The Horsemen's Gambit bots-2

by DAVID B. COE

  "F'Solya says you've had a hard time of it since… since your man left."

  Cresenne chanced a quick look at F'Solya, but she was staring at her bowl of stew. "Yes," she said, meeting the man's gaze. "To be honest, it hadn't even occurred to me to wonder where our food was coming from until Grinsa was gone."

  "I suppose in the Forelands you were given food all the time."

  Cresenne frowned, not sure whether to laugh or be angry, but knowing that he'd take offense if she did either. "No, not at all," she said, willing herself to keep calm. "We bought our food or got it for ourselves, just like everyone else. Why would you think it was given to us?"

  "Well," he began, suddenly seeming unsure of himself, "I've heard Weavers are rare in the North. I thought he'd be honored there."

  "Weavers are put to death there. So are their families. The Eandi are terrified of them, and the courts decreed centuries ago that all Weavers were to be executed. Grinsa only revealed the extent of his powers to his most trusted friends."

  "Is that why you left?"

  Cresenne hesitated. They'd had numerous reasons for leaving, not least of which was the fact that Cresenne had once been part of a failed Qirsi conspiracy to overthrow the courts. She had turned against the plot eventually and had helped the Eandi defeat it, but many still viewed her as a traitor. Grinsa had been instrumental in defeating the Weaver who led the renegades and had revealed himself as a Weaver, leading some to call for his execution, despite all he had done on behalf of the Eandi. And since Grinsa was a Weaver, it seemed possible that Bryntelle would grow to be one as well. In short, none of them had much future in the Forelands. That was why they left.

  "In part, that was why," she said. "We needed to start over, and that didn't seem possible in the Forelands."

  I'Joled nodded. "I'd heard something about that. There's been some talk." F'Solya frowned. "That's enough," she said, her voice low.

  Cresenne ate some of her stew, refusing to look at either of the Fal'Borna. This had been a bad idea. Yes, she needed to eat. But even F'Solya's friendship couldn't protect her from the tales about her past and Grinsa's that had made their way through the sept since their arrival. She wished only that Grinsa would return so that they could leave this place for good. And just thinking this made her eyes sting. Don't cry, she told herself sternly. Not in front of this man.

  For a long time, none of them spoke, and when at last F'Solya broke the painful silence, she did so to talk about the storms that had passed over them recently, and how cold it would soon be on the plain. She asked Cresenne questions about the Forelands, most of them relating to the terrain and the weather. Cresenne answered, doing her best to keep her tone light, steadfastly avoiding I'Joled's gaze.

  Eventually Cresenne excused herself, saying that it was late and that she needed to get Bryntelle to bed. She thanked them both and stood up to leave. I'Joled grunted a response to her thanks, but said nothing more. F'Solya, on the other hand, followed her out of the z'kal into the cold night air.

  "Thank you," Cresenne said again, holding Bryntelle in her arms and adjusting her wrap to keep the child warm.

  "You're welcome. I think you should come back again tomorrow."

  This time Cresenne couldn't keep herself from laughing. "I think that's a bad idea. It's very kind of you, but I'm pretty certain that I'Joled wouldn't like it very much."

  "I'll talk to him. It'll be fine."

  "No, F'Solya." She laid her hand on the woman's arm. "I don't want you to think that I'm ungrateful. But I don't… people in this sept think poorly of me already. I don't want them thinking that I'm a…" She stopped herself, fearing that to say more was to risk ruining the one friendship she'd built here.

  F'Solya nodded and looked down, a small smile on her lips. "I think I understand."

  "Do you? I want you to. You've been so kind to me and the last thing I want to do is give offense."

  She looked up at that, grinning broadly. "No chance of that. I'm not easy to offend." Her smile faded slowly, leaving her looking concerned. "What will you do, then?"

  Cresenne shrugged. "I can try to buy more food in the marketplace."

  "That'll only work for so long. When the Snows begin in earnest, the peddlers will stop coming."

  "Would anyone here sell me food?"

  F'Solya's eyebrows went up. "That's a good question. You should speak of it with the a'laq."

  "No," Cresenne said, shaking her head. "The a'laq and I don't really get along."

  "Nonsense. He's a difficult man-all a'laqs are like that. That's how they get to be a'laqs. But he can help you. I'm certain of it."

  Cresenne ran a hand through her hair and exhaled through her teeth. If it had been just her own life at stake she might well have starved herself rather than face the man. That's how much she wanted to avoid any interaction with E'Menua. But she had to think of Bryntelle, too.

  "How would I approach him?" she asked finally. She understood Fal'Borna ways well enough to know that a woman didn't simply march into the a'laq's shelter and ask to be fed.

  "Actually, I'd suggest you start with D'Pera."

  Cresenne shook her head. "D'Pera?"

  "Yes, the n'qlae, E'Menua's wife."

  "What would I tell her?"

  "The truth. She's a mother, too. She won't let you starve."

  "All right," Cresenne said. "I'll think about it."

  "No, you'll do it. First thing tomorrow morning. I'll come with you if you'd like."

  "Yes," she said immediately. "That would make this easier."

  F'Solya smiled. "Very well. Go, put your little one to bed."

  Cresenne started to go. Then she stopped and gave the woman a quick hug. She hadn't seen other Fal'Borna do this, and she felt F'Solya tense momentarily. But then her friend returned the embrace before quickly releasing her.

  Cresenne offered a small, self-conscious smile and walked back to her z'kal.

  The following morning, she took Bryntelle to the girls who usually cared for the Fal'Borna children, and then made her way to the fire circle where she tanned each day. F'Solya was waiting for her. Seeing her friend, Cresenne had to resist an urge to flee. She'd had the night to think about it, and she'd decided that her first instinct had been the correct one: she wanted nothing to do with E'Menua. Since Grinsa had left she'd done all she could to avoid the man, thinking that she'd be best off staying away from the a'laq until Grinsa's return. She knew though that F'Solya would insist, and she had to admit that her friend was probably right to do so. Still, at that moment it was hard to tell if the hollow feeling in her gut was hunger or fear.

  As Cresenne drew near F'Solya asked, "Are you ready?"

  "I suppose."

  The woman merely smiled and patted Cresenne's shoulder.

  They found D'Pera weaving blankets with several of the younger women, and instructing them in the finer points of the craft. Cresenne had never actually been introduced to the a'laq's wife, though she'd seen the woman from afar. She was strikingly attractive, with long, thick hair that she wore unbound, and a bright, piercing gaze from which Cresenne had found herself flinching away the few times the woman turned it on her. She had small lines around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise had surrendered nothing to age.

  Seeing F'Solya and Cresenne approach, she frowned, got up from her work, and strode in their direction.

  "What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"

  "This is a bad idea," Cresenne whispered.

  F'Solya shot her a disapproving look, but quickly faced the n'qlae once more. "Forgive us for disturbing you, N'Qlae. We come seeking a favor."

  Cresenne saw the woman relax, though her eyes narrowed as she looked from one of them to the other. "What kind of favor?"

  F'Solya turned to Cresenne. It seemed there was only so much help her friend could give her.

  "I… I wish to speak with the a'laq, N'Qlae."

  D'Pera eyed her warily. "What for?"

  "I… since… since Grinsa left, I've h
ad very little food. We came too late to plant crops and Grinsa never hunted. We had some stores that we'd traveled with, but not enough to last me through the Snows. And I have a child-"

  "The Snows take their toll on all of us," the n'qlae said, her tone betraying little sympathy. "We can't just give food away."

  "I realize that," Cresenne said, her voice hardening as well. The woman could probably have her banished or killed with a word, but back in the Forelands Cresenne had been victimized repeatedly by the renegade Weaver and his servants; she had promised herself that she'd never allow herself to be bullied again. "I have gold. I can pay for what I get. But I can't eat coins, and I can't survive on wind and grass."

  The n'qlae continued to regard her with mistrust. "The a'laq and I have been together for more than three fours," she said. "In all that time he's never taken another woman into his bed. He has no interest in concubines and bastard children."

  Living in this alien culture, Cresenne often found herself unsure of how to respond to things said to her. But never in her life had she been at such a complete loss for words. A part of her wanted to laugh in the woman's face: She had no desire to share E'Menua's bed! Another part of her wanted to slap D'Pera as hard as she could for thinking her little more than a whore. Mostly, though, she feared she'd weep. This was how she was thought of here in the Southlands. She'd fled the Forelands because, in part, she didn't want to spend the rest of her days as a traitor in the eyes of all she met. Instead, they thought her the type of woman who was always looking for the next bed to sleep in, the next man she could steal from his wife.

  "I've no interest in being anyone's concubine, N'Qlae," she said, struggling to keep her voice even, "or in bearing anyone's bastard child. Grinsa is my husband; Bryntelle is our daughter. The Fal'Borna may not see it that way, but to be honest I don't give a damn." She realized that her hands were shaking, and though she was trying to keep her temper in check, she knew she wouldn't be able to manage it much longer. "I can't do this," she said, turning to F'Solya. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather starve than put up with…She clamped her mouth shut, to keep herself from saying more. She turned on her heel and began to walk away.

  "Wait."

  Cresenne would have liked to ignore the n'qlae's command, but she could only imagine what the Fal'Borna punishment for such a thing might be. She stopped and sighed. A moment later she faced the woman once more.

  "I shouldn't have spoken to you so," D'Pera said, surprising her. "The a'laq promised your man that we would keep you safe while he was gone. It was a vow I encouraged him to give."

  "Thank you for that," Cresenne said grudgingly.

  "I'm not certain what he can do for you, but I'll take you to him. I expect he'll think of something."

  "That would be… I'd be most grateful." She continued to stand there, wondering whether the n'qlae meant to do this now.

  D'Pera gave her a curious smile and gestured in the direction of her z'kal. "Shall we, then?"

  Cresenne nodded, feeling somewhat foolish. "Yes, of course."

  She walked back to where the n'qlae stood and the three women began walking toward the a'laq's shelter.

  After just a few steps, D'Pera stopped and looked archly at F'Solya. "Are you starving as well?"

  "Uh… no, N'Qlae. We're fine."

  "Then, I'd suggest you get back to work."

  F'Solya looked back and forth between D'Pera and Cresenne. "But… Cresenne asked-"

  "She'll be fine with me, F'Solya." The n'qlae smiled kindly. "Your concern for her speaks well of you, but I assure you she'll come to no harm."

  "Of course, N'Qlae." F'Solya cast one last look at Cresenne, who smiled in return. Then she began to make her way back to the tanning circle.

  "It seems you and F'Solya have forged a deep bond," D'Pera said, as they started toward the shelter again.

  "She's been very kind to me."

  "Do you have other friends here as well?"

  The question made Cresenne uncomfortable, although she couldn't say why. "Not really, no."

  "It must be difficult for you, being here without your… your husband, alone in a strange land."

  "Grinsa and I have been apart before," she said, choosing her words carefully. "As long as I can feed myself and our child, I'll be fine."

  "Of course."

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. Upon reaching the z'kal, D'Pera instructed Cresenne to wait outside while she went in to speak with her husband. She emerged several moments later and nodded once. "He'll speak with you."

  "Thank you, N'Qlae."

  Cresenne entered the z'kal and was greeted immediately by the pungent smells of sweat, smoke, and roasted meat. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the shelter. A fire burned in the middle of the floor, and she could make out E'Menua's form on the far side, but at first she couldn't see his face.

  "Sit," E'Menua commanded, his open hand, illuminated by the fire, seeming to materialize from the darkness.

  "Thank you, A'Laq." She sat opposite him. She could see his eyes now, gleaming in the firelight.

  "D'Pera tells me there's a problem with your food."

  Cresenne frowned. It was an odd way to describe her problem, one that made it sound like she was complaining. "In a sense, I suppose you could say that. While Grinsa was here, we were fed each night."

  "Of course. He's a Weaver and a stranger to our sept."

  "Yes. And if he were here, I'm certain he'd join me in thanking you for your generosity. But since he left, my daughter and I have been without food."

  The a'laq appeared to shrug. "You're not a Weaver."

  Cresenne took a breath, trying to keep her patience, certain that he was doing all he could to provoke her. "I realize that, A'Laq. But I also know that you pledged to keep us safe in Grinsa's absence."

  E'Menua bristled. "Do you imply that I've gone back on my word?"

  "I'm sure it's no more than an oversight. You have an entire sept to look after. You couldn't remember that we weren't here when the others planted their crops or hunted rilda. None of this is anyone's fault. But the fact remains that we haven't enough food to get us through the Snows."

  "And what is it you suggest I do about this?" he said in a tone that could have frozen the warmest waters of the Western Sea.

  "We do have gold. We can buy what we need from the sept. You can set the price and whatever…" She trailed off.

  E'Menua was shaking his head. She could make out his face now, and though he didn't appear to be enjoying her plight, he didn't look particularly concerned about it either.

  "We have no need of your gold," he said. "The Fal'Borna are traders; we don't accumulate coins as the Eandi do. We trade skins for baskets, rilda meat for smoked fish. Besides, the food that we have in our stores is there to get our people through the Snows, should the colder turns prove more difficult than we anticipate. We can't simply sell it."

  Cresenne felt panic rising in her chest. "Then what are we going to do? Bryntelle and I I… before long we'll have nothing left. We'll starve."

  He shook his head and offered what should have been a kind smile. But there was something predatory in those large, catlike eyes. "We won't let you starve. As you say, I made a promise to your man."

  "Then what-?"

  "You'll have to find another to provide for you."

  "F'Solya and I'Joled offered," she said, knowing that she was giving her friend's husband more credit than he deserved. "But they have their boys to think about."

  "I didn't mean them."

  She stared at him, knowing they had come to the crux of their conversation. "Then who?" she asked.

  "L'Norr. He's a Weaver, just like Grinsa. And he doesn't have a family to feed."

  Cresenne knew just what he was doing and why. "I won't be… Grinsa is my husband. I won't share another man's bed."

  "That's between you and L'Norr."

  "But he'll expect something for his food, won't he?"

  "He'll share h
is meals with you. I'll see to it. As I say, anything else is up to the two of you."

  "There won't be anything else."

  E'Menua regarded her placidly, a small grin on his narrow, tapered face. "You can go," he said, after a brief silence.

  She wanted to say more, to tell him that despite all his efforts, there was nothing he could do to tear her and Grinsa apart. But she couldn't think of any way to say it that didn't sound weak and childish. At last, she simply stood and walked out of the shelter.

  After the warmth of the z'kal, the harvest air made her shiver. Or was she trembling again?

  Cresenne returned to the tanning circle and took her usual spot beside F'Solya. Her friend eyed her as she sat, but she said nothing, and Cresenne was just as glad.

  After some time though, F'Solya's curiosity seemed to get the better of her. "Is he going to help you?" she asked.

  Help me? she wanted to say. He has no interest in helping me. He wants only to destroy my life. But however close she and F'Solya might have been, she couldn't be that honest.

  "He's not going to let us starve," she said, which was true.

  The woman smiled, looking so relieved it made Cresenne's heart ache. "Oh, good," she said. "I knew he wouldn't."

  Chapter 12

  QALSYN, STELPANA

  Poljyn Rudd. Kherlay Swylton.

  Those were their names.

  Tirnya could picture both of them: Poljyn, tall and lanky, with a broad, open smile that made him look about twelve years old; and Kherlay-Kherry, the other men called him-also tall and rail-thin, but dark and serious, determined to be a lead rider by the time he was twenty.

  Her father assured her that every leader lamented the loss of soldiers under his or her command, and he made it clear that it never got easier.

  "The day it becomes routine to lose even a single man," he told her, two mornings after her skirmish with the brigands, "I want you to quit, because it'll mean that you're no longer fit for command."