by DAVID B. COE
"Thank you, Your Lordship."
He turned to Jenoe again. "And you believe this will work?"
"Actually," Jenoe said, "I don't. I doubt very much that the Mettai want anything to do with a new war against the Qirsi. But as Tirnya says, our other options are poor at best. And to her credit, I do think she's hit on the one tactic that the white-hairs won't be expecting. If by some chance we had the magic of the Mettai at our disposal, it might give us an advantage."
"What would you offer them?" Maisaak asked.
"We could offer them gold or we could offer them land," Tirnya answered.
Enly's father shook his head. "I won't empty Qalsyn's treasury for this."
"You wouldn't have to," Jenoe said, his voice hardening just a bit. After a moment he added, somewhat peremptorily, "Your Lordship."
Maisaak glared at him. "No?"
"House Onjaef is not without its resources, Your Lordship," Jenoe said. He paused briefly, seeming to gather himself. When he began again, it was in a lower, more respectful tone. "Since this is our fight, and since you have already-most generously I might add-offered to provision us and let us use your armies, we wouldn't presume to ask for more." He glanced at Tirnya. "Besides, I think the Mettai are far more likely to want land. We can offer them some of the territory near the Horn. They're farmers, most of them; they'll appreciate the value of those lands."
"And if they refuse?"
"If they refuse, Your Lordship," Tirnya said, "we'll return here, somewhat chastened, but your loyal subjects as always."
Enly had to smile. It was deftly handled. On this morning at least, she seemed more skilled than both their fathers in the art of statecraft.
"What are you grinning at?" Maisaak demanded.
Enly looked at him, his smile fading just a bit. "Nothing, Father." "I suppose you have an opinion on this?"
His eyes met Tirnya's for just an instant. Then she looked away. "Not really, no," Enly answered. "I believe that the Mettai would be a valuable ally in any fight against the white-hairs, but like the marshal, I'm skeptical about our chances of winning them over."
"I see," Enly's father said dryly. "Well, I have to admit to being skeptical myself, about this entire endeavor." He stood and walked back to his writing table and began to peruse some of the scrolls there.
Enly and the Onjaefs stood as well.
"I'll have to give it some more thought before sending a message to the sovereign," Maisaak said. He glanced up at them all. "Thank you."
Tirnya looked at Jenoe, appearing confused. Her father gestured toward the door, and started to walk toward it.
"-We haven't much time, Your Lordship," she said, facing Maisaak again.
"Tirnya," Jenoe said, a warning in his voice.
Maisaak had looked up from his parchments. "What did you say?" he asked.
Enly wanted to tell her to let it go, to leave now, before she said something she'd regret. Clearly her father wanted to do the same. But as always, she kept her own counsel. She didn't so much as look at her father or at Enly.
"Forgive me, Your Lordship. But time is our enemy in this matter. The Snows are coming, and we don't know how long the effects of the white-hair plague will last. You need to send a message to Ofirean City, and then you'll have to wait for the sovereign's reply. That could take an entire turn. If we're to attack, we need to do it soon."
Maisaak stared back at her, his eyes glittering in the light from the windows. "You would presume-"
"She didn't mean anything by it, Father," Enly said. "She's merely stating what you and I both know to be true. We haven't much time, and if we delay much longer, we'll have no choice but to wait for the thaw."
Maisaak opened his mouth to fire back a reply, but then he stopped himself, his gaze drifting toward Jenoe and Tirnya. "Leave us," he said.
"Your Lordship," Jenoe said, sketching a quick bow. He pulled the door open. "Come, Tirnya."
Her eyes flicked toward Enly again, and he thought he read an apology in the frightened expression on her lovely face. Then she turned and strode quickly toward the door.
"Captain," Maisaak said.
She halted, turned toward him, though she kept her gaze lowered. "Your Lordship?"
"Don't ever presume to tell me how much or how little time I have to make a decision. Ever. Do I make myself clear?"
She bowed, still keeping her eyes lowered. "Yes, Your Lordship."
Enly had never heard her sound so meek, and he found himself hating his father for making her grovel so.
A moment later the Onjaefs had gone, and Maisaak turned his rage on Enly, which he actually preferred.
"How dare you intercede when I'm disciplining an officer under my command! When you're lord governor you can coddle her as much as you please! But that won't be for some time now, and until then you keep your mouth shut!"
"Yes, Father," he said mildly.
Maisaak stepped out from behind his writing table and crossed to where Enly stood. For a moment, Enly thought his father might strike him and he readied himself for the blow. But Maisaak didn't touch him. He merely regarded him for several moments, before turning away once more and walking to the window.
"You sound like a fool when you defend her that way." He glanced back at Enly. "You know that, don't you?"
He usually had little trouble enduring his father's criticism; he'd certainly had enough practice over the years. But when Maisaak spoke to him this way about Tirnya, it stung, perhaps because Enly knew that he had handled his relationship with her so poorly.
"Is that so?" he answered, trying to sound composed.
"She's stronger than you are. She should be defending you, not the other way around."
"Is there a point to this, Father?"
Maisaak turned. "Yes, there is. When did you become an Onjaef?"
"What?"
"You should hear yourself," his father said with disgust. " `I'm skeptical about our chances of winning over the Mettai.' We haven't much time. We can't delay much longer." He sneered, shaking his head. "You're more eager for this fight than Jenoe. Does she really find that kind of fawning attractive, or are you just so desperate that you don't care anymore?"
"I don't have to listen to this." Enly spun on his heel and took a step toward the door.
"What were you thinking?" Maisaak demanded. "The Mettai? Are you really that great a fool?"
"You heard Tirnya," Enly said, reaching for the door handle. "It was her idea. I just told her a bit about the Blood Wars."
"While you were drunk?"
He turned. "Yes, Father. While I was drunk. Earlier in the day I'd tried to talk her out of this attack on the Fal'Borna. That didn't work, so I took comfort in a flask or two of Qosantian whiskey."
"And you led her straight to the Mettai." Maisaak shook his head. "You're an ass."
"I don't think so, Father. I think it actually might work."
"Idiot!" He swept the parchments off his writing table in a single, violent motion. "I don't want it to work! Don't you understand that?" He ran a hand over his face. "You're so concerned with saving her life so that another man can have her, that you've lost sight of who and what you are."
"Who and what I am?" Enly repeated. "You think you have any idea of who I am?"
"You're a Tolm. One day you'll be lord governor yourself, and contrary to what you want to believe, she'll never marry you. You'll have to live with a second ruling family here in Qalsyn, just as I have." He laughed harshly, shaking his head. "It's remarkable really. The Onjaefs have done nothing for the last century except win a few tournaments and fight a few skirmishes with road brigands. Their last moment of historical significance ended in failure and disgrace. And yet they're adored by the oafs who followed them to this city, while those of us who see to it that those same oafs remain safe and prosperous…" He trailed off, his face coloring slightly. "Someday that will be your burden as well, and you'll understand what I do: that the Onjaefs threaten everything House Tolm has sought to b
uild here since the earliest days of Stelpana's history."
"Then let them go," Enly said. "A few days ago you saw Tirnya's invasion as a way of ridding yourself of them. There's a chance now that the Mettai will refuse to join them, and that they'll return here. But there's also a chance that their plan will actually work. They'll take back Deraqor and you'll be rid of them for good."
Maisaak merely stood there, saying nothing, his cheeks still red, the muscles in his jaw bunched.
"But you don't want that, do you, Father? The calculation has changed because now they might actually succeed. You never wanted them simply to leave. You wanted them dead, or at least defeated and humiliated. The idea of them taking back Deraqor galls you."
Still, his father didn't answer.
Enly grinned. "You know, I believe that's all the more reason to see that they succeed."
He pulled the door open.
"Where are you going?" Maisaak asked, stopping him once more.
"To train my men. If they're going to ride with the Onjaefs to Deraqor, they'll need to be prepared."
"You will not be riding to Deraqor!"
Enly's smile broadened. "Try and stop me."
"I can stop you!" Maisaak told him. "I can stop all of you from going anywhere! You heard Jenoe! He knows that he can't do a thing without permission from me, without men and weapons and horses from me, without provisions from me! If I decide they won't be going then… then they…"
Maisaak gave a small laugh and hung his head briefly before looking up at Enly, a bitter smile on his lips.
"You almost had me," the lord governor said. "I have to give you credit for being clever."
Enly shrugged and pushed the door closed again, doing what he could to mask his disappointment. "It was worth a try."
Maisaak shook his head, and laughed again. "Very clever, indeed."
"Are you going to let them go?" Enly asked.
His father eyed him briefly, the way a swordsman might regard a foe with whom he had done battle once, and might have to again. "I don't know. Was there any truth to what you were saying a moment ago? Would you consider riding with them?"
Once more Enly shrugged, averting his gaze. Talking to his father about Tinrya was never easy.
"Do you think they can lure the Mettai into an alliance?" Maisaak asked. "Because I'm not certain that I do. But it may be the most… audacious idea I've ever heard. She really is a remarkable girl, isn't she?"
"Is she?" Enly said. "I hadn't noticed."
Maisaak stared at him for an instant and then burst out laughing, a full-throated laugh of a kind Enly had only ever heard from him once or twice before.
After a few moments the lord governor's laughter subsided. He opened his mouth to say something, but appeared to think better of it. They stood in silence for a few moments. Finally Enly reached for the door handle again.
"I suppose I should go."
"You were right before," Maisaak said. "Not about all of it. But I do find it hard to accept the idea that Jenoe might succeed at this, that he might reclaim his ancestral home and that the Onjaefs might reclaim their place among Stelpana's great families."
"And I find it hard to accept the idea that Tirnya might leave here for good."
"We could work together, you and I. Perhaps, for once, our interests are similar enough to warrant… an alliance."
Enly shook his head. "I don't think so, Father. Not unless you're willing to help them and truly give them a chance to succeed."
Maisaak frowned. "One moment you want her to stay, the next you speak of her succeeding. I don't think you know your own mind."
"I don't want her to leave. But I don't want her to be hurt or disgraced either. And I don't think you want them to remain here as they've been. Which would leave us with two alternatives. Either I go with them, and do everything I can to make certain that they take back Deraqor. Or we let them go and do nothing to influence their fortunes one way or the other."
For a long time Maisaak said nothing. The stark light from the windows and the shadows of the chamber made the lines on his face appear deeper and darker than they usually did. Abruptly, perhaps for the first time, it occurred to Enly that his father was getting old.
"Contrary to what you said the other day," Maisaak finally told him, "I'm not indifferent to the loss of life. And no matter my feelings about Jenoe, I don't wish ill any of the men under his command." He looked at Enly and took a breath. "Do you want to go?"
The question came as something of a surprise, and he hesitated briefly. "That depends," he said. "If you intend to recommend to Ankyr that they be allowed to do this, then yes, I do." He narrowed his eyes. "You'd be willing to send me?"
"They'll have a better chance of succeeding with you there. And if Jenoe is to become a lord governor, I'd best do what I can to improve our rapport. The last thing I need is another enemy at the sovereign's table."
"You're convincing yourself," Enly said.
"Well, yes. As you remember, I wasn't very fond of the idea a few moments ago." He returned to his writing table and sat, looking weary. "I want to be rid of them. And while I'd enjoy seeing Jenoe bloodied and humiliated, if they fail, the sovereign will look upon it as my failure."
"Then don't let them do it."
"Perhaps if you go with them, she'll marry you," Maisaak said, as if he hadn't heard. "That might force Jenoe and me to put aside this feud of ours."
Enly shook his head. "No. If they retake Deraqor, she'll be the heir to a ruling house, just as I am. She could no more leave Deraqor to live here than I could leave Qalsyn to live the rest of my days in the Horn." He smiled, though his heart ached. "No, Father. One of us-you or me-will get his wish, and one of us won't. Either they'll remain here and I'll still have a chance to win her, or they'll leave and you'll be rid of Jenoe for good."
His father nodded slowly. At last, he looked at Enly again. "Train your men, and begin preparing to ride westward. I intend to send my message to the sovereign before day's end."
Chapter 15
FAL'BORNA LAND, THE CENTRAL PLAIN
F'Ghara made good on his promise to feed Besh and Sirj and to sell them as much food as they needed for the next stage of their journey.
Even more, for that one night, as Besh recovered from his wounds and tried to make peace with the fact that he had killed Lici, he and Sirj were treated as esteemed guests in F'Ghara's sept. The irony was that while the Fal'Borna were honoring them, Besh was nearly overwhelmed with shame and grief.
He knew he'd had no choice. Lici had been torturing him; she'd made it clear that she had every intention of killing him before the day was out; and she'd been speaking of doing to her own people-Besh's people-what she had done already to the Y'Qatt. Killing her had been an act of desperation and of necessity. There wasn't a person in the sept who would have considered it murder, nor would any of the people he'd left behind in his own village of Kirayde. Sirj had said nothing to indicate that he found fault with what he'd done. It seemed that Besh himself was the only person who objected.
He'd never killed before. He hoped never to kill again. But he could hardly claim that he hadn't meant to do it, or even that he'd meant her no harm. He'd threatened to kill her; he'd as much as promised Pyav, Kirayde's village eldest, that he would do so if he couldn't stop her any other way. All of which begged the question, if her death hadn't been murder, what in Bian's name had it been?
These questions plagued him that first night when, as guests of the a'laq, he and Sirj ate and took their rest among the Fal'Borna. Besh lay awake for hours that night. Ema's voice in his mind assured him that he'd had no choice, that he'd done what was necessary. He didn't hear Sylpa's voice, which had become nearly as familiar to his thoughts as that of his dead wife, nor did he expect that he ever would again. She had been like a mother to Lici. Was it so surprising that she should forsake him now?
When at last he did sleep, he was haunted by dreams of Lici. In one, she appeared to him as a young girl, ne
wly orphaned by the pestilence that had ravaged her village. She looked emaciated and she was crying, her face burned by the sun, her limbs scored by brambles and covered with insect bites. He went to her, intending to comfort her. But when he drew near, she reached out with a talon-like hand and took hold of his throat. Then she cut the hack of the hand that held him, wiped dirt on the wound, and began to chant the words a spell.
"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, plague to old man!"
Instantly Besh felt the pestilence flowing through her hand into his throat, the fever spreading through his body, his stomach souring until he gagged.
He woke up, sweating and breathless, addled, not quite certain of where he was. After a few moments though, he recognized the sound of Sirj's muffled breathing, and realized that the faint reddish glow came from the coals of the fire that had warmed their shelter.
He lay back, and immediately fell back into the dream. Lici had been transformed into the old woman he'd killed earlier that day, but otherwise nothing had changed. She had her hand wrapped around his neck, her bloodied nails digging into his flesh, her hot, sour breath on his face.
"I'm not finished with you," she said coldly. "I'll never be finished with you.”
Again she started to chant a curse, and again he awoke. The glow of the coals had grown faint, and Sirj was snoring loudly. Besh tried to rouse himself, but soon found himself in the dream again. On and on this went. Sometimes he encountered Lici as the old, crazed Mettai witch, other times as the pretty young girl he'd known in his youth. But always she was strangling the life out of him; always she had the words of a curse on her lips.
When, mercifully, morning came and Sirj woke him, he felt wearier than he had when he first had lain down for the night, and he despaired of ever sleeping again.
Under F'Ghara's direction, the Fal'Borna sold them a good deal of food, including lots of dried rilda meat, which might have been the best smoked meat Besh had ever tasted. He had expected that they would have to pay dearly for the food-the Fal'Borna were known as stubborn negotiators. But F'Ghara charged them about what Besh might have expected to pay in the Kirayde marketplace. When they thanked the a'laq, he nodded, looking grave, and then drew the two of them aside, so that the others in his sept wouldn't hear.