The Horsemen's Gambit bots-2

by DAVID B. COE

  He had no love for the white-hairs. He might not have hated them as some did, but they held no special place in his heart. Still, no people, no matter what they might have done, no matter what color their eyes, deserved to suffer as the Qirsi had under this curse.

  So he would speak with these merchants, and he'd learn what he could from them, and then he would return to Torgan and the two Qirsi. Torgan would call him a fool and worse. He'd rail at Jasha for being weak. Let him. Where was the weakness in trying to save lives?

  Alone, on this unfamiliar horse given to him by the Fal'Borna, with no cart rattling behind him, Jasha could have ridden right into the camp before the merchants noticed him. Having no wish to startle them, he called out long before reaching their circle.

  A man stood and peered into the darkness. Others turned toward the sound of Jasha's voice.

  "Who's that?" the man called.

  "A friend," Jasha said. "A fellow merchant." He dismounted a short distance from their fire and led his mount on foot the rest of the way.

  The man stood and turned to face him, as did the other merchants. They watched him warily, no doubt wondering what one of their kind would be doing way out here on the plain without any cart or wares.

  "Hello, friend," the man said, and though Jasha sensed no irony in the stranger's use of the word, he sensed no warmth either. "What can we do for you?"

  "I'm hoping you can help me," the young merchant said. "My name is Jasha Ziffel. I've been trading on the plain and in the lands around the Companion Lakes for several years now." He looked at each merchant as he spoke. There were nine of them in all, all of them Eandi, all but two of them men. A few he recognized, and he sensed that they knew him as well, though he couldn't recall any of their names. "A few of you have seen me before, and you'll know that I'm no thief and I'm no cheat. I'm just a man in need of information."

  "Where's your cart, Jasha?" the man asked. He was a bit older than the others, a tall man with a thick shock of white hair. His broad shoulders were stooped, but he was still trim, and Jasha thought that he must have cut an imposing figure in his youth.

  "The Fal'Borna took it from me."

  "The Fal'Borna?" the man said, clearly surprised.

  "Why?" one of the women asked him.

  Jasha wanted to ask if he could sit with them around their fire. The air had grown colder with nightfall, and he could smell roasted fowl, which reminded him of how hungry he was. He could tell, however, that the merchants weren't yet ready to welcome him into their circle. He had some work to do before they would trust him that much.

  "Because they think that I can lead them to a Mettai woman who's been selling cursed baskets in their lands."

  "Cursed baskets?"

  The tone of the question carried more than mere surprise at such an idea. Jasha knew it immediately, and it seemed that others noticed as well, for several of the merchants turned to glance back at the man who had spoken. He was a big man, not quite as tall as the white-haired merchant, but far heavier, with a large gut and an open, youthful face. He couldn't have been much older than Jasha. He wore a wide-brimmed leather hat, which hid most of his hair. But what little Jasha could see appeared in the firelight to be red. Jasha was certain that he had seen this man before in marketplaces along the Silverwater, or perhaps in one of the Eandi sovereignties, but he couldn't recall his name.

  "Yes," Jasha said. "Do you know something about them?"

  "No," the man said. "Not a thing."

  "What's your name, friend?"

  "Don't answer that," the white-haired merchant said, glancing back at the other man. "Not yet at least." He faced Jasha again. "I want more answers from you first. I've had enough dealings with the Fal'Borna to know that if they consider you an enemy, they won't just take your cart and goods and leave it at that. There's more to this tale, and I want to hear it."

  Jasha nodded. "Yes, there's more. The Fal'Borna captured me as well as another merchant named Torgan Plye."

  "Torgan?" the red-haired man said.

  Several of the others exchanged looks; clearly all of them knew who Torgan was.

  "Torgan had traded for some baskets and was near a Fal'Borna sept that suffered an outbreak of the pestilence. The Fal'Borna found us together, took our wares, and threatened to kill us if we didn't find the Mettai woman they believe is responsible for cursing the baskets. We've been searching the plain for her ever since, but thus far we've found neither the woman nor her goods. The only thing we have found is the ruins of another sept, and we did find scraps of Mettai baskets there."

  The white-haired man eyed him for several moments before finally shaking his head again.

  "I believe you're telling us the truth as far as it goes. But much of this still doesn't make sense to me. I think there are things you're keeping from us."

  Jasha briefly considered denying it. In the next moment he rejected the idea, knowing that there was nothing to be gained by doing so. The man didn't believe him, and for good reason. Best to be as honest as he could be and see if that at least convinced the merchants to speak with him further.

  "There are," he admitted. "I'll answer your questions as best I can, but there are certain things I can't tell you without endangering my life, as well as Torgan's."

  "The Fal'Borna still have him?" the white-haired man asked.

  "Yes."

  The man considered this briefly. Then he stepped forward and offered Jasha his hand. "Very well. My name is Tegg Lonsher. I'd wager that I've been trading in the clan lands since before you were horn."

  Jasha shook his hand and smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Tegg."

  Tegg began to introduce the other merchants, but Jasha had trouble remembering all the different names. Except for one: The red-haired man was called Brint HedFarren. Jasha recognized the name immediately. He was said to be one of the most successful merchants in all the Southlands. Though far younger than Torgan, he was already considered nearly Torgan's equal in terms of both the quality of his wares and his skill as a bargainer. Jasha found it easy to believe that, like Torgan, Brint might have seen the Mettai woman's baskets and been drawn to them by their vivid colors and fine workmanship.

  When the introductions were done, the merchants returned to the fire, making room for Jasha in their circle and offering him food and wine. Tegg remained by his side though, and the old man peppered him with questions. Where had he been when the Fal'Borna caught up with him? To whose sept had he been taken? Why would the a'laq have been willing to let him leave on his own, without Fal'Borna guards? Had he considered returning to one of the sovereignties and getting help from the armies there? Who was this Mettai woman he was after, and how certain was he that she had actually cursed her baskets? Was this pestilence of hers the same one that had ravaged Y'Qatt villages near the Companion Lakes?

  Jasha told him what he could, gauging Tegg's reactions and those of the people around him as he spoke. Several of the merchants were listening intently to their conversation; others were speaking among themselves, ignoring them.

  Brint gave the appearance of doing neither. He stared at the fire, chewing on a piece of dried meat and occasionally taking a pull of wine from the skin that was making its way around the circle. But Jasha knew that he was listening to every word they said. The man's indifference to their conversation seemed too studied to be convincing.

  Eventually, Tegg relented, satisfied that Jasha posed no threat to him or his friends. Free finally to pose his own questions, Jasha began by asking the most obvious.

  "Are any of you selling any Mettai baskets right now?"

  None of them were.

  But when he next asked if any of them had seen Mettai baskets of high quality in the last turn or two, several of the merchants said that they had. One woman in particular-her given name was Ghella; he couldn't recall her family name, though he knew that he had seen her before in his travels-recalled seeing more than a dozen of them in the cart of another peddler.

  "It was
Lark, Tegg. You remember. That woman who sings so well." Tegg nodded, though he was frowning. "Of course I do. She had baskets? You're certain?"

  Ghella nodded. She was heavy, with long, auburn hair and a friendly, round face. "Yes, I'm sure of it. We were north and east of here when I saw her, and she had several of them. She said that she hadn't put them out yet, that she was still trying to decide what to ask for them. I tried to buy a few, but she wanted two sovereigns for each, and I couldn't buy enough of them to make it worth my while." She shook her head. "Shame, really. They were lovely."

  "Do you know where she was headed?" Jasha asked.

  "The Horn, I think. But I can't be certain."

  The Horn. Jasha shuddered. That was the center of the Fal'Borna clan lands. There was no telling how many people would die if those baskets reached D'Raqor, or one of the other cities there.

  Another man claimed to have seen the baskets as well, but he proved far less helpful than Ghella. He couldn't recall the name of the peddler who had been carrying them, and his description of the baskets he'd seen was vague enough to leave Jasha wondering if they had been made by the same woman. Not long after, the man returned to his cart to sleep.

  Tegg watched him go before turning to Jasha again.

  "Don't put too much faith in what Kalib tells you. He doesn't like it when he's not the center of a conversation. I'd he surprised if he even knew what a basket was."

  Jasha grinned. "Thank you." He nodded toward Brint. "What about him?" he asked, dropping his voice to a soft whisper.

  "Young Red?" Tegg answered. "He's a good man. If he tells you something, you can bet it's the truth."

  "All right. Again, my thanks." Jasha stood, and walked over to where Brint was sitting, his eyes still fixed on the low flames of their campfire. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

  Brint looked up at him for just an instant and shrugged. Jasha sat beside him and rubbed his hands together before holding them out to the fire.

  "If I didn't know better, I'd say it feels like snow."

  "We've another turn before the Snows come," Brint said. "But they'll he hard this year, that's for certain."

  Jasha nodded. "Before, when I first got here, I had the sense that maybe you know something about these baskets, or maybe about the woman who made them."

  Brint shook his head, but he didn't meet Jasha's gaze. "I don't know anything more than the rest of these folk. I'm just a merchant trying to make some gold on the plain before the Snows send me back south."

  "You're being modest, Brint. I know Torgan, remember? I know that the two of you are more than just merchants. You have an eye for quality, and a knack for finding the treasures in a crowded marketplace that the rest of us would miss. That's how he came by the baskets-he spotted them, and immediately he knew their worth." Jasha looked at the man. "I think that's what happened with you, too. You saw them, and you knew instantly how valuable they were. I had one of them, briefly, before I sold it again. It was finer than any basket I'd ever seen."

  "I wouldn't know," Brint said. "I haven't seen any of her baskets."

  "Really?" Jasha asked. "I could have sworn that you had."

  At that Brint finally turned to look at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Just that you reacted pretty strongly when I first mentioned them.

  The man turned back to the fire. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I wasn't the only one who noticed." Jasha indicated the other merchants with a small bob of his head. "They were looking at you. They heard it in your voice."

  "I'm telling you, there was nothing to hear."

  Jasha shrugged. "All right. If you tell me it's so, I believe you. It's a shame, though."

  A silence hung between them for some time, until Jasha began to wonder if he had handled this poorly, or if perhaps he had been wrong about Brint in the first place. Maybe he didn't know anything about the woman. Still they sat, and neither of them spoke. At last, unsure of what else to do, Jasha stood, intending to speak with some of the others. Perhaps there was more that Ghella could tell him.

  "Well, good night, Brint."

  "What's a shame?" the merchant asked him before Jasha could walk away.

  "-What?"

  "You said before, 'It's a shame.' What did you mean by that?"

  Jasha sat again. "I just meant that a lot of people have died already. A lot more are going to. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something that would keep that from happening. It seems I was wrong." He paused, eyeing the man. "You did say that I was wrong, didn't you?"

  "It's just white-hairs, isn't it? The ones who are dying?"

  "So far, yes. But it's a bad death. I've seen it, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not even the Fal'Borna."

  "And what happens to you if you don't find… what you're looking for?"

  "Probably they'll execute me, and Torgan, too."

  Jasha didn't even have to look at him. He could feel the man fighting himself. Brint did know about the woman; it was just a matter of getting him to admit it. And Jasha knew with equal clarity that there was precious little he could do in that regard. This was up to Brint.

  "I'm sorry to have disturbed you," he said, standing once more. "I'm going to speak with some of the others. They might be able to help me. Thank you, Brint."

  "For what? I didn't do anything."

  "Well, thank you anyway."

  Jasha left him there, stepping around the circle, and went to sit beside two other merchants. He didn't remember the name of either and he didn't expect that they would be able to tell him anything of value. But he chatted with them for a long while, until most of the others had gone to sleep. At one point Tegg approached Jasha, and told him that he was welcome to bed down for the night beside their fire. Jasha thanked him and said that he would.

  Through all of this, Brint remained awake, doing much the same thing he had done all night. He stared at the fire and he drank wine, and said nothing to anyone.

  Finally, the last of the merchants went off to sleep, leaving just Jasha and Brint. Still the red-haired man didn't speak, and though Jasha knew better than to press the matter, his frustration mounted. He was tired, and he feared that whatever Brint knew might be of little consequence, in which case he would have wasted the entire night.

  The fire popped loudly, and a swarm of glowing sparks rose into the night. Jasha picked up a long stick and stirred the embers, trying to coax a bit more light and warmth from them. When he looked up again, Brint was staring at him.

  "Tell me about this pestilence," he said.

  "What is it you want to know?"

  The big man hesitated, appearing unsure of himself. "Why does it strike at their kind but not at us?"

  "I don't know," Jasha said.

  "Before, you said that the sept you found had been ruined."

  Jasha nodded. "Yes. By magic. It seems that when the Qirsi are stricken they lose control of their power. Their fire magic, their healing, their shaping-all of it runs wild, destroying everything and everyone around them."

  Brint nodded and began once more to stare into the dying flames.

  After what seemed an eternity he said, in a voice that barely carried over the settling of the coals, "She told me this would happen."

  It took Jasha a moment. "Who did?"

  The red-haired merchant just looked at him.

  "You mean the Mettai woman?" he whispered, his eyes widening.

  Brint chewed his lip, looking, for all his bulk, like a boy caught in a lie. Finally, he nodded.

  "Where did you see her, Brint? You have to tell me."

  "I thought she was mad. You have to believe that. One moment she was selling me baskets, and the next she was shouting this nonsense at me about how they would destroy everything. It made no sense."

  "You have to tell me everything, Brint. All of it. Every detail matters."

  " 'Death and ruin.' That's what she said to me. That's what she said the baskets would bring."

&n
bsp; It was as if they were carrying on different conversations.

  "Brint!" Jasha said sharply, forcing the man to look at him again. "Tell me everything. Where were you?"

  "I found her among the ruins of some old village. The place looked to have been deserted for decades. It was right near N'Kiel's Span on the Silverwater."

  "What did she say to you?"

  Brint shrugged. "We talked for a long while. She seemed fine at first. Sane, that is. She asked me about where I was from and we bargained over the price of the baskets. It was only when I told her that…" He stopped, chewed his lip again.

  "When you told her what?"

  "I… I think I said at first that I had been looking for Mettai and Y'Qatt goods. Later, after she'd sold me the baskets, I told her that I was headed to the plain to trade with the Fal'Borna. That's when she started talking like a madwoman."

  "What did she say exactly?"

  "I told you already," Brint said, sounding sullen. 'Death and ruin.' Nonsense like that."

  "That was all?" Jasha asked, certain that it wasn't, that she'd told the man a great deal more than that. "She sounded mad, you said. I'm sure that all of it sounded like the ramblings of a crazy woman."

  Brint pressed his lips then, but he nodded. "She said thousands would die, that entire villages would be destroyed. She said that I couldn't take them to the Qirsi, because she hated them. I think… I think she wanted me to take them to the Y'Qatt."

  Jasha frowned. "The Y'Qatt?"

  "Yes. That's when she got so angry; when she realized that I wouldn't be taking the baskets to the Y'Qatt."

  It made no sense. Jasha could understand why an Eandi, even a Mettai, might hate the Fal'Borna enough to loose this plague upon them. But the Y'Qatt were ascetics, Qirsi who refused to use their magic for any reason at all. They were peaceful, and they kept to themselves.

  "You're sure of this?" Jasha asked.

  "Yes. I know it makes no sense. None of what she said did. That's why I didn't think much of it."

  Jasha considered this for a few moments longer, but he could think of no reason why the Mettai would hate the Y'Qatt so much. Eventually he decided that this was something the Fal'Borna would have to figure out for themselves. He'd found out what he could.