by DAVID B. COE
Then she straightened and gazed back across the river. Gries had just reached the armies again. Those remaining on the opposite bank were cheering both the lord heir and the captain he had saved. Several men helped the young captain off Gries's horse and one threw a blanket around his shoulders. Jenoe was there with the others and he offered Gries his hand. The marshal grinned broadly and said something; no doubt he was complimenting the man on his quick thinking and bravery.
Enly still sat his horse a short distance from them, his britches darkened and dripping. He stared at Gries and the others, but he didn't go near them. After a moment, he gazed in Tirnya's direction. Seeing that she was watching him, he turned his mount and rode away from the water's edge.
With the ropes finally in place, the foot soldiers and the Mettai who were marching with them were able to make their way across the river. It was slow going, and by the time the men and women reached the western bank, they barely had the strength to climb up out of the riverbed and onto the grass of the plain. But no one else was carried downstream by the current, and even the carts bearing their provisions forded the wash without incident. Still, by the time everyone had crossed, the sky had begun to darken. Not that it mattered. No one had the strength to march deeper into Fal'Borna land on this day. They made camp for the night barely a hundred fourspans from where the armies of Qalsyn and Waterstone had slept the night before.
Chapter 3
Since leaving their home in Lifarsa, near the Companion Lakes, Fayonne and her people had been largely ignored by the Eandi warriors with whom they marched. Not that Fayonne had expected more. As eldest of the Mettai village, she had dealt with plenty of Eandi merchants and the occasional Eandi army captain. All of them were arrogant. All of them treated her and her people with disdain.
It hadn't surprised her this day when, after crossing the Silverwater Wash, the army captains had nearly reclaimed their ropes before she and the other Mettai had a chance to cross the river. Naturally the Eandi let them cross, and Marshal Onjaef even had the courtesy to apologize to her for the oversight. But she thought it typical Eandi behavior.
Still, she didn't regret at all her decision to march to war with these people. She knew that those who had come with her from Lifarsa felt the same way. The Eandi, too, had seemed to understand their eagerness to leave the village. How could they not? The ramshackle houses, the stunted crops, the half-starved beasts grazing on wisps of grass. Probably they thought her a poor leader. Probably they were asking themselves, "How could any eldest allow her people to suffer so? How could she have done nothing while her village died?"
Let them ask. What did they know of her kind, and how they had suffered? They couldn't possibly understand what afflicted Lifarsa. Nor did they have to. The Eandi needed Mettai magic if they had any hope of defeating the Fal'Borna in this war of theirs. Fayonne and her people needed the land they hoped to take from the white-hairs. Nothing else mattered.
After fording the river, she and the other Mettai made camp a short distance away from the Eandi, as they always did. They remained close enough that if the marshal needed to speak with Fayonne, he or his officers could find her with relative ease. But the Eandi soldiers seemed happiest when the Mettai kept their distance, and Fayonne felt the same way.
They were close enough that they couldn't escape the aroma of roasting meat from the Eandi camp. Clearly the Eandi had no trouble killing game here on the plain.
Mander had accompanied her, as was proper, since as her son he would lead the village some day. She had sent him and his friends to hunt, hoping that perhaps the luck of the Eandi would rub off on them. He returned sometime later, looking glum and resentful.
"Nothing?" she asked as he approached.
He shook his head. "The warriors killed deer, fowl, even a few boar."
"And you?"
He laughed mirthlessly. "Rabbits. Nearly a dozen of them."
Fayonne shrugged. Rabbits were better than nothing. A dozen would be enough to give the fifty Mettai who had marched with them a taste of meat, and to put something other than boiled roots and stale bread in their bellies.
"I thought it would be better once we were away from Lifarsa," Mander said, staring at the small fire she had lit with magic.
"It may get better. Be patient."
A frown creased his brow. He was so much like his father. Not only his looks-the dark eyes and long black hair, his long, sharp features and lanky build-but also his refusal to cling to false hope. Even as a child, Mander had preferred a hard truth to an easy lie. Just like his father. Tawno would have been proud of the man his boy had become.
"It's not going to be any better, Mama. We both know that."
"No," Fayonne said, "we don't. We have leagues to go before we settle again. Distance may be our ally in this. And who knows what a century and a half of white-hair magic has done to this land. Anything is possible. It's good that you're sensible, but you must allow for some hope."
He nodded, still grim-faced.
"The others need to believe its possible, Mander," the eldest said, dropping her voice and looking around to see that no one was listening. "Don't take that away from them. Not so soon."
"I won't," he said. "And I won't give up. Not yet."
"Good. With all our people have been through-"
Before Fayonne could say more, Mander touched her arm lightly and pointed toward the Eandi camp, a warning in his eyes.
She saw the man a moment later. Her eyes weren't as keen as they once had been.
The Eandi walking toward them had been with the marshal and his daughter the day the army first reached Lifarsa. At the time Marshal Onjaef had given the man's name, but Fayonne had forgotten it. She did remember, however, that he was lord heir of Qalsyn and the son of the marshal's lord governor. She also recalled that of the three who had dined with them in Lifarsa that night, this man had seemed least willing to forge this alliance. He had asked Fayonne why she and her people were so eager to leave the village, and he had appeared unsatisfied by her vague answer.
Fayonne stood as the man approached. An instant later Mander rose as well.
"Good evening, Eldest," the Eandi said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all, my lord."
A thin smile crossed the man's features for just a moment.
"Please call me captain or Enly."
"Very well. What can I do for you, Captain?"
"May I sit?"
"Of course."
Fayonne and Mander lowered themselves to the ground once more. The captain sat opposite them, on the far side of the fire.
The man cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you might be willing to tell me a bit more about your village."
Fayonne felt that Mander was watching her, but she kept her eyes locked on those of the Eandi.
"There's little to tell," she said. "I've been eldest of Lifarsa for nearly two fours now. Before that, it was a man named Gay. He was a farmer, like me, though he also had a smithy. Before him-"
"Forgive me," the captain said. "I'm not…" He stopped, frowning. "I won't claim to know many Mettai. But those I've encountered have always been tied to the land around the lakes. They consider it their ancestral home. The other Mettai we spoke to refused to help us, and had no interest in leaving. But you…"
"You told us much the same thing the night you ate as our guests in Lifarsa."
"I remember," the man said. "And you said that not all Mettai are the same."
"If you ask me again tonight, I'll tell you the same thing." She raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm wrong?"
"I think that most Mettai are the same when it comes to their feelings about their land and about involving themselves in a new Blood War."
"Do you want our help, Captain?" Fayonne asked. "Clearly the marshal and his daughter do, but do you?"
He exhaled. "I don't know. I…" He stopped himself, looked away. "I don't know," he repeated.
Fayonne opened her hands. "Then I don't
know what to tell you. You want me to be just like the other Mettai you've met, few though they may be. But you're nothing like Marshal Onjaef, or his daughter, or the other Eandi captains you ride with. They want to use our magic against the Fal'Borna. They trust that we'll honor our side of the agreement we reached with you. And they're right to trust us. We will shed our blood for you. We'll draw upon our magic and do everything in our power to fight the white-hairs. What more do you need to know?"
The captain stared at her across the fire.
"I suppose you're right," he said. "That's all that matters. Tirnya and the marshal have been telling me the same thing for days." He climbed to his feet. "Forgive me. Good night." He nodded once to Mander and walked back toward the Eandi camp.
For a long time Fayonne and her son said nothing. The eldest watched the man recede into the darkness and when she couldn't see him anymore, she lowered her gaze to the fire. Eandi men sang in the distance, a song she didn't know. She heard laughter from the warriors nearest to the Mettai camp. Her people were quiet, though she could hear the murmur of a few conversations.
"He won't be content with those answers forever," Mander said so quietly that his words barely reached her.
Fayonne shook her head. "He doesn't have to be. We'll march, we'll fight, and then this will be over. Hopefully we'll live and the Eandi will win and we'll have new land to settle. But whatever happens, he only has to leave us alone for a short while."
"But-"
"Listen to me," she said, turning to face him. He looked so young in the firelight, just like Tawno when she first fell in love with him. "The Eandi don't understand us. They know nothing about our magic or our ways. It would take them several turns to figure out any of this. It will all be over well before then. Just keep this to yourself, and don't let on to the others that you're worried."
He hesitated, but only briefly. "Yes," he said, nodding. "All right."
Fayonne smiled. "Good. You'll make a good leader someday."
Tirnya wasn't certain why she had volunteered to do this. Upon setting up camp on the west bank of the wash, her father had announced his intention to invite Hendrid Crish and Gries Ballidyne to sup with him and his captains. He instructed Stri and his men to find game for their meal, and he dispatched a messenger to the camp of the Waterstone army to convey his invitation to Marshal Crish.
He was about to send a second man to speak with Gries, but Tirnya stopped him.
"I'll speak with him, Father," she said.
Her father cast a look her way. She began to blush under his gaze, but with the light failing, she didn't think he noticed.
"All right," he said, in a tone that made her want to hit him. "I just want to thank him for saving that captain today. I felt… I had a chance to grab his hand, and I missed. If Gries hadn't pulled him from the wash…" She shuddered.
Jenoe smiled indulgently, his expression softening. "I understand." He gestured in the direction of the Fairlea camp. "By all means. Go. Talk to him."
She started toward the army of Fairlea, following a circuitous route past soldiers and small campfires. And before she was halfway there, she regretted her decision to go. She didn't know this man. From all that Enly had told her, she gathered that he couldn't be trusted. On the other hand, he had seemed genuinely good-natured when they were introduced earlier in the day, and he had saved the young captain from Waterstone seemingly without regard for his own safety.
And he's very handsome.
She grinned to herself. Once again, as she had during her conversation with Enly that morning, she wondered how much of what Qalsyn's lord heir had told her was born of his jealousy and his fear that she'd be drawn to Gries. Was that why she had offered to deliver her father's message in person?
Because she was attracted to the man? Or because she wanted to make Enly think that she was attracted to him?
She paused. She hadn't seen Enly in some time, since watching him cross the wash. Where could he have gone? The men around her were from his company, but she didn't see him anywhere.
"Have you seen Captain Tolm?" she asked a young soldier, who sat with his friends pulling feathers from three quail they had apparently just killed. The man stood. "No, Captain."
Tirnya frowned. "Well, when you see him next, please tell him that the marshal would like him to join us for supper."
"Of course, Captain."
Tirnya nodded to the man and his companions and moved on.
Before long, she had crossed into the Fairlea camp, though had it not been for the different uniforms she might not have known. The sounds were just the same-pockets of laughter, quiet conversations, a few young voices raised in song-and in the torchlight and glow of fires the faces weren't all that different from those of the men in Qalsyn's companies.
Tirnya asked one of the soldiers where she could find Captain Ballidyne, and he pointed her to the center of the camp. She stared in the direction he indicated, straining to see in the darkness. Seeing no tent like those erected for the two marshals, she smiled weakly at the man and made her way to the heart of the northern army.
Tirnya spotted him from a distance. He stood a good deal taller than any of the men around him, and his yellow hair seemed to shine with firelight. She had to admit that her heart beat just a bit faster at the sight of him, and she chided herself, feeling more like a schoolgirl than an army captain.
Stepping past the men around him and into the glow of his campfire, she said, "Excuse me."
All of them had been laughing at something, but they fell silent at the sound of her voice, and every pair of eyes turned in her direction.
"Captain Onjaef," Gries said, a smile on his face. "Welcome."
"Thank you, Captain Ballidyne. Forgive me for intruding, but my father would like you to join him for supper."
"I'd be honored."
She nodded. "Good." She stood there for a few moments, unsure of what she ought to say next, and wishing once more that she'd let her father send a messenger.
"Perhaps I could escort you back to your camp now," Gries finally said. "If that's all right."
"Yes, of course."
He had a small white scar high on his right cheek and another on the same side of his face, just by his temple. She knew scars like that. She had several herself.
Tirnya realized she was staring at him, and glanced away.
"Jondel, you'll be in command while I'm gone," Gries said to one of the men. "Not that there should be much need, but just in case."
"Yes, Captain."
He faced Tirnya again, smiling once more. "Shall we?"
She turned and began walking back to the Qalsyn army with Gries beside her. Neither of them spoke at first, and the silence soon began to grow awkward. At last, Tirnya said the first thing that came into her head.
"You must leave yourself open to thrusts when you attack with your sword hand."
"What?"
Again she blushed, and again she was grateful for the darkness.
"The scars on your face. Those are from battle tournaments, aren't they?"
"Yes, they are."
She heard amusement in his voice.
"I thought so," she went on. "They're both on the right side of your face, so I'm guessing that you have a tendency to leave yourself unguarded when you attack."
"I did, when I was younger. Those scars are several years old. It's been some time since I was bloodied in a tournament."
Tirnya smiled inwardly. There, at least, was the arrogance Enly had warned her about. "I see," she said.
"You think I'm boasting."
"No," she said. "I know you are."
Gries laughed. "I deserved that."
"I have scars, too," she told him. "Plenty of them, including one from this year."
"Let me guess. From Enly?"
She nodded. "I'm afraid so." She glanced at him. He was looking straight ahead, his straight nose and strong chin silhouetted against the pale glow of the camp. "You and he have fought, haven't
you?"
"Once, a long time ago. We fought to a draw."
"That's what he told me."
He looked at her. "And you didn't believe him?"
"It's not that," she said. "But the Tolms are… they're very proud. And he seemed rather defensive about your match when I asked him about it."
"Neither of us could have been more than fifteen or sixteen at the time. He was the quicker swordsman, and he was probably more skilled, too. I was stronger and had a longer reach." He shrugged slightly, a strangely small gesture for such a large man. "It made for a good match."
They walked in silence for a few moments.
Then Tirnya said, "Thank you for saving that man today."
"You're welcome. He was one of yours? I thought he was from Waterstone."
"He was. But I had a chance to grab his hand, and I missed."
Gries chuckled. "Good thing, too."
"Excuse me?"
"Forgive me, Captain, but he weighed more than you do. If he'd gotten hold of you, he would have pulled you after him, and I'd have had to save both of you."
Tirnya opened her mouth, closed it again. She didn't know what to say, although in that moment she was furious enough to say just about anything.
"I've angered you."
"You're damn right you have."
"I didn't mean to. I was just saying-"
"You were calling me weak, and implying that I was foolish to have tried to save that man."
"That's not-"
"I'm a warrior in the army of Qalsyn, and for three years running I've fought Enly in the final match of our Harvest Tournament. Yes, he's beaten me, but no one else has. I took an arrow in the chest just over a turn ago, and still I've led my company this far. Before long I'll lead them into battle. You look at me and assume that I must be weak, that I must need the protection of a man. I don't. If I'd gotten hold of that soldier, I wouldn't have let go and I wouldn't have been swept downstream with him. Believe me; don't believe me. I couldn't care less."
She quickened her pace, intending to leave him there.
"I do believe you," he called to her. "I'm sorry for what I said."