by DAVID B. COE
Grinsa sat down beside Besh.
"You were ready to help him," the Forelander said. "You would have been justified in refusing, the way he spoke to you."
"No," Besh said, putting away his blade. "I wouldn't have been. How could I have justified allowing those men to die when I have the power to save them?"
"I don't know. But other-"
"Please, Grinsa," Besh said, cutting him off. "I know that you mean well. Sirj and I are grateful for your friendship and your protection. But I'm tired, and I'm sore, and I'm in no mood to talk. I want to sleep and tomorrow I want to ride as far as we can without it killing me."
Besh grimaced at what he heard in his own voice. This was no way to speak to a friend. But Grinsa merely smiled and placed a hand on Besh's shoulder.
"Sleep sounds like an excellent idea." He stood once again. "Dream well, my friend," he said, and walked away.
"He's a good man," Sirj said, and Besh thought he heard a gentle rebuke in the younger man's tone.
"I know." What else could Besh say?
They awoke the following morning with first light. B'Vril and his mer said quick farewells and rode off toward the rising sun and the war that was approaching from the east. A short time later, Besh and the others broke camp as well.
Besh's muscles had grown stiff overnight, and he could barely walk, much less climb onto his horse. He needed help from both Grinsa and Sirj; by the time he was sitting in his saddle, he was exhausted and humiliated.
The first step his mount took made him gasp with pain, and he nearly told the others to leave him there. Better to be found by another company of Fal'Borna warriors than to endure such misery. But as the morning wore on, his discomfort subsided a bit. He wasn't foolish enough to think that he wouldn't be sore again come morning, but he could feel his muscles loosening, and he decided that he could go on, at least for the moment.
The company rode farther during the course of this day than they had during any day since turning south toward E'Menua's sept. By nightfall, Besh was utterly exhausted and his muscles burned. He barely ate any supper and had no sooner lay down beside the fire than he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Morning seemed to come way too soon, and upon awaking again he could barely move. But once he was sitting his horse, he began to feel better. They rode even farther this second day than they had the one before.
So it went. Each day Besh's discomfort abated a bit more quickly. Each evening they stopped after having covered more distance than they had the previous day. They encountered no more Fal'Borna war parties, and they saw no sign of the Eandi army that was said to be on the march.
Besh could see Grinsa's spirits lifting with each league they covered. Even Q'Daer's mood seemed to be improving. He and Sirj, on the other hand, could not help but dread their arrival in the sept, and, ironically, by making himself a better rider, Besh was hastening that moment.
Sirj said little about his own fears, as was his way, but Besh could tell that he was growing increasingly anxious, even as his riding improved as well.
Several days after their encounter with B'Vril's company, as they were passing a series of low, grass-covered hills, Q'Daer suddenly glanced back at Grinsa and the two Mettai, a smile on his square face.
"We're close!" he said. "Another league and we'll be there."
Grinsa nodded, but otherwise none of them spoke. The Fal'Borna's grin faded, and after another moment he faced forward again, apparently disappointed by their response.
"What does he expect us to say?" Sirj muttered, turning just enough so that Besh could hear him.
"I don't think he was taunting us," Besh answered. "He must not think we have anything to fear from his a'laq."
"Or else he just doesn't care."
That seemed as likely an explanation as any. Besh said nothing.
Grinsa steered his horse over to theirs, a look of concern in his pale yellow eyes.
"You're afraid of what will happen when we reach the sept." He offered it as a statement.
Besh merely nodded.
"I am, too," Grinsa told them. "We didn't find Lici; we allowed Torgan to get away. In the strictest terms, I failed, and E'Menua would be within his rights to insist that I remain here forever and take a Fal'Borna Weaver as my wife.”
"That's hardly the same thing," Sirj said, his voice tight. "We're afraid we'll be killed."
Grinsa nodded, seemingly unaffected by what the younger man had said. Besh sometimes wondered if the Forelander ever lost his temper. Then he remembered watching him confront Torgan, hearing him threaten a Qirsi man in S'Vralna who had just used magic to shatter the bone in Besh's leg. Perhaps a man wielding as much power as Grinsa did couldn't afford to give in to rage. And thinking this, Besh had another thought as well: We're fortunate to have such a man as our friend.
"You're right, it's not the same thing," Grinsa said to Sirj. "My point is this: We both have cause to fear E'Menua. But we can help one another. I've sworn this to you before, and I swear it again today. I won't allow E'Menua to harm you, and if I have to I'll give my life to save yours. I owe you no less."
"We can give the same oath," Besh said. "But all three of us know that it's worth far less coming from Sirj and me."
Grinsa smiled. "I'm not as sure of that as you are. But I had something else in mind. As I said before, I've failed in nearly every task that E'Menua set before me. We did find you, however, and you not only killed Lici, you defeated her curse. If you and I make it clear to him that we're friends, and that the spell you used to defeat the plague grew out of our friendship, it might help both of us."
"You should tell the a'laq whatever you think you need to," Besh said. "The truth is, without your help I never would have come up with the spell, and you would have died. As far as I'm concerned you deserve as much credit as I for defeating the plague."
"It's not just defeating the curse, Besh," Grinsa told him. "You killed Lici. I know you don't like to talk about it, but the Fal'Borna will want to hear the story of her death. You'd be wise to tell it as often as you can."
Besh nodded, though he could feel his stomach tightening. To this day, he didn't like to think about killing Lici, much less talk about it. He'd had no choice in the matter. She had wounded him and was on the verge of killing him with a second plague that might have proved fatal to all Mettai. Still, he'd never killed before, and he hoped never to kill again.
But he knew that Grinsa was right. The Fal'Borna wouldn't care about his misgivings, and might well take them as an affront. Lici's death was more likely to save his life and Sirj's than anything else they had done since leaving Kirayde.
"I don't know if E'Menua will arrange to have a shelter built for you," Grinsa went on a moment later. "If he doesn't, Cresenne and I will make room for you in ours."
Besh laughed and shook his head. "No, Grinsa. You haven't seen your wife in a long time. If need be, Sirj and I will sleep beside a fire. But I have no desire to share your shelter tonight."
Grinsa's face turned crimson, drawing a snort of laughter from Sirj. Q'Daer glanced back at them, scowled, and faced forward again.
"He's speechless," Sirj said.
The Forelander smiled, then laughed. "I am."
They rode on, saying nothing. Occasionally Grinsa chuckled to himself and shook his head again. Soon, they topped a small rise and looked down upon the sept. It sat in a shallow basin and looked to be little more than a loose array of small triangular structures. Thin ribbons of blue-grey smoke rose from the top of several of them, as well as from perhaps a dozen fires burning outside. A narrow stream wound past the settlement and more than two hundred horses grazed in a large paddock just to the west of the structures.
As they drew nearer, Besh saw that the structures were made of skins and wood. Nothing more.
"They live like this through the Snows?" he asked.
"The z'kals are sturdier than they look," Grinsa said. "And with a fire burning within, they're quite comfortable. At l
east they were the few nights I spent here."
"The Fal'Borna are a hardy people."
"Yes, they are."
Grinsa sounded distracted. Looking his way, Besh saw him scanning the sept, no doubt searching for his wife.
Several children played near the paddock and now they spotted the riders. For an instant they stared. Then, with shouts of excitement, they sprinted back toward the settlement.
Men and women began to emerge from the shelters, all of them looking northward toward Besh and the rest of the company.
Abruptly, Grinsa spurred his mount to a gallop, thundering past Q'Daer and toward the heart of the settlement. Looking once more at the sept, Besh spotted the man's wife. She was taller and leaner than the Fal'Borna and her skin was bone white, not at all like the golden color of the clanspeople. She held a child in her arms and, like the others, she gazed in their direction.
Seeing Grinsa, she began to run toward him. They met at the edge of the settlement. Grinsa dismounted in one swift, fluid motion, covered the remaining distance in two great strides, and gathered her in his arms, kissing her deeply. She clung to him with one arm, and still clutched their baby in the other.
After a moment, Besh looked away, feeling that he was intruding on their privacy, even from this distance. Glancing back at Sirj, who sat behind him, he saw that the younger man was still watching them, a tear in his eye.
Besh wanted to tell him that it wouldn't be long before they returned to Kirayde and Sirj was reunited with Elica and their children, Mihas, Annze, and Cam. But it would have been an empty promise. They were a long way from Mettai land, and war was coming to the plain.
"I miss them, too," he said quietly. "Not as much as you do, but very much, just the same."
The younger man merely nodded.
By the time they reached Grinsa and his wife, others from the sept had joined them. There were several women and children, and one young man who looked a great deal like Q'Daer, to whom Grinsa spoke. Q'Daer had already joined the cluster of people, and had warmly embraced the young man who resembled him. Besh wondered if they might be brothers.
The Forelander was holding his child now, and he still held his wife's hand. Besh had never seen him look happier. He looked up as they drew near, and beckoned them over.
"This is Besh," he said to the woman, indicating the old man with an open hand. "And this is Sirj." He regarded the other Fal'Borna standing around them. "These are the Mettai who killed the woman and defeated her curse," he told them, raising his voice. "They're the reason Q'Daer and I are alive They're also the reason all of you are now immune to the plague that spread across the plain."
The others there looked up at them, their expressions guarded despite Grinsa's reassurances. But the woman stepped forward, stopping beside the mount and favoring them with a dazzling smile.
"Thank you for my husband's life," she said, her voice clear and strong, "My name is Cresenne ja Terba, and for as long as I live I'll be indebted to you both."
Besh had always considered the Qirsi a strange-looking people. The Fal'Borna were odd enough, with their white hair and yellow eyes. But their skin at least had a golden hue to it that made them look a bit less odd. Other clans-and apparently Qirsi from the Forelands-had skin so white that it looked almost transparent. Even Grinsa, with whom he had spent more time than any other person of the sorcerer race, still struck him as alien in appearance. But even with her pale complexion and ghostly eyes, this wom before him was as beautiful as anyone he had ever met. Her face was oval, with features delicate and perfect. There seemed to be long white scars on the cheek and along her jawline, but they were faint and didn't detract from her beauty. Her hair, which hung loose to the middle of her back, looked so fine and soft that Besh actually had to keep himself from reaching out to touch it.
"You honor us, my friend," he said, gazing back into those pale eyes. They were the color of sand or of dried plain grass.
The woman grinned. "Well, good. That was my intention."
Besh and Sirj climbed off their horse, but stayed near it, as if the beast might protect them if the crowd of Fal'Borna turned on them.
There had been a great deal of noise coming from all the people clustered around the company, but now a hush fell over them. Cresenne turned, as did Grinsa and Q'Daer.
A man and a woman were approaching from the middle of the settlement. The woman had a piercing gaze and a handsome square face. There were lines around her mouth and eyes, but otherwise she didn't appear to be particularly old. It was the man, however, to whom Besh's eyes were drawn. He was nearly a full head shorter than Grinsa, even a bit shorter than Q'Daer. But he was broad in the chest and shoulders, so that he looked bigger and more formidable than the young Weaver. With his large round yellow eyes and narrow, tapered face he resembled a cat, predatory and keenly intelligent. Like most Fal'Borna warriors he wore his white hair tied back. A whine stone, much like the one F'Ghara had given to Besh and Sirj, hung at his throat.
"The a'laq," Sirj whispered.
Besh nodded. E'Menua, Grinsa had called him. Besh noticed that Cresenne had retreated to Grinsa's side, and he sensed that she feared this man. Given the silence that now hung over the sept, it seemed that all of these people did. Even Q'Daer was eyeing the a'laq uneasily, and Besh hadn't known the young Fal'Borna to fear anyone.
Only Grinsa didn't seem cowed by the man. He stood straight, marking the a'laq's approach, his arm around Cresenne's shoulders.
The a'laq stopped a short distance from the Forelander, and for a moment they eyed each other in silence. Then the a'laq looked around, his gaze barely lingering on Besh and Sirj.
"Where are the merchants?" he finally asked, his eyes coming to rest on Grinsa. He had a rough voice, the sound of stone grating on stone.
"I think you know," the Forelander said. "Q'Daer would have told you already. He spoke to you in a dream several days ago."
The look that flashed in E'Menua's eyes could have kindled wet wood. "I'm asking you," he said.
"Jasha is dead, killed by Torgan."
"And Torgan escaped?"
Grinsa nodded. "That's right. He nearly managed to kill Q'Daer and me before he did."
"How is that possible? The man is Eandi. He's weak and a fool. And yet he nearly bested both of you."
The Forelander said nothing. At last the a'laq turned to Q'Daer.
"I… I told you, A'Laq. He had a scrap of cursed basket. From one of the villages we found that had been struck by the plague."
"Ah, yes," E'Menua said. He turned those bright yellow eyes on Besh and Sirj. "The plague."
Suddenly Besh understood. Grinsa was right: E'Menua had known all of this already. But he wanted to have it repeated aloud for all the rest of the Fal'Borna to hear, so that they would see Besh and Sirj as their enemies, despite whatever Grinsa had told them.
"E'Menua, son of E'Sedt," Grinsa said, "I present to you Besh and Sirj of the Mettai village Kirayde."
"We thank you for welcoming us to your sept, A'Laq," Besh said, knowing that he was taking a chance. "Three times now, your people have honored us so. You do so today. Q'Daer did so when he welcomed us into his company."
He pulled F'Ghara's necklace from his pocket. "And another a'laq, F'Ghara, who leads a sept east of here, gave us this stone as a token of his friendship and that of all your people."
E'Menua's eyes narrowed briefly. "F'Ghara gave you that?"
"Yes. After he learned that I had killed Lici, the woman who created the plague."
The a'laq regarded him for another moment. Then he turned to Grinsa again. "You were supposed to kill her."
"Yes, but Besh did. She's dead. That's what matters."
"You've made a mess of everything. And you've brought these Mettai to my sept in a time of war."
Grinsa gave no indication that the a'laq's rebuke troubled him. "I don't believe we've made a mess of anything," he said evenly. "But that's a matter you and I can discuss in private."
E'Me
nua glared at Grinsa, his jaw muscles bunched. After a moment he turned to Q'Daer.
"Find them a place to sleep," he said, his voice thick with anger. "Make certain they have food and wood." He cast a dark look Grinsa's way. "You, come with me."
E'Menua turned sharply and started back the way he had come.
Grinsa kissed Cresenne and smiled at her. "I'll be back soon." Then he looked at Besh.
"I'm sorry," the old Mettai said. "I've made matters worse for you."
The Forelander shook his head. "No, you haven't," he said, dropping his voice. "They were going to be difficult no matter what happened here. You said what you had to to save your life, and Sirj's. You did the right thing." He patted Besh's shoulder and turned to follow the a'laq.
"Come with me, Mettai," Q'Daer said. "We may have to build you a shelter. ',
Besh nodded, but still he stood there, watching Grinsa walk away, wondering what E'Menua intended to do to him.
Grinsa didn't want any part of this fight. Not now, so soon after returning to the sept. He'd been apart from Cresenne and Bryntelle for the better part of two turns, this after being apart from them for turn after turn while they were still in the Forelands. All he wanted was to hold them both, to kiss Cresenne and look into the beautiful pale eyes of his daughter. Instead he had already allowed himself to be drawn into E'Menua's foolish games. The a'laq wanted this confrontation. So be it.
Grinsa could tell how angry E'Menua was with him. He had heard it in the a'laq's voice and he could see it now in the way the a'laq stalked toward his z'kal. He had incurred the man's wrath on several occasions before leaving with Q'Daer and the merchants to search for Lici. Once, the a'laq had gone so far as to strike him. So he had some idea of what to expect when they reached E'Menua's z'kal.
E'Menua pulled back the flap of rilda skin that covered the entrance to his shelter and motioned Grinsa inside. Grinsa ducked into the z'kal and turned to face the entrance. As he had expected, as soon as the a'laq stepped into the shelter and straightened, he reared back and aimed a backhanded blow at Grinsa's face.