by DAVID B. COE
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 fabr
ics 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.