by DAVID B. COE
Late in the morning of their third day on the plain, as they rode on that same northerly line, Grinsa spotted thin plumes of smoke rising from the grasses ahead of them. He glanced at the a'laq and his Weavers, but though all of them appeared to have spotted the smoke, none of them seemed alarmed.
At least not at first.
As they drew nearer to the source of those plumes, Grinsa saw what appeared to be a large camp of warriors and horses. They were spread over a broad area, but the camp looked sparse.
"There should be more of them," E'Menua said in a tight voice. "How can there be so few?"
No one had to say a word. They all knew the answer.
They rode on and soon entered the camp, drawing the stares of nearly every man there. Looking from face to face, Grinsa sensed with his magic that several of the Fal'Borna who had gathered on the plain were Weavers. But in all, even with E'Menua's warriors, there couldn't have been more than four hundred Fal'Borna in the camp.
When the renegade Weaver in the Forelands had faced the combined might of the Eandi courts, he had commanded an army smaller than this one, and he had been only one Weaver. Still he had nearly prevailed. But Grinsa thought it likely that the Eandi of the Southlands were better prepared to fight against Qirsi magic than his Eandi allies in the Forelands had been. And he had no idea what the presence of the Mettai might mean when it came time to do battle.
Clearly, though, E'Menua was dismayed by what he saw.
"Where is H'Loryn?" he said, dismounting and scanning the camp. "And O'Tal. I want to speak with him, too."
After a moment two men emerged from the crowd that had begun to gather around the a'laq and his Weavers. Many of the Fal'Borna had been eyeing Grinsa warily, noting, no doubt, that he looked nothing like them. They parted to let the two men E'Menua had summoned step forward, but they didn't take their eyes off of the Forelander.
"We're here, E'Menua," one of the men said, his voice tinged with annoyance.
Grinsa realized that he recognized this man. He was one of the a'laqs he had spoken to while spreading Besh's spell across the plain. The man was younger than E'Menua, probably closer in age to Grinsa. He was also taller than the a'laq, with a leaner build. His eyes were a soft yellow, and like so many of the warriors there, he wore his hair pulled back from his face. Grinsa didn't know the other man, but he sensed immediately that he was also a Weaver. He assumed that he was an a'laq as well. This second man looked to be closer in age to E'Menua, whom he also resembled in stature and build. He had pale eyes and a round face that might have been friendly had he smiled.
"These are all the men you brought with you?" E'Menua demanded.
The younger of the two men glanced past E'Menua to those who had arrived with him. "I brought no fewer than you did. H'Loryn's sept has always been smaller than ours. You know this."
"We need more warriors," E'Menua said, as if the man had been arguing to the contrary.
The man named O'Tal shrugged. "I agree. But I can't conjure them out of the air." His eyes flicked toward Grinsa for just an instant. "Can you, E'Menua?"
The a'laq scowled at him before turning to H'Loryn. "Have you heard anything from the others?"
The second Weaver shook his head. "Nothing new from the ones who rode forward. We're still waiting for J'Sor and his warriors."
E'Menua shook his head. "I don't think J'Sor will be coming. Not for a few more days."
"Why not?" O'Tal asked.
"The plague struck his sept."
Both men blanched, and murmurs rippled through the mass of warriors standing around them.
O'Tal glanced at Grinsa a second time. "You're certain of this?"
"Yes," E'Menua said.
O'Tal kept his gaze fixed on Grinsa. "You walked in my dreams, and you made me immune to the plague. At least you claimed to. Didn't you do the same for J'Sor?"
"No, A'Laq," Grinsa said. "I tried to reach as many septs as I could, but I began with septs near the Horn, to the south toward the Ofirean, and to the east. That's where I believe the danger was greatest. I hadn't yet gotten to those septs in the west."
"You know this man?" H'Loryn asked, looking from O'Tal to Grinsa. The young a'laq nodded. "He came to me a few nights ago. He told me that E'Menua had sent him to pass on a… some magic that would make us all immune to the plague."
H'Loryn's eyes widened. "What?"
"I'm sorry, A'Laq," Grinsa said, addressing the older man. "I didn't get to your sept, either. You must live in the west."
H'Loryn nodded. "Yes, I do." He gave a slight frown. "Who are you?"
"My name is Grinsa jal Arriet. I come from the Forelands and I now live in E'Menua's sept."
"The Forelands," the a'laq repeated. "Well, that explains your accent and your appearance. But why would you come here?"
"We have other matters to discuss," E'Menua broke in. "We need to make plans for what we'll do if other septs don't join us here. And I want to hear anything you can tell me about S'Bahn's men and the others who have ridden to the Horn to face the dark-eyes."
H'Loryn eyed Grinsa for another moment, but then faced E'Menua. "Yes, of course, E'Menua. You're right."
For once, Grinsa was grateful for E'Menua's impatience. He had no desire to explain his past to any of these men. And he, too, was curious about the men E'Menua had mentioned. S'Bahn, he remembered, was the father of B'Vril, the leader of the company he and Q'Daer had encountered while still journeying back to the sept with Besh and Sirj.
E'Menua instructed his a'jeis and their warriors to make camp beside the other two armies. As they carried out his orders, he began to ask questions of the two other a'laqs. How many warriors had ridden forward to meet the Eandi army? Which a'laqs were leading them? How many Weavers did they have?
He didn't appear particularly pleased with any of their answers, but O'Tal and H'Loryn gave every indication that they thought the Fal'Borna army formidable enough to take on the invaders.
"They hadn't found the dark-eyes yet?" E'Menua asked, still looking unhappy.
O'Tal shook his head. "Not the last time I spoke with P'Rhil. But that was two nights ago."
"We should reach for him again tonight," E'Menua said.
"I intend to," O'Tal told him.
The tension between the two men was palpable. Clearly E'Menua thought of himself as the leader of these Fal'Borna. It seemed just as clear that O'Tal saw himself the same way. In the Forelands, rival dukes would have taken the measure of one another based upon the power, influence, and wealth of their houses. From what Grinsa had learned of the Fal'Borna, it seemed that septs judged their rivals by how many Weavers they had. If that was the case here, Grinsa's presence by E'Menua's side couldn't have been welcomed by O'Tal or his warriors.
"Well," H'Loryn said, clearly desperate to ease what had become an uncomfortable situation, "I suppose that means we have nothing to do but wait."
O'Tal and E'Menua continued to eye each other, like combatants at the outset of a battle tournament.
"We spotted some rilda earlier today," said one of the other Weavers. "Stragglers that haven't gone south yet. We could have a hunt."
H'Loryn's face brightened. "Excellent!" he said. "We'll feast tonight to celebrate the coming together of three great armies." He looked hopefully at the other two a'laqs, neither of whom appeared to take much notice of him. "O'Tal?" the older man said, a plea in his voice.
"Yes, all right," O'Tal answered. He turned away from E'Menua, a brittle smile on his lips. "A hunt sounds like an excellent idea."
H'Loryn looked so relieved it was almost comical. "Good. We'll get started right away. You and your warriors will be joining us, won't you, E'Menua?"
The a'laq's smile could have curdled milk. "Of course we will."
"I'll stay behind and keep an eye on the camp," Grinsa said. "I don't think I'd be of much use on a hunt."
"Have you ever hunted rilda, Forelander?" O'Tal asked, though it seemed to Grinsa that he already knew the answer.
&n
bsp; "No, I haven't."
"Then perhaps you should join us. A Fal'Borna can't truly be considered a warrior until he's hunted on the plain."
He heard the challenge in O'Tal's words, and his first reaction was to refuse. He wanted no part of the man's feud with E'Menua, and he had no interest in initiating a feud of his own. But seeing the way the other Fal'Borna were looking at him, including Q'Daer and L'Norr, Grinsa began to realize that there was more at stake here than O'Tal's challenge. Most of these men didn't know him; many of those from E'Menua's sept still didn't trust him. Yet they were about to go into battle with him. Reluctant as he was to be part of this war, he knew that he needed to have the trust of the men who would be fighting beside him, whose magic he would be wielding as a weapon.
"All right," Grinsa said, looking O'Tal in the eye. "But you'll have to show me what to do."
The young a'laq looked surprised. "Yes, of course."
Q'Daer caught Grinsa's eye and nodded, a rare smile on his face. E'Menua didn't look quite so pleased.
They gave him a spear and then a large group rode southward away from the camp. It had quickly become something more than a hunt. It was a rite of passage for Grinsa, and also a diversion for the young warriors. Grinsa felt himself growing nervous and excited. He hadn't done much hunting since he was a boy growing up on the Caerissan Steppe near Eardley in the Forelands, but he still remembered fondly the hunts of his childhood.
"How is it you wound up with E'Menua?"
He turned to find that O'Tal had pulled abreast of him on his dappled grey. "His was the first sept we found," Grinsa said, choosing his words with care.
The man's eyebrows went up. "We?"
"I came to the Southlands with my wife and my daughter."
"I see. Is your wife a Weaver, too?"
"No," Grinsa said flatly.
A small smile flickered on the man's face and then vanished. "I'd imagine that's been difficult for you both."
Grinsa regarded the man briefly, trying to determine if he was mocking their difficulties. But he saw no sign of this.
"Actually, it has been," he admitted. "But I think E'Menua has come to accept that Cresenne is my wife."
"Really?" O'Tal asked with obvious surprise. "One day you'll have to explain to me how you convinced him."
Grinsa grinned, deciding in that moment that he liked O'Tal. "You and E'Menua don't get along, do you?" he asked.
"E'Menua is a strong leader," O'Tal said immediately. "His sept has many Weavers." He glanced at Grinsa slyly. "More even than I knew."
"I'm not sure that answers my question."
"Do you like him?" O'Tal asked.
Grinsa hesitated, then gave a short laugh.
"Forget that I asked."
O'Tal smiled, but quickly grew serious again. "You've managed to win a measure of his trust, and you seem like a man who can take care of himself, so I won't presume to offer counsel where none is needed. But E'Menua is a hard man, and a clever one. Watch yourself."
"I have been," Grinsa said. "But I appreciate the warning."
A shout went up from some of the men who had ridden ahead. Both of them scanned the plain. After a moment, O'Tal pointed toward the southwest.
"There!" he said, sounding eager. "It's a small herd, but it will do."
Grinsa's first thought was that a large herd of rilda must have been a wonder to behold. There had to be at least a hundred of the animals in this "small herd." They had been grazing, but seeing the horsemen they had broken away. They looked like the antelope Grinsa had seen in the southern Forelands, but they were bigger, with sleek coats of short tan fur and white markings on their flanks and heads. Their eyes were large and dark, and many of the animals had short, pale antlers.
"What do we do?" Grinsa asked, his pulse quickening at the sight of the creatures.
O'Tal spurred his mount to a gallop. "We ride!" he called over his shoulder.
Grinsa followed, pleased to find that the horse he had bought in Yorl when he and Cresenne first arrived in the Southlands was able to keep pace with the stallions of the Fal'Borna. He was suddenly conscious of the spear he still carried in his right hand, and of the sweat on his palm.
As swift as the Fal'Borna were, the rilda were faster. They appeared to move as one, turning first one way and then the other in perfect unison, sunlight flashing on their silken flanks and then darkening again as they swerved once more.
"We can't catch them!" Grinsa shouted over the rush of wind in his ears. O’viral looked at him, grinning. "Watch!" he said.
Almost as soon as the young a'laq said this, a second group of riders appeared, as if out of nowhere. The rilda were forced to reverse course, so that abruptly they were headed straight for Grinsa and the other warriors.
Grinsa wasn't certain that his situation had improved much. He'd never killed an animal while on horseback, and he'd never seen a creature as fast as these rilda.
"Now what?" he called.
"The easiest way is from behind," O'Tal said. "Choose an animal, ride at it from an angle, and strike when you're close."
Right. Because it was certain to be just that easy.
The herd had turned again, angling away from Grinsa and the others while still being pursued by the second set of riders. As Grinsa watched, a young Fal'Borna did exactly what O'Tal had described. He charged at the herd, and at the last moment appeared to choose one rilda. Turning as that animal approached, he positioned himself just behind and to the left of it. Then, leaning to the right, he lifted his spear and threw it. His weapon struck the rilda in the back of the neck, just above its shoulders. The animal went down in a heap, and the warrior triumphantly raised a hand over his head.
A second Fal'Borna rider had already started his run at an animal. This one took a different approach, angling toward the herd from the front and forcing several of the rilda to peel away from the rest of the group. Dropping down low so that he hung from his saddle, this warrior threw his spear into the chest of one of the rilda. This animal fell immediately as well.
"That's how it's done," O'Tal called to him, still smiling.
"That's how it's done by a Fal'Borna," Grinsa said. "Couldn't I just use language of beasts?"
O'Tal's expression grew deadly serious. "Fal'Borna law forbids the use of magic against the rilda. Kebb forbids it."
Kebb: the god of beasts.
Grinsa nodded. "Forgive me. I meant it as a joke."
O'Tal smiled again. "Apology accepted. Now go! Hunt!"
Swallowing hard, Grinsa turned his mount so that he angled toward the herd as the first hunter had done. The rilda turned again, so that they were headed toward him, and he had to adjust his line. His horse was starting to labor-Grinsa couldn't remember ever riding this fast-and he knew he'd only have the one chance. There seemed to be rilda and horses and Fal'Borna all around him. It was as chaotic as any battle he could remember from his war with the renegade Weaver. But soon enough he had positioned himself just behind a doe. He raised himself up in his saddle, drew back his spear, and threw.
He saw the spear hit the animal, saw the rilda stumble, but then he was too far past. He tried to wheel his mount around, was nearly rammed by several rilda, and came dangerously close to falling out of his saddle. When at last he righted himself, he saw the animal he had struck. It was alive still, struggling to climb to its feet. The spear was embedded in its shoulder, and blood stained its golden brown coat.
Grinsa winced at the sight. "Damn!"
He started back toward the creature, but before he reached it, O'Tal rode up to it and halted. He looked down on the rilda for a moment. Then he hefted his spear and plunged it into the rilda's neck. The animal spasmed and was still.
"Thank you," Grinsa said, stopping beside the doe.
"You did well," O'Tal told him.
Grinsa laughed mirthlessly. "Right."
"For your first hunt? The first hunt you'd ever even seen? You did well."
Grinsa inclined his head, acknowledg
ing the compliment. "Again, my thanks."
"It's too bad you chose a doe," O'Tal said. "Most Fal'Borna men would have chosen a buck for their first kill."
"Why?"
"The bucks have… certain delicacies that are given to a warrior at the feast after his first hunt."
Grinsa's laugh this time was sincere. "You should have told me earlier."
"You're right," O'Tal said. "I should have." He dismounted. "Come on. Let's get her back to camp."
With O'Tal's help, Grinsa lifted the rilda onto his horse in front of the saddle, and tied it in place. By the time they were done, most of the rilda herd had moved on. The Fal'Borna had killed nearly two dozen of the animals; they'd eat well this night.
As Grinsa was riding back to the camp, Q'Daer joined him. He carried a rilda as well, a large buck.
"I saw you hunt," the young Weaver said. "You did well for a Forelander."
"Thank you," Grinsa said, assuming that he had meant this as praise. "I'm sorry: I missed your kill."
Q'Daer waved off the apology. "It wasn't my first; it won't be my last." He paused. Then, "I noticed that you were riding with O'Tal."
Something in his tone told Grinsa that he'd erred. Too late, it occurred to him that he hadn't seen E'Menua on the hunt.
"Is that a problem?" he asked.
"Tell the a'laq you didn't know you were supposed to hunt with me. He'll understand that."
Grinsa nodded. But his mood, which had finally improved after several days of missing his family, began to darken again. He'd grown weary of having to worry about offending E'Menua at every turn.
"Thank you," he said, his voice low.
"E'Menua will expect you to ride to battle with him. He's your a'laq, and you're his Weaver."
I'm no one's Weaver, he wanted to say. Except Cresenne's. But he kept this to himself. "I know," he told the man. "I've pledged to fight beside E'Menua. That's what I'll do."
Q'Daer nodded once. "Good." He spurred his mount forward.
Grinsa watched him ride ahead before looking down at the rilda he'd killed. "Tried to kill," he corrected in a whisper.