same. So I fight him. I don't know; maybe I'm hoping that he'll get so angry with me that he'll just let us go."

"I'd say he's more likely to get so angry that he'll have you killed. That's more in keeping with Fal'Borna custom, if you ask me."

She had a good point.

"But maybe you're on to something," she went on a moment later, sounding thoughtful.

"What do you mean?"

"What did he say he'd do if you found the Mettai woman?"

"Nothing really. He said he'd allow the merchants to live until she's found, but I think that if we can prove their innocence, and bring glory to the sept by finding the Mettai woman, he'll spare their lives."

"But he said nothing about you?"

"No," Grinsa said, understanding coming to him at last. "Nothing, at least not along the lines you're suggesting."

She grinned, her eyes dancing in the candlelight. "I haven't suggested anything. A concubine would never be so presumptuous."

"If we propose a bargain like this, and he agrees, I have to go with the merchants and find this woman. There would be no way for me to back out."

Cresenne nodded, her expression sobering. "I know. But if he agrees it might be worth it."

Grinsa leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, a kiss she returned passionately.

"I don't want to leave you," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

"I don't want you to go. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life among the Fal'Borna, and I certainly don't want Bryntelle to grow up knowing only these people. In the last few days, I'd actually started to consider that we might stay here, that we might not have a choice in the matter. But now, with this, I don't know anymore. You'll never be happy here; that much is clear. And I'm not sure I can be, either."

"Bryntelle is happy," Grinsa said. "You told me so yourself."

She smiled. "Yes, Bryntelle is happy. But this isn't the life I want for her, and I know you feel the same way."

"And what about you? You have a friend now. F'Solya, is it?"

"F'Solya is a friend, but even she doesn't know what to make of us, of what she's hearing about our past. We're not like these people, Grinsa. We both know that. So let's do what's necessary to get away, and be done with this a'laq and his sept."

They kissed again, and then Cresenne took his hand and led him to the small pallet, where they undressed and quietly, tenderly made love. After, as they lay together in the soft light of the single candle, Cresenne said, "I don't want you dying for these people."

"I don't want that either."

Her smile this time was fleeting, brittle. "I'm serious, Grinsa. I know you. You'll do anything to find justice for these men. You'll think nothing of risking your life to save theirs. And I'm telling you-I'm asking you-don't do it. If you fail, you fail. They'll be put to death, and we might not get away. But at least you'll be all right. At least you'll come back to me."

"VVhat you're saying is I should remember that I'm doing this for us, and not for them."

She took a breath, then nodded.

"I'll try."

Cresenne smiled again, and this time it lingered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked it of you."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. That's not the kind of person you are. You can't do what I just asked of you any more than you can simply let these men be killed. I just…" She shook her head.

He touched her cheek, making her meet his gaze. "I was serious a moment ago. I don't want to die for these merchants. I'll come back to you-to both of you. You have my word."

"And what if E'Menua doesn't agree to these terms? He doesn't care whether these men live or die, but he seems to care a good deal about keeping us here. If you insist that he agree to this, he might just say that you can't go at all."

"Yes, he might. Or he might be so certain that we can't find the woman that he'll take the bargain a step further."

Cresenne winced. "If you fail, we stay with the Fal'Borna for the rest of our lives."

"Right."

She stared at the candle briefly, slowly shaking her head. At last she shrugged and faced him again. "Then that's the risk we take. There are worse fates."

"You're certain?"

"What choice do we have, Grinsa? It all comes back to this: You can't stand by and let those men be killed. So we'll make this demon's bargain, and hope for the best." She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. "I hope these men are worth all we're risking for them."

Grinsa wanted to assure her that they were, but the truth was he knew precious little about either of them. In the end, "So do I" was all he could offer her.

The following morning, Grinsa made his way to the a'laq's shelter. It was grey and damp, and a chill wind still blew down from the north, making the shelters of the sept quiver and snap. The horses stood in their paddock looking miserable, their heads and tails hung low.

As usual, the two young Weavers were outside E'Menua's z'kal, though neither of them appeared too happy to be there. They wore heavy, fur- lined skins around their shoulders, with hoods thrown over their heads.

L'Norr watched him approach, his eyes bright, alert. Q'Daer wouldn't look at him. There was a welt on his cheek, similar, no doubt, to the one Grinsa bore. Grinsa nearly laughed when he saw it-they looked like twin sons of some brute of a father.

"Welcome to Harvest on the plains," L'Norr said, as Grinsa drew near.

"It's like this a lot?"

"Until the Snows come. Then it'll be exactly the same, except colder." A fine time to be abroad in a hostile land.

"I need to speak with the a'laq," Grinsa said.

L'Norr seemed to read something in Grinsa's tone, because he merely turned and entered the shelter. For a moment, Grinsa and Q'Daer stood together outside, avoiding each other's gazes, saying nothing. Then L'Norr emerged again and nodded to the gleaner. "He's waiting for you."

"Thank you."

Grinsa entered the z'kal. It was warm within. E'Menua sat by a small fire, and beside him sat an attractive woman with long white hair and a piercing gaze. There were small lines around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise her skin was smooth. She eyed Grinsa as he stood before them, but she neither smiled nor spoke. Sensing her powers, Grinsa realized that she was a Weaver as well. This had to be D'Pera, the a'laq's wife.

"You've made your decision, Forelander?" the a'laq asked, drawing Grinsa's gaze.

"You could say that. I have a proposition for you."

E'Menua's eyebrows went up. "A proposition?"

"I'll do this-I'll go with the merchants to find the Mettai witch who threatens your people. And if I succeed in finding her, you not only spare the merchants, you also allow Cresenne, Bryntelle, and me to leave your sept."

The a'laq seemed to ponder this for some time. D'Pera still said nothing, but she watched her husband closely, the way a sea captain might eye a bank of storm clouds.

"And what if you fail?" E'Menua finally asked.

Grinsa knew the a'laq would get there on his own, so he gave the only answer he could. "If I fail, we stay with you."

"And you agree to be joined to a Weaver."

He shook his head. "No, that's not part of the bargain."

"Then there is no bargain."

Grinsa spun away and stepped toward the entrance to the shelter. "Fine."

"Fine?" E'Menua repeated, stopping Grinsa on the threshold. "You'll just let those men die?"

He faced the a'laq again. "Their lives mean nothing to you. Why should they mean anything to me?"

"To be honest," E'Menua said mildly, "I'm not certain. But I know that they do." E'Menua seemed so calm, so sure of himself, that Grinsa had to wonder if he'd been expecting this proposition all along. Had he and Cresenne been that obvious?

"I won't marry another woman. Ever."

"Apparently you believe you're in a position to dictate terms to me," E'Menua said. "You're not. I'll allow you to leave if you succeed, but if you fail, you'll live among us Fal'Borna, accepting our customs and laws as your own. That's the only choice I'm offering you. You can go under those conditions, or you can remain here as you are now."

A voice in his mind screamed for him to leave the shelter, to find some other way to win his freedom from this man and his people. There was just so much he was willing to risk, and he had long since grown weary of having E'Menua outthink him at every turn. Had it not been for the two merchants, he would have simply walked out into the rain. But though the two Eandi meant little to him, he couldn't throw their lives away. Cresenne, who knew him so well, had told him as much the night before.

"You won't breathe a word of this to Cresenne, and while I'm gone, you'll do everything necessary to keep her and Bryntelle safe."

E'Menua's expression didn't change. "And if I don't agree?"

Before Grinsa could respond, D'Pera laid a hand on the a'laq's arm. They shared a look, and after a moment the a'laq faced him again.

"Yes, very well. You have my word that she'll be safe, and she won't be told of our agreement." He hesitated, but only for an instant. "She's bound to learn of it eventually, though."

"Only if I fail," Grinsa said. "And I have no intention of failing."

The a'laq nodded and laughed, though good-naturedly. "Very well, Forelander." He grew serious once more. "You'll take Q'Daer with you, as well as the merchants, and all four of you will have mounts."

"Does it have to be Q'Daer? Couldn't I go with L'Norr instead?"

E'Menua grinned. It seemed he knew of their dislike for one another. Perhaps he'd even heard of their encounter the previous day. "Q'Daer is the older of the two," he said. "It's his place to make such a journey."

Grinsa nodded. He didn't relish the idea of being stuck with the young Weaver for so long, but he was learning quickly that Fal'Borna customs left little room for negotiation. And however much he would have preferred a different companion, he knew that Q'Daer would be far less happy about it than he. There was some small consolation in that.

"All right. You'll provision us with food and gold?"

"The merchants will. They've ample stores of both, and if we have to give you a bit more food, we'll make certain that they compensate us."

Grinsa could see the logic in that. "Someone will tell me when the others are ready to go?"

"Of course."

The gleaner nodded. "Very well. Thank you, A'Laq."

He started to leave, but E'Menua spoke his name, stopping him.

"You may not believe this," the a'laq said, as Grinsa looked back at him, "but I hope you succeed. If what the dark-eyes say about this woman is true, she must be hunted down. And if it's our sept that manages to kill her, it will increase our standing in Thamia."

Perhaps he should have been grateful to the a'laq for saying this, but all he could think was that he didn't give a damn about the glory of his sept. "I'll do what I can," he said, and left the z'kal.

The rain had grown stronger, as had the wind.

"The a'laq will be wanting to speak with you," Grinsa said to Q'Daer as he stepped past the man on his way back to his shelter. "What about?" the young Weaver called after him.

Grinsa didn't answer.

He found Cresenne on their pallet, nursing Bryntelle. She sat up as he entered the shelter, her eyes searching his face.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He agreed to our terms."

She frowned, laying Bryntelle against her shoulder and patting her back. "Just like that?"

"He wasn't completely happy about it, but yes, he agreed." Cresenne shook her head. "I don't believe you."

"Cresenne-"

"Tell me all of it, Grinsa. You're leaving me alone with these people, and that's fine. I as much as told you to. But I deserve to know all of it."

He sat, exhaling slowly. "It's nothing we shouldn't have expected. If I succeed in finding the woman and, I suppose, killing her, we're free to go and the merchants will be spared. If I fail, we stay here."

"And?"

He started to answer, but she held up a hand, silencing him. He could see her piecing it together. At last she began to nod.

"And you take a wife," she said. "That would be the one other thing E'Menua would want. You have to be joined to a Weaver, don't you?" "It's not going to come to that."

"But that's what he wants."

"Yes," Grinsa admitted, feeling as if he had betrayed her. "I can go back to him if you want, tell him I won't be going after all."

She shook her head. "No. You're right: We should have expected it. They were going to insist on this eventually anyway. Otherwise there's no point in making us stay." She smiled bitterly. "You're most valuable to them as a studhorse."

"I'm not certain how to take that."

Cresenne laughed, but a moment later she was sobbing, tears coursing down her smooth cheeks. Immediately, Bryntelle began to cry as well. Grinsa put his arms around Cresenne and kissed the top of her head as she fussed over the baby.

"I don't have to go, Cresenne," he whispered. "There are other ways to get away from here."

But she shook her head. "It's not that. I mean, I don't want you to go, but we'll get through it."

"Then why are you crying?"

She shrugged. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. We came to the Southlands to get away from the fighting and the danger and all the rest. I just wanted to make a life here, and instead we're being forced apart again, just like before."

He stroked her fine hair. "I know. I thought it would be different, too."

She wiped the tears from her eyes impatiently and looked up at him, kissing him gently on the lips. "You should be getting ready to go. I imagine they'll be coming for you soon."

"They can wait, if they have to."

"No. The sooner you get going, the sooner you'll be back." She forced a smile. "We'll be all right." She held up Bryntelle, who had also stopped crying. "See? We're better already." She kissed him again. "Go on. Get ready."

He nodded, though he didn't stand just yet. Instead, he held out a finger to Bryntelle. She took hold of it in her tiny fist and leaned forward, trying to put all of it-his finger and her fist-in her mouth.

"We'll find her quickly," he muttered, staring at the baby. "I swear we will."

Cresenne nodded. "Good."

He forced himself off the pallet, grabbed his travel sack, and began to fill it-a second knife, his flint, a length of rope, a change of clothes, an overshirt, a skin he could use for water.

When he was done, he sat again beside Cresenne, his shoulder touching hers, but neither of them spoke. They watched Bryntelle and they waited. Before long, someone called for him from just outside the z'kal. He and Cresenne shared a look.

"Gods keep you safe and guide you back to us," she whispered. "I love you."

They kissed one last time. Then he stood and left the shelter.

The rain had slackened, but the wind still blew and the sky remained dark and hard as slate.

Q'Daer and the two merchants were already mounted. They had brought Grinsa the great bay he and Cresenne bought in Yorl. He tied his travel sack to the saddle and swung himself onto the mount.

He looked around briefly, expecting to see E'Menua come to see them off. But the rest of the sept seemed to be ignoring them, as if they were strangers, or wraiths.

"We have everything?" Grinsa asked, meeting Q'Daer's gaze.

The young Weaver barely looked at him. "Yes," he said, kicking at the flanks of his grey horse.

Grinsa didn't follow. Instead, he called the man's name, forcing him to halt and wheel his mount.

"It wasn't my idea to have you come along," he said. "It was the a'laq's. If I had my way, I wouldn't be doing this at all, and I certainly wouldn't be riding with you."

Q'Daer stared at him a moment. Then he nodded, and started off again, northward, into that harsh wind and away from the sept. Grinsa and the merchants followed.

For some time, they rode in silence, Q'Daer some distance ahead, Grinsa next, and the two merchants just behind him. Finally, the younger Eandi asked, "Aren't you and the other white-hair afraid that we'll try to escape?"

Grinsa looked back at him. After a moment, he formed an image of fire, and then thrust it into the mind of the man's horse. The beast reared, nearly unseating the merchant, who clung desperately to the reins.

"Language of beasts," Grinsa said, facing forward again. "We both have it. You're welcome to make the attempt, but I assure you, you won't get far."

The merchants dropped back a few paces, falling silent once more. A short time later, though, the older merchant pulled abreast of Grinsa, eyeing him closely.

"Who are you?" the man asked.

"My name's Grinsa jal Arriet."

Torgan shook his head. "That's not a Fal'Borna name. I'm not even sure it's a Southlands name."

"It's not."

"It's true, then. What they said about you in the sept. You're from the Forelands?"

Grinsa glanced at him. After a moment he nodded.

"How did you come to be living with E'Menua's sept?"

"Just lucky, I suppose."

"They don't like you much. Obviously, Q'Daer doesn't. And I don't think the a'laq does, either."

"No, I don't imagine so."

"So why do you stay with them?"

"Is there something you want, Torgan?" Grinsa asked, his patience wearing thin. "Because I'm really in no mood to satisfy your curiosity right now."

"I want to know why you're doing this. My life is in your hands. So is Jasha's. I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you," he went on, sounding anything but contrite, "but I'd like to know a bit about the man who may end up determining whether we live or die."

It seemed a fair point.

"I'm with them because I'm a Weaver," Grinsa said. "They want me to become part of their sept; my wife and I want to move on. If I can find the Mettai woman you've told them about, they'll let us go."

"That's it? This is some kind of test? A way of proving yourself?"

"It's a way of winning our freedom. That may not sound like much to you, but we've come a long way to make a life for ourselves in your land, and we're not willing to let the Fal'Borna destroy that for us."

The merchant didn't look pleased, but he nodded once.

"We're on the same side in this, Torgan. You may not think of me as the perfect ally, and certainly I had no desire to have my fate tied to yours, but we're in this together now, and we'd best make the most of it."

"Yeah," Torgan said, "all right. As you say, we haven't much choice in the matter." He looked Grinsa in the eye. "You argued for our lives when no one else would. I suppose that's worth something."

He dropped back again, allowing the other merchant to catch up with him.

Grinsa continued to ride alone, his eyes fixed on the north horizon. There were hills ahead to the west, and he knew that there were mountains to the north beyond the plain, but he couldn't see them for the rain and clouds. Eventually, Q'Daer halted and waited for the others to catch up with him. He pulled a pouch of food from one of the sacks tied to his saddle, took out a piece of what appeared to be dried meat, and handed the pouch to Grinsa.

"We're cold," Torgan said. "How much longer do you intend to ride in this weather?"

Q'Daer smiled, though there was no warmth in his pale eyes. "As long as this weather lasts," he said. "And then we'll have some other weather to ride in."

"We've a couple of hours left before sunset," Grinsa said, biting into a piece of meat. It was good-better than he'd expected. "We'll ride until it starts to get dark."

He handed the food to Torgan.

The merchant shook his head. "We should stop before then. We'll need time to set up some kind of shelter and find wood for a fire."

Of course. The longer this took, the longer the merchants would stay alive and the better their chances of making an escape. In this respect, Torgan and Grinsa were anything but allies.

"Leave that to us, Eandi," Q'Daer said. "Your only concern is finding that Mettai witch you've been going on about. And the sooner we do that, the better for all of us."

The merchants each took a piece of the meat, and then Torgan started to tuck the pouch into his travel sack.

"Give that to me, dark-eye."

Torgan glared at Q'Daer. "It's mine. I bought it in Stelpana."

"It may have been yours once, but now it belongs to the Fal'Borna." The Weaver held out a hand. "Give it here."

"And if I refuse?"

Torgan's mount reared, just as the young merchant's had earlier. This time though, the rider was thrown. Torgan landed heavily on the wet grass and lay on his back, too stunned to move. Q'Daer was off his mount an instant later, a knife in his hand. He strode to where the merchant lay, picked up the pouch of food, which had landed beside Torgan, and stared down at the man.

"Next time, I'll break your arm. You may have hopes of being spared, or perhaps you think you might escape. But until the a'laq tells me otherwise, you're a prisoner of the Fal'Borna, and you'll do exactly as I say." He reached into the pouch and pulled out another piece of meat. Then he smiled and placed it between his teeth. Looking up at Grinsa, he held out the food. "You want more?"

Grinsa shook his head.

Q'Daer shrugged and walked back to his mount. "On your horse, Eandi," he said, as he climbed back into his saddle.

Torgan struggled to his feet and tried to get on his horse. He couldn't. Finally, the other merchant dismounted and helped him up. Soon after, they were moving again. Once more, Q'Daer rode a fair distance ahead of the others.

"We can help each other."

Grinsa looked over and saw that Torgan was beside him again.

"It sounds as though you want to get away from them as much as we do. So let's work together."

"No," Grinsa said. "I left my wife and daughter with the Sept. I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. I can't get away unless you help us find that woman. So that's what you're going to do."

"You told me before that we're allies," the merchant said sullenly. "But you sound like a Fal'Borna to me."

"Maybe I was wrong before. Maybe we're not allies. But I'm not Fal'Borna either. I'm alone in this." Grinsa knew as soon as he spoke the words that this was true. The merchants were concerned only with staying alive; Q'Daer was Fal'Borna. And he owed loyalty to no one except Cresenne and Bryntelle. "I have no allies," he said, as much to himself as to Torgan. "I have no need of them."

"You think you can do battle with the Fal'Borna by yourself?"

Grinsa shook his head. "I have no intention of battling the Fal'Borna. I'm going to war against a Mettai witch. And so are the two of you, so I'd get used to the idea. You want to live through this? Then you'll help me, you'll stop antagonizing Q'Daer, and you'll lead us to that old woman. Otherwise you're corpses. It's as simple as that."

Torgan glowered at him another moment, then fell back to join the other merchant.

"Serves me right for trying to talk sense to a white-hair," the Eandi muttered.

Grinsa didn't bother responding, or even looking back. His eyes were fixed on the young Fal'Borna Weaver riding ahead of him. Q'Daer was the real threat. The merchants might have been willing to risk an attempt at escape, but Grinsa knew that he and the Fal'Borna could stop them. The young Weaver, though, was another matter. The a'laq had told Grinsa that he hoped they'd succeed in finding the old woman. But what if he lied? What if he cared nothing for sparing the Eandi and stopping this Mettai witch, but remained determined to keep Grinsa in his sept? For all Grinsa knew, Q'Daer's purpose in riding with him was not to help, but rather to keep him from succeeding.

As if reading his thoughts, Q'Daer looked back at him and, after a moment's hesitation, gestured for Grinsa to ride forward.

"Come, Forelander. Join me. You don't need to guard the dark-eyes. They'll go nowhere without us."

Grinsa glanced back at Torgan, who was watching him closely. Then he kicked at his mount and joined the other Weaver. He even chanced a smile.

"I wouldn't have thought you wanted anything to do with me," he said, pulling abreast of Q'Daer.

The young man shrugged. "We both lost our tempers," he said. "Live with the Fal'Borna for a while and you'll realize that this isn't so uncommon." A smile crossed his lips and was gone; he still refused to look the gleaner in the eye.

"Well, I apologize for hitting you. I'm not sure why I did it. It wasn't at all like me."

"Perhaps you're more like the rest of us than you care to admit." Grinsa nodded and gave a small laugh. "That may be," he said. "But still, I am sorry."

The man nodded in turn, glancing at him for just an instant. "Apology accepted."

It all seemed quite pleasant, far more so than Grinsa would have thought possible. And yet something in Q'Daer's bearing gave him pause. He didn't know the Weaver well, but he had always been a good judge of people, and he could tell when someone was hiding something.

So he smiled and nodded, and acted as though their conflict had been settled. But he kept a firm hold on his magic, and he was conscious suddenly of the dagger that he wore on his belt. He had taken the measure of the man's power, and he thought that he could prevail in a battle of sorcery, if it came to that. But he wasn't going to take any chances, not with so much at stake.

There was an old saying in the Forelands. Always keep your enemies at arm's length. Closer, and their blade might find your heart. Farther away, and your blade might never find theirs.

They stopped and made camp by a small stream that curved through the grasses and rich dark soil of the plain. Clouds still hung low over the land and daylight gave way to night in ever-darkening shades of grey. They found enough wood among the trees growing by the rill to build a warming fire, and they ate a small meal of smoked meat and bread.

The dark-eyes said little. The younger merchant watched Grinsa and Q'Daer keenly, as a grouse might eye a circling falcon, but Torgan had retreated into himself. He merely stared at the fire and ate what was offered to him in sullen silence.

Since apologizing for their earlier encounter the Forelander hadn't said much either; Q'Daer thought it possible that Grinsa considered the matter settled, which suited his purposes quite well. But they would have to speak some time if Q'Daer were to begin to gain the man's trust. He had also decided hours before that he couldn't allow the Eandi and the Forelander to become too friendly. It would have been quite natural for them to begin working together; Q'Daer didn't want that.

"Tell me, Grinsa," he said now, with a glance at the merchants. "Are the dark-eyes of your land similar to these two?"

The Forelander had just taken a bite of meat, and he paused briefly in his chewing, his pale eyes flicking first to the Eandi and then to Q'Daer. After a moment he finished chewing and swallowed.

"They're like some men I knew in the Forelands," he said evenly. "They're different from others."

"That surprises me. I'd heard that you had friends among the Eandi of the north, that you fought alongside their kings and nobles. Yet these two fight among themselves. At every turn they show themselves to be cowards and liars. They may have killed thousands. And you want me to believe that they're just like your friends in the Forelands."

Grinsa shook his head. "That's not what I said. You can find honorable men in any land, regardless of the color of their eyes." He gestured vaguely at the merchants. "I don't know these men very well, but I sense that they're not too different from some of the people I knew in the Forelands. Just as you're not."

Q'Daer's eyes widened slightly. "Me?"

A smile touched the man's face. "Yes. You remind me of several Qirsi I knew in the North."

"Friends of yours?"

Grinsa shrugged. "Some. As I say, there are all sorts of men, of all races."

Torgan continued to ignore them, the firelight reflected in his one eye. But the younger merchant had been listening, and now he said, "Sounds like you're no better in his view than we are, Q'Daer."

"Shut your mouth, dark-eye," Q'Daer said.

The Eandi shrugged, then took another bite of meat.

"Is that what you meant?" the Fal'Borna asked Grinsa.

The Forelander cast a hard look at the merchant, but then turned to face Q'Daer, his expression easing. "I meant nothing beyond what I said. You seem to think that people here-Eandi and Qirsi alike-are quite different from the men and women I knew in the Forelands, and I'm just telling you that the differences aren't that great."

Q'Daer nodded, though he wasn't quite satisfied with the man's answer.

"It's been a long day," Grinsa said, standing and retrieving his sleeping roll. "I'm going to get some sleep. I'd suggest the rest of you do the same."

Q'Daer watched Grinsa and the merchants arrange themselves on the ground around the fire before reluctantly doing the same. He wanted to stay awake, to keep talking so that they couldn't sleep either, but he knew he was being foolish, like a petulant child. Somehow the Forelander had managed to make himself the leader of their little group. Somehow the young merchant had managed to twist their conversation. None of this was going the way it was supposed to. He would have to be more careful in the days to come.

Q'Daer stared up into the darkness and listened to the fire settling beside him. After some time he began to grow calmer, his thoughts clearing like the sky after a passing storm. He still considered Grinsa a threat to all that he wanted, but with E'Menua's help he had glimpsed a way past the danger.

Before leaving the sept, while Grinsa said farewell to his woman and child, Q'Daer had spoken with the a'laq. D'Pera had been there when he entered E'Menua's z'kal, but the a'laq sent her away. Q'Daer had only seen him do this a few times before; the last time had been following the storm in which Q'Daer's men perished.

"You dislike the Forelander," E'Menua had said, once they were alone.

He saw no point in denying it. His cheek still throbbed where Grinsa had struck him. No doubt E'Menua could see the bruise, and even if he couldn't, others had seen what happened. There were few secrets in a Fal'Borna sept.

"Yes, A'Laq. I dislike him."

"Why?" Immediately, E'Menua shook his head and held up a hand to silence him. "It's all right. I know why. In your position I might hate him, too."

"My feelings aren't important, A'Laq. He's a Weaver, and his presence here strengthens your sept. He and I will find this Mettai witch and stop her."

The a'laq nodded once and smiled. "You are truly Fal'Borna, my friend. I wish your father had lived long enough to see the man you've become."

"Thank you, A'Laq."

E'Menua motioned for him to sit.

"I know how difficult a time you've had since the storm," the a'laq said, when Q'Daer was settled on the other side of the fire. "I know that you fear you've fallen out of my favor."

Q'Daer lowered his gaze. "L'Norr is my friend, and a good man, A'Laq. I believe either one of us would be a worthy husband for U'Vara."

"I agree with you. But I think you're stronger than he is. I have sons, so I don't expect that either of you will ever rule this Sept. But I want a strong husband for my daughter."

"Yes, A'Laq."

"I also want the Forelander to stay here."

Q'Daer's mouth twitched. "Yes, A'Laq."

"You have every reason to want him to leave, I know. And that means that you have every reason to want him to succeed in this endeavor with the dark-eye merchants. He and I have struck a bargain. If he succeeds, I'll allow him to leave. If he fails, he stays and agrees to be properly joined to a Weaver."

It was just as Q'Daer had feared. Despite the a'laq's kind words of a moment before, he felt his hopes of being joined to U'Vara slipping away.

"I understand, A'Laq. You want me to make certain he fails."

E'Menua raised a finger, his eyes narrowing. "It's not quite that simple. I want this Mettai witch dead-I fear this curse of hers. But I don't want Grinsa to prove that Torgan and his friend are innocent, and I don't want the Forelander to be able to claim credit for killing the witch." E'Menua's pale eyes shone in the firelight. "I want you to succeed where he fails. Do this and I promise that you will be joined to U'Vara. The failure of your hunt will be forgotten." His expression darkened. "Fail me again, and I'll see to it that you never marry."

There had been nothing for Q'Daer to say but "Yes, A'Laq."

He left the z'kal, and a short time later he led the Forelander and the merchants away from the sept.

They'd ridden a long way this day; it was hard for him to believe that his conversation with E'Menua had taken place only a few hours before. It seemed like days ago.

He didn't know yet how he would do all that the a'laq had asked of him. A part of him simply wanted Grinsa dead. His cheek didn't hurt much anymore, but the humiliation of being struck by the Forelander still burned his heart like a brand. He knew, though, that he couldn't kill the man without incurring E'Menua's wrath. And he had to admit that he looked forward to seeing Grinsa defeated and humiliated in turn, compelled to accept E'Menua's authority over him. He would enjoy seeing Grinsa's woman forced to relinquish her place at his side so that she might become some other Weaver's concubine. He might even claim her as his own. And once he was joined to U'Vara, he would hold a place of honor in the sept, above all Weavers save the a'laq himself. Grinsa would be under his authority as well as E'Menua's. Then the man would pay for what he had done, not all at once, but a thousand times each day for a thousand days and more. Q'Daer would enjoy that immensely.