by DAVID B. COE
Tirnya slowed again, then stopped. She didn't look at him, not even when he halted just beside her.
"I didn't mean to offend you."
She said nothing. She wasn't ready to forgive him just yet.
"You were wounded?"
Tirnya nodded. "Road brigands. We were on patrol and we tracked them to a small clearing in the wood south of Qalsyn. Part of my company got there before I did. I rode into the middle of a skirmish and was hit almost immediately."
"Sounds like you're lucky to be alive."
"I am. Two of my men died," she said. She looked up at him. His face was bathed in the warm light of fires and torches. "I'm a captain in the army of Stelpana, just as you are. I deserve to be spoken to in a manner that befits that rank."
"You're right. I won't do it again."
She nodded once and led him the rest of the way to the Qalsyn camp in silence.
By the time they reached Jenoe's makeshift quarters, a great fire burned before it and the two deer killed for them by Stri and his men had been mounted on large spits. The air around them was redolent with the scent of roasting venison.
In Tirnya's absence Enly had returned, and he eyed both her and Gries with suspicion and manifest jealousy. Tirnya tried to ignore him.
"Captain Ballidyne," Jenoe said when he saw them. "I'm delighted you could join us."
"Thank you, Marshal. I'm honored by your invitation."
It had grown colder since sunset, and Tirnya was still chilled from crossing the river. While Jenoe and Gries chatted, she slipped into her father's tent and threw his riding cloak over her shoulders. She emerged again just as Stri, Marshal Crish, and another captain from the Waterstone army were arriving. Her father noticed her with his cloak and grinned.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," he said, indicating with an open hand a few large, weather-worn logs that were arrayed in a half circle before the blaze. "I had a few men bring these up from the riverbank. I daresay they'll be more comfortable than the ground would be."
Marshal Crish nodded approvingly. "I'll say. Well done, Jenoe."
Tirnya sat between her father and Stri at one end of the semicircle; Enly sat at the other end, as far from her as possible, and Gries took a spot just on the other side of Jenoe. Two of Stri's soldiers stood near the fire, tending to the cooking meat.
"I want to thank you again, Captain Ballidyne," Waterstone's marshal said. "That was quite a feat you pulled off today. You saved the life of a man I value and trust."
Gries looked down and grinned, the way someone might if he were embarrassed by such praise. But it didn't seem to Tirnya that he looked embarrassed.
"You're too kind, Marshal. I'm sure that any man here-" He glanced quickly at Tirnya. "Any person here… would have done the same."
"Forgive me for not asking earlier, Captain," Jenoe said, "but how is His Lordship your father?"
Gries smiled, though it appeared forced, even pained. Tirnya thought that he looked much the way Enly did when Qalsyn's lord heir spoke of his father.
"He's well," Gries said. "Thank you for asking. He wishes you success in this endeavor, and he prays that the gods will watch over all the men under your command."
"What does he think of this… endeavor, as you call it?"
All of them turned to look at Enly.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean, my lord," Gries said.
"Of course you do. For better or worse, we're marching to war against the Fal'Borna. Surely he expressed some opinion on the matter."
Gries's expression hardened. "He sent twelve hundred men to fight this war, Captain. He sent officers. He sent me. I believe that's opinion enough."
"Perhaps it is. My father sent me, but I'm not sure that says anything at all." He grinned, as if to show that he was joking. No one laughed.
"Do you have an opinion you'd like to share with us, Lord Tolm?" Hendrid asked.
Enly's eyes flicked toward Tirnya. She gave a slight shake of her head.
"I asked to be here," he said, looking at the marshal again. "As Gries said, that's opinion enough."
Gries turned to Jenoe. "I would like to know more about these Mettai who are with us. Was it your idea to approach them, Marshal?"
"No," Jenoe said. "It was Tirnya's. But I think that their magic will give us a great advantage in our battles with the Fal'Borna."
Gries nodded. "I don't doubt that. But I'm surprised that they agreed to this alliance. Living in the north, I have some knowledge of the Mettai. I've never known them to want anything to do with us or with the white-hairs."
Again Tirnya found herself sharing a look with Enly. But it was Jenoe who answered.
"These Mettai are strange," he said. "I'll admit that. And the lands they inhabited were blighted. I believe they're desperate to find somewhere new to live."
Gries narrowed his eyes. "You say their lands were bad?"
"They seemed so. And even the woodlands around their village were unusually quiet. Our men tried to hunt for their suppers that night, and found little. Most of them resorted to eating their rations instead."
"What was the name of this town?"
Jenoe glanced at Tirnya, a frown on his face. "I can't remember."
"Lifarsa," Enly said.
"Yes, of course," Jenoe said. "Thank you, Captain." He turned to Gries again. "Do you know it?"
Fairlea's lord heir shook his head. "No. But it's strange that any Mettai would live on blighted lands. In addition to being sorcerers, they're farmers, trappers. Their entire way of life is rooted in the land."
Jenoe didn't appear to be bothered. "Well, as I say, this is probably why they were so eager to join us."
"No doubt," Gries said.
"Capt'n Balkett," called one of the men by the fire. "Th' meat's ready."
"Excellent," Stri said, standing.
The others stood as well, and soon all of them were eating the roasted venison, which was as good as anything Tirnya had tasted in years. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she took the first bite. It seemed everyone else had been as starved as she, because for a long time no one said a word.
Eventually Enly made his way to her side. He didn't say anything, but she sensed that he wanted to ask her questions, probably about what she and Gries had talked about.
Before he could, she asked him, "Where did you go off to before?"
"Missed me, did you?" he said, his mouth full.
"Not at all. But I was curious."
He shrugged, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. "I went to speak with Fayonne."
"Fayonne?" she repeated. It took her a moment. "The Mettai woman?" Enly nodded.
He took another bite.
"What were you talking to her about, Enly?"
He finally looked her in the eye. "I asked her the same questions I put to her that night in Lifarsa, the same questions your friend Gries was just asking. What are they doing here? Why were they so eager to leave their homes?"
She wanted to walk away, to make it clear to him that she didn't share his suspicions or care what the woman had told him. But in truth she did want to know. When at last she said, "And what did she tell you?" it felt like a surrender.
Before he could answer, Gries walked up to them, holding two large pieces of meat.
"More for either of you?"
Enly didn't look at all pleased to see the man. But he took a piece of meat and mumbled a thank-you.
"It sounds to me like you have doubts about this war, Enly," Gries said, taking a bite, his eyes fixed on the ground.
Enly stopped chewing for a moment.
Tirnya shook her head. "No, he doesn't."
Enly swallowed. "I have the same questions you do, Gries. I want to know why, after centuries of keeping to themselves, these Mettai are suddenly willing to take sides in a new Blood War."
"Have you asked them?"
"Tirnya and I were just talking about that. I spoke to the eldest a short time ago. She really didn't tell me much."
"But it does."
She looked at Gries. "Not you, too."
"I'm sorry, Captain. But anytime you march to war with an ally, you need to be certain that you can trust them, and that you understand their motives."
"These Mettai want land. They want a new life. What more do we need to know?"
Gries shrugged. "I'd like to know more about their village."
"There isn't much to tell," Enly said. "It looked like the other Mettai villages we visited, but the houses were run down, and their livestock looked… unwell. The stew they served us the night we supped with them was awful."
Tirnya grimaced at the memory of the meal, knowing that she couldn't argue with Enly on this point. The stew itself had been heavily seasoned with an unpleasantly pungent spice, and the meat in the stew had been stringy and sour tasting.
"Were the houses old?" Gries asked.
Enly looked puzzled. "Old?"
"Did it look like the Mettai had been living there for a long time?"
"Yes, it did," Enly said. "Some of the houses were in disrepair, and Fayonne and her people seemed desperate to get away. I definitely had the sense that they'd been there for many years."
Gries shook his head. "That I don't understand. Like I said, the Mettai are farmers. They depend on the land, and they know how to care for it. If the soil was bad, they would have left long ago."
"So what does all this mean?" Enly asked.
"I don't know," Gries told him. He looked at Tirnya. "Watch them. I doubt they'd betray us. If they've come this far, they must be sincere in their commitment to the alliance. But much of what you've told me strikes me as odd."
It wasn't the first time one of Tirnya's companions had forced her to acknowledge that these Mettai were strange, and that they seemed too willing to join the Eandi army. But perhaps because it came from someone she barely knew, rather than from her father or Enly, both of whom had spoken against this invasion, she took Gries's warning more seriously than she had the others.
Stri joined them before she could say more, and began to ask Gries questions about his city and the Northlands. Gries seemed happy enough to talk about his home. When he learned that Stri came from southern Stelpana, near the Ofirean, he had questions of his own. For a long time Tirnya and Enly listened politely as the two captains went back and forth with tales of their childhoods.
After some time, Enly gestured to Tirnya that he wanted to speak with her alone. Reluctantly she let him lead her a short distance from the others. "You want to gloat?" she asked when he turned to face her.
Enly gave her a sour look. "Gloat?"
"He agrees with you about the Mettai."
"After all that I told you about Gries earlier today, why do you think I'd gloat about him agreeing with me?"
He had a point.
"So what do you want?" she asked.
Enly started to say something, but then stopped himself, his eyes locked on hers. After a brief pause, he shook his head. "Nothing. I I… I was looking for an excuse to get away from Gries and Stri."
"That's it?"
He shrugged. "That's it."
Tirnya wasn't sure she believed him, but she also didn't care to press the matter. "Fine then," she said. She turned on her heel and strode back to where her father was speaking with Waterstone's marshal.
Enly remained where he was, alone at the fringe of their small circle. He ate what was left of his meal, and he stared at the fire, though several times Tirnya glanced his way only to find that he was already watching her.
Eventually, Jenoe announced that he was going to sleep, and he urged the rest of them to do the same.
"We begin our march toward the Horn in the morning," he said. "And now that we're in Fal'Borna land, we could meet up with Qirsi warriors anytime. I want all of you well rested."
They bade one another good night, and started back to their respective parts of the camp. Tirnya hadn't gone far, though, before she remembered that she still wore her father's cloak. Laughing at herself, she turned and walked back to the fire. As she drew near she saw that her father wa talking to Enly, and that he looked angry.
After a moment's hesitation, she stepped closer, taking care to keep ou of the firelight lest one of them see her.". .. was unacceptable," her father was saying. "I understand that you're lord heir, and I'm but a marshal in your father's army. But he made it a deal that for the duration of this march and whatever battles are to come, you are under my command."
"Yes, Marshal. I agreed to that as well."
"Then act like it, damnit!"
Enly shook his head. "I didn't do anything-"
Jenoe raised a finger, silencing him. "Don't! You know full well what you did. Asking Gries what his father thought of this war. What were you thinking?"
"I didn't see anything wrong with the question."
"I know you too well, Enly. I know how clever you are. Don't pretend to be a fool."
Enly looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
"You think this is a bad idea," Jenoe said. "I understand that. But we're here now. That discussion is over. And trying to open it again in front of our allies is beneath you." He rubbed a hand over his face. "What I said before is true. We could find ourselves facing the Fal'Borna tomorrow, or the next day. The last thing I want is for Gries and Hendrid to doubt our commitment to this invasion. I hope you didn't mention your reservations to the Mettai."
"I didn't," Enly said, still not looking at him.
"Good." He gestured vaguely at the camp. "These soldiers must have complete confidence in us, Enly. Doubt in the mind of a warrior is fatal."
"I understand, Marshal."
Jenoe stared at him for several moments, as if weighing whether he should say more. Finally he nodded once. "All right then. Don't do it again."
"Yes, sir."
"Get some sleep."
Enly nodded and met Jenoe's gaze for an instant. Then he walked away. Jenoe watched him leave before stepping into his tent.
Tirnya stood in the darkness for some time. She should have been angry with Enly. This was why she had warned him not to respond when Hendrid asked him for his opinion of their "endeavor." She also would have expected herself to take some pleasure in seeing his ears pinned back by her father. But she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but sorry for him. She'd been on the receiving end of her father's upbraidings enough times to know how he felt.
Eventually she turned and walked back to where her company slept. She'd return her father's cloak in the morning.
Chapter 4
CENTRAL PLAIN, FAL'BORNA LAND
Grinsa jal Arriet had never imagined that he would return in disgrace to the sept of E'Menua, the Fal'Borna a'laq who had made him and his family captives of the Qirsi clan. He and the men with whom he had journeyed-two Eandi merchants and Q'Daer, a young Fal'Borna Weaver of the sept-had been sent to find a Mettai witch and defeat the curse she had created, which was spreading across the land, killing Qirsi and destroying their villages. Upon completing these tasks, Grinsa, his wife, Cresenne ja Terba, and their young daughter, Bryntelle, would be free to leave. And the Eandi merchants, Jasha Ziffel and Torgan Plye, who had been condemned to die for having sold cursed Mettai baskets to the Fal'Borna, would be spared and released.
Grinsa was a Weaver himself, a Qirsi who wielded all varieties of magic, and who could bind the magic of many Qirsi into a single powerful weapon. Against great odds, he had survived a war in the Forelands, where he'd spent most of his life, and had defeated a renegade Weaver who sought to conquer the Eandi realms of that land. He had saved the life of an Eandi noble falsely accused of murder. He was not at all accustomed to failure.
But he and the rest of his company had failed miserably in this undertaking. Yes, the witch, a woman named Lici, had been killed, but not by them. Rather, it had been her own Mettai companions, Besh and Sirj, who had defeated her. Besh had also found a way
to overcome the woman's curse, only barely in time to save Grinsa's life and Q'Daer's. But Jasha was dead, killed by Torgan. And Torgan had escaped with a scrap of cursed Mettai basket that might still be used to sicken unsuspecting Qirsi.
At this point, Grinsa had little hope that E'Menua would allow him and his family to go free, particularly now that war had come to the plain.
He and the others-Q'Daer, Besh, and Sirj-were still several leagues from the sept, and they were making poor progress southward. Grinsa remained weak from the plague that had nearly killed him. Q'Daer had been sicker than he, and was still suffering as well. And Besh, though spry for his age, was old to be braving the cold winds of the late Harvest.
As soon as they received word that an Eandi army was gathering on the eastern bank of the Silverwater, and that a Mettai force was marching with them, Grinsa had encouraged Besh and Sirj to leave Fal'Borna lands. They had been declared friends of the Fal'Borna by another a'laq, but the Qirsi of the plain were fierce warriors and showed little mercy for their enemies. That declaration would mean little now.
But Besh had insisted that they remain and help other Qirsi combat the plague that Lici had loosed upon the land. And Grinsa had his doubts as to whether the two Mettai could reach the safety of Eandi territory without being found and killed by the Fal'Borna. For better or worse, their fates were now tied to his.
The four of them said little as they rode, Grinsa and Q'Daer on horseback, Besh and Sirj on the cart that had once belonged to Lici. Besh had a blanket about his shoulders. Q'Daer sat wrapped in a rilda skin, and Grinsa wore a woolen riding cloak he had brought from the Forelands. He pulled it tighter now, as another gust of cold wind made the grasses bow and dance. Only Sirj seemed immune to the elements.
"It must be good to be young and never feel the cold," Besh said, as if reading Grinsa's thoughts.
Grinsa glanced their way. Both men were looking at him, wearing grins. "I wouldn't remember," Grinsa said. "It's been too long."
Besh laughed. "If you're old, Forelander, then what am I?"
Q'Daer looked back at the rest of them, a frown on his youthful, square face, but he didn't say anything and a moment later he faced forward again.