by DAVID B. COE
"Hornets?" B'Vril whispered, staring at the cloud of insects.
The insects circled over them once and streamed away toward the nearby wood.
"Hornets," Besh said, grinning.
B'Vril stared at him. After a moment he began to laugh. "You were going to attack us with hornets?"
"It would have worked," Sirj said, sounding angry.
"I don't doubt it," the Fal'Borna said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "But I was expecting you to try to kill us. And you were going to use hornets." He looked at Grinsa again. "You can release my magic, Forelander. I believe you now."
The other warrior looked at his leader, clearly puzzled. "Weaver?" he said. "It's all right. Lower your weapons."
"Now it's my turn," Grinsa told him. "I'm not sure I trust you."
B'Vril threw down his spear, pulled the knife from his belt, and threw that onto the ground as well.
"We both know that your weapons are meaningless in this fight."
"It doesn't matter," Q'Daer said. "If he's laid down his spear, this fight is over. That's our way."
Grinsa and Q'Daer shared a look.
"You can let go of his magic," the young Weaver told him. "There isn't a Fal'Borna alive who would drop his weapon before another Fal'Borna and then attack."
Still Grinsa hesitated. If B'Vril truly thought that Q'Daer had betrayed his people, would he still consider him Fal'Borna?
"The rest of you do the same," B'Vril called to his men. "Your spears and your blades."
The other warriors dropped their weapons on the ground beside their mounts.
Grinsa took a long breath and then, with great reluctance, eased his grip on B'Vril's magic. The man smiled with obvious relief and nodded.
"Thank you," he said. "Perhaps one day you'll show me how you did that." Grinsa had to grin. "Perhaps."
B'Vril dismounted, walked to Q'Daer, and held out his hands. Q'Daer gripped the man's wrists from below so that B'Vril could grip his wrists from above at the same time. It was a traditional Fal'Borna greeting, one that Grinsa had seen before. When B'Vril released Q'Daer and turned to him, offering his hands in the same way, Grinsa knew just what to do.
"I see you've learned some of our customs," he said.
Grinsa nodded. "Some, yes. There's still much I don't know."
B'Vril let go of his arms and turned to the Mettai. He didn't approach them, nor did he offer the customary greeting. But he looked both men in the eye.
"Your people are marching to war against us."
"Yes," Besh said. "I don't know why. I never thought I'd see the day when we involved ourselves in your battles with the Eandi."
"Your people are also responsible for the pestilence that's been destroying Fal'Borna villages. Is it such a leap to believe they'd bring war as well as plague to our plain?"
"The plague was brought here by one person," Sirj said hotly. "And Besh killed her. We've told you that already."
Besh placed a hand on Sirj's shoulder.
"Her name was Lici," the older man said. "She's the one Sirj is talking about. She came from our village, and we followed her. Eventually we captured her, and in the end I had no choice but to kill her. You're right, though. It was a Mettai curse that killed those people and razed their villages. It was also a Mettai spell that cured Grinsa and Q'Daer of Lici's plague. I created that spell, and I can use it tonight to make you and your men immune to the plague, so that if you encounter any more of Lici's cursed baskets you'll be safe. And later, you can use your healing magic to spread my spell through your entire sept. Your people need never fear that curse again."
Clearly, this was more than B'Vril had expected. He eyed Besh with obvious curiosity, but his mistrust seemed to have vanished, and a small grin played at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, this has been a most extraordinary evening," he said at last. "I'll consider your offer, Mettai. Even before this war, I never thought that I'd allow a Mettai to use his magic on me, but I would be… relieved to know that I was immune to that plague."
"Let me know when you're ready," Besh said.
B'Vril nodded to him, gave Sirj a quick, uncertain look, and turned back to Q'Daer. "We should talk, Weaver to Weaver. I need to know…" He faltered, glancing once more at the Mettai. "I have questions for you."
"Of course," Q'Daer said. "When you arrived, we were about to build a fire and eat. We don't have enough food to feed you and your men, but you're welcome to sup with us."
"I'd like… I'd like to speak with you and the Forelander alone." Q'Daer looked at Besh and Sirj.
"Yes, all right," Besh said, his voice flat. "We'll make our own fire. I'm tired anyway. Too much riding."
Grinsa caught Besh's eye. "Where I can see you," he said.
The old man nodded, casting a wary eye toward the Fal'Borna warriors. "Yes, I understand."
He and Sirj walked off a short distance, taking with them the wood they had gathered. Grinsa and Q'Daer quickly built their own fire, and soon were sitting beside it, eating a bit of dried rilda meat and cheese, while B'Vril sat across from them, also eating rilda.
"You had questions?" Q'Daer asked after some time.
"Are you sure you can trust them?" B'Vril asked immediately, as if he'd been aching to say the words the whole time. "The Mettai, I mean."
Q'Daer smiled thinly. "I knew who you meant." He looked at Grinsa briefly. "For a long time I wasn't sure. And then I got their plague and I was certain that they had cursed me. But they saved me. The Forelander, too. That spell Besh offered to use on you… Let him. It'll protect you."
B'Vril nodded once, but he still looked uncertain. "So, these Mettai can be trusted. But the rest…"
"The rest have made themselves enemies of the Fal'Borna," Q'Daer said.
"That's right," B'Vril said. "And that's why I wanted to speak with you. We know so little about their magic. At first I thought that finding you was nothing more than chance, but I realize now that it's a gift from the gods." He leaned forward. "You've seen them conjure," he went on in a lower voice. "Now, tonight, I've seen it, too. But there's so much more I need to know."
"Yes, of course."
"Q'Daer," Grinsa said, frowning.
The young Weaver looked at him, as if daring Grinsa to say more.
And really, what could Grinsa say? A group of Mettai had joined the Eandi army that was marching toward Fal'Borna land. The Qirsi had every right to defend themselves and to speak of what they knew about blood magic.
Grinsa shook his head and stared into the fire. "Never mind," he said quietly.
"From what I've seen, there are three elements to Mettai conjurings," Q'Daer began. "Blood, which they get by cutting themselves on the back of their hands, as you saw the old man do; earth, which they can simply pick up; and the spell itself, which you heard the man speak to himself."
"Do they have to say it out loud?" B'Vril asked.
Q'Daer said nothing. Grinsa realized that both men were watching him, waiting for him to answer.
"I'm new to this land," he said, not bothering to look at them. "I don't know any more about their magic than you do."
"You talk with them," Q'Daer said. "I've seen you. I think you know a great deal about how they conjure."
Grinsa didn't answer.
"They're marching against us," the young Weaver went on, sounding angry. "And if you think that the Eandi army and their allies will spare you or your woman or your child because you're from the Forelands rather than the plain, you're a fool and worse. Your hair is white; your eyes are yellow. To them, you're the enemy regardless of where you were born."
Grinsa knew Q'Daer was right, though it made his chest ache just to admit as much to himself.
"Yes, they have to say it aloud," he finally told them. He felt as though he was betraying Besh and Sirj, and he wanted to rail at Q'Daer and B'Vril for drawing him into their war with the Eandi.
Instead he raised his eyes, meeting Q'Daer's gaze. "What else do you want to kn
ow?"
Chapter 5
What do you think they're talking about?" Sirj asked, peering through the darkness at the other fire and the three Qirsi seated around it. Besh kept his gaze fixed on the fire and took another bite of hard cheese. "I don't know. It doesn't matter."
"They must be talking about us. That's why the Fal'Borna didn't want us there."
He was sure Sirj was right, but he said nothing. There was no sense in troubling him further.
For Besh, the Qirsi's conversation was the least of his concerns. His entire body hurt from riding that damned horse today. He'd told Grinsa that the Mettai were not horsemen, and he'd known that he was far too old to try to become one now. His back and legs were stiff, and he'd strained muscles he didn't even know he had.
Yet he could hardly argue with the Qirsi's decision to abandon the cart and make them ride. Q'Daer's people were under attack; had Besh been in his position, he would have been desperate to return to his sept. And having been away from his own family for far too long, the old man could imagine how keen Grinsa must have been to rejoin his wife and child.
For Besh and Sirj, however, this race southward couldn't have been more perilous. In the best of times, the old man would have felt vulnerable traveling across the plain. The Fal'Borna had a reputation as a hard and dangerous people. The necklace F'Ghara had given them seemed like scant protection. But now, with war coming, and with Mettai marching alongside the men of Stelpana, Besh feared that he and Sirj were riding to their doom.
Worse, he knew now that they had no choice. He'd been ready to leave Grinsa and Q'Daer, to ride back to Mettai lands and put the clans and their Eandi enemies behind them. He knew that Sirj wanted to. But Grinsa had argued that the danger to them was too great, and this evening's encounter with the Fal'Borna war party had convinced Besh that he was right. He'd had little experience with Qirsi magic, but he knew enough to understand that only Grinsa's and Q'Daer's intervention had kept B'Vril and his men from killing them. If Sirj and he had come upon the warriors on their own, they'd be dead already.
They were helpless. There was nothing they could do but follow Grinsa and Q'Daer back to the sept and hope that the Forelander would manage to keep them alive.
"I feel like a child."
"What?" Sirj said.
Besh looked at him, surprised by the question. It took him a moment to realize that he had spoken aloud. "Nothing."
"What if this new Fal'Borna is trying to turn them against us?" Sirj asked, still watching the Qirsi.
"Grinsa trusts us more than he does the Fal'Borna. Even if that's the Fal'Borna's intent, he won't betray us."
"But the other one-"
"Stop it, Sirj! We have enough to worry about without you imagining things!"
Sirj stared at him for a moment, then looked away. Besh shook his head, cursing his temper. He and Sirj had come a long way since leaving their home village of Kirayde. Eight years before, Sirj had married Besh's daughter, Elica. At the time, and in the years since, Besh had assumed that Sirj wasn't worthy of being her husband. He mistook Sirj's reticence for simplemindedness, and he would have preferred that Elica choose a more prosperous man; a wheelwright, perhaps, or a farrier, rather than a trapper. But since being forced to journey with him, Besh had come to realize that Sirj's reserved nature masked a keen mind and a courageous heart. The man didn't deserve to be spoken to in that way.
"I'm sorry, Sirj," he said after a long silence. "I really don't think that Grinsa or Q'Daer will break faith with us. I can't think that way, because I'm convinced that they're our only hope of surviving this war."
Sirj nodded, his gaze still lowered. "I know. That's why I want to know what they're saying."
Of course. Sirj wasn't being foolish. He was already a step ahead of Besh. "We can talk to Grinsa and Q'Daer later, after the other Fal'Borna are gone." As Besh said this, he glanced toward the Fal'Borna warriors, who had made their own fire. None of them had so much as looked toward the Mettai since he and Sirj had moved away from Grinsa and the others, but Besh continued to keep an eye on them. Grinsa had seemed concerned that the men might try to hurt them. Besh thought it possible, too.
"Do you think that this Weaver will let you use the spell on him?" Sirj asked.
"He'd be an idiot not to."
Sirj grinned. "I don't think that answers my question."
Besh laughed. Even as he did, though, he saw the Fal'Borna Weaver rise from his seat beside the other fire and start walking in their direction.
"Here comes your answer," he said.
Sirj looked up, instantly growing serious. Grinsa had stood as well, and was following the man. Clearly the Forelander had taken it upon himself to keep Besh and Sirj safe. And though Besh usually had confidence in his own ability to watch out for himself, under the circumstances, he was grateful.
B'Vril stopped a short distance from their fire and cleared his throat.
"I was wondering if I might have a word with you," he said.
Besh waved him on. "Of course. Please join us."
The Fal'Borna stepped into the firelight, and after a brief hesitation, sat down on the ground. Grinsa had halted just beyond the reach of the fire's glow, and he remained in the shadows, content, it seemed, to watch and listen. "I want to learn more about this spell you've offered to put on me."
"Not just on you," Besh said. "You need to understand that. This is a spell that you can pass on to any Fal'Borna, simply by using your magic on them."
"I'm a Weaver," the man said. "I can wield the magic of all my warriors as a weapon. Would that pass your spell to them?"
Besh looked up at Grinsa, who nodded.
"Yes, it would," Besh said, facing the Fal'Borna once more.
B'Vril exhaled. "I see."
"You fear that I intend to harm you and your men, that I'll place this spell on you and you'll be unable to stop it from spreading."
"The thought had occurred to me."
Besh nodded. "I understand. I expect that the Forelander has tried to put your doubts to rest and has failed. So I won't even make the attempt. If he can't convince you, I certainly can't."
"This plague that's been spreading through our lands has us scared."
"Yes," Besh said. "It should. But Lici didn't intend the plague for your people. She took it to the Y'Qatt."
The man frowned. "The Y'Qatt?" Clearly he didn't believe this, and Besh understood why. The Y'Qatt were aescetics, Qirsi who eschewed all use of magic because they believed that Qirsar, the god of the Qirsi, had never intended their powers to be used.
"I know. It made no sense to us, either. But years ago, when she was just a girl, the pestilence struck her village. She crossed N'Kiel's Span in search of help, hoping to find Qirsi who could heal her family and friends. Instead she found the Y'Qatt."
"Blood and bone," B'Vril muttered.
"Everyone in her village died, and Lici blamed the Y'Qatt." Besh leaned forward, making the man look him in the eye. "You believe the Mettai are your enemy. I understand that. This plague, this war; these are tragedies. But Lici didn't want to hurt you. She lost what remained of her sanity when she learned that her cursed baskets were headed out onto the plain. And the rest of us…" He shook his head. "You think that Sirj and I might be different from other Mettai and that therefore you can trust us. But you have it backwards. It's the Mettai who march against you who are different. I don't know why they're doing this, but I promise you that most of my people would want no part of your war.”
B'Vril didn't respond other than to nod. He didn't look at Besh. "You don't believe me," the old Mettai said, feeling weary.
"It doesn't matter if I believe you. Even if all you're telling me is true, it can't change the fact that these Mettai have allied themselves with the Eandi. They've made all of your people enemies of all of mine. That's simply the way of things."
Only to the Fal'Borna, Besh wanted to say. But he kept this thought to himself.
"But I can see why Q'Daer and Grinsa t
rust you," the man went on after a moment's pause. "And I'd be grateful to you if you would use your magic to make me immune to the plague."
"All right," Besh said. "In return, I'd ask that you tell other Fal'Borna what I've told you. You don't have to believe it, and you don't have to try to convince them of anything. I ask only that you repeat what I've told you and let others judge for themselves."
He didn't answer at first, and Besh started to wonder if the Fal'Borna would refuse him. But then B'Vril nodded again. "All right."
Besh smiled. "Thank you."
He pulled out his knife. But before Besh could cut himself Grinsa stepped forward into the firelight.
"You don't have to do that, Besh."
"What do you mean?" the Mettai asked.
"I used my magic on him," Grinsa said. "Or rather, I stopped him from using his magic on me. He's already immune."
"I don't understand," B'Vril said, looking first at Grinsa and then at the Forelander. "How can I already be immune?"
"The spell I created is as contagious as Lici's plague," Besh said. "When Grinsa used his magic against you he passed on the spell."
B'Vril eyed Besh doubtfully. "How will we know if it worked?"
Besh smiled weakly. "I hope we never will. I hope that the plague has run its course and all of Lici's baskets have been destroyed. But the only way we can be certain is if you're exposed to the plague."
Even in the firelight, Besh could see the man blanch.
"The spell worked when he used it on me," Grinsa said. "It'll work for you, too."
B'Vril looked back at the Forelander. "I can pass it to my men?"
"Q'Daer already did when he held their magic. You can pass it to others the same way. Any contact with your magic should make them immune, too." The Fal'Borna turned to Besh again. "Thank you."
Best shrugged. "It turns out I didn't do anything, but you're welcome. I'd ask that you remember our agreement."
"I will. You have my word."
B'Vril stood, thanked Besh again, and bade him and Sirj good night. He stepped past Grinsa, nodding to the Forelander as he did, and returned to his warriors.