by DAVID B. COE
"Several."
"We were about to turn toward the Horn to look for some of them when we saw you," Grinsa said. "You're welcome to travel with us if you'd like."
"They should go to the Ofirean," the Fal'Borna said with quiet intensity. "Some of the merchants are headed there."
The two Qirsi eyed each other, but said nothing.
"We're far from our home already," Sirj finally told them. "We can go as far as the Horn, but we're not going all the way down to the sea. That's too much to ask of…" He broke off, his face reddening.
Besh grinned. "What he was going to say, before he thought better of it, is that it's too much to ask of an old man like me." Glancing at Sirj he saw that the man's cheeks were still red, but a small grin was playing at the corners of his mouth. "As much as I'm loath to admit it," he went on, "he's right."
Grinsa spoke to the Fal'Borna again, lowering his voice so that none of the rest of them could hear. Besh couldn't hear the Fal'Borna's response, either, but after a few more words from Grinsa it seemed that the two of them came to some sort of understanding.
"All right then," the Fal'Borna said brusquely to Besh and Sirj. "You can ride with us. Try to keep up."
He wheeled his horse away from them and started westward, giving the rest of them little choice but to follow. Grinsa remained where he was for a few moments, eyeing Besh and Sirj. But in the end, he rode ahead with the Fal'Borna.
Besh and Sirj started after them, as did the two Eandi. The younger one trailed behind the Qirsi, but the old one, with his scarred face and single dark eye, pulled abreast of the cart.
"You're fools to cast your lot with us," he said. "You should have gone your own way when you had the chance. You still can if you handle it right. Tell them you'll go to the Ofirean after all, and then, once we're far enough away, turn back home."
"We want to find those merchants," Besh said.
The man shook his head. "As I said, you're fools. But I suppose I should have expected no less from Mettai."
Besh sensed that Sirj was bristling. "How is it you came to be traveling with them, friend?" he asked quickly, hoping to keep the younger man from saying something they'd both regret.
"I'm their prisoner," the Eandi said. "I sold some of those crazy woman's baskets to a sept north of here, and the Fal'Borna hunted me down. Me and the lad there," he added, nodding toward the young Eandi. "Our one hope of winning our freedom was helping them kill the witch. But now you've done that for us, and I don't know what that means. Maybe they'll let us go; maybe they'll execute us. In either case, you should get away while you can. I don't care what the Forelander says: you can't trust the Fal'Borna."
He spurred his mount angrily and rode ahead of them.
"Do you believe him?" Sirj asked once the man was out of earshot. Besh considered this as he eyed their new companions. "Yes," he said. "I suppose I do."
"But he claims they're prisoners. What's to keep them…?" He trailed off. Besh could see him working it out. "Magic," he finally whispered. "Language of beasts, the threat of fire or shaping. That would be enough."
Besh nodded. "I should think so."
"Maybe he's right, then," Sirj said. "Maybe we should get away while we can."
"I think we're past that point already." Besh watched Grinsa briefly, noting that while he and the Fal'Borna rode together, they didn't speak. "Besides, I'm intrigued by the Forelander, by this entire company, actually. How did they all come to be journeying together? Even if we believe what the Eandi said, that doesn't explain why the Forelander is with them. It's all very odd."
"It's not our problem," Sirj said.
Besh shrugged. "No, it's not. But they seem intent on finding Lici's baskets, and that is our problem. If we're going to find a way to undo her curse, it might be helpful to have access to Qirsi magic, as well as our own."
Sirj regarded him briefly, then shook his head. "You have a better mind for these matters than I do. I hadn't thought of that."
"You would have soon enough."
Sirj smiled, and they rode on, following their new companions.
They rested a few times, seeking out the rills that flowed through this part of the plain, so that their horses could graze and drink, while they themselves ate a bit. The others said little during these respites, and Besh thought it best to follow their example. The two Eandi avoided one another, which surprised him, though their relationship seemed no more or less strained than that between the two Qirsi. The more Besh watched these four the more curious he grew.
Eventually, later in the day, his curiosity getting the better of him, he had Sirj steer their cart closer to the younger of the two Eandi.
"My pardon, friend," he called to the man. "I was wondering if I might ask you a question or two."
The young man eyed him briefly, then nodded.
"I'm Besh," he said, knowing that the man had already heard this, but wanting him to introduce himself. "This is Sirj."
"I remember. I'm Jasha Ziffel."
"It's nice to meet you, Jasha. I was curious as to how you came to be riding with the white-hairs."
Jasha pressed his lips thin, looking pale and very young. His eyes strayed to the other Eandi. "That's a difficult story."
"Your companion-the other Eandi-he says that you're both prisoners of the Fal'Borna."
"That's true, as far as it goes."
Besh frowned. "As far as it goes?"
Jasha shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "Torgan… that's his name. Torgan Plye. He's a merchant; both of us are, actually. In any case, Torgan managed to buy some of the baskets your witch made, and then he sold them to a Fal'Borna sept. I don't think he knew what he was doing, but the Fal'Borna blame him for what happened afterward. He fled, and I went with him. I'm still not certain why. I thought that together we might find the woman before she could kill again. But I also didn't entirely believe Torgan's story, and, just in case he was lying, I wanted to keep him from spreading any more of the disease."
"So you and he aren't actually friends," Sirj said.
A bitter smile touched his lips and then vanished. "Torgan doesn't have friends, at least not that I know of." He faced Besh again. "I suppose you'd say that we're prisoners. But they allowed me to leave the camp in order to get information from other merchants."
"And you returned."
Besh kept his voice even as he said this, but Jasha seemed to hear a challenge in the words. He straightened and nodded once.
"Yes, I did. I could have run away, but they would have killed Torgan-at least that's what they said. And I want to find these merchants. I wanted to find the witch, too. I'm… I'm glad to know that she's dead."
"What can you tell me about the Qirsi?" Besh asked, eager to change the subject.
The young merchant shrugged. "Not much, really."
"Do you know how Grinsa came to be living among the Fal'Borna?" Jasha shook his head. "No, though I gather that it wasn't by choice. He and Q'Daer-that's the Fal'Borna-they don't get along very well." That much Besh had gathered for himself.
He had other questions, but he didn't want to push Jasha too far. Building a friendship under these circumstances was, he decided, a bit like tending his garden back in Kirayde. Patience was the key. He'd established a bit of trust with the man, and no doubt Jasha would be able to tell him more in the days to come. Better then to let their rapport grow slowly.
"Thank you, Jasha," he said, smiling. "You've been most helpful."
The Eandi nodded, but he didn't ride off, nor did he return Besh's smile.
"Why did she do it?" he finally asked. "You knew the woman, right?"
Besh felt the color drain from his face. "Lici, you mean?"
"Was that her name? Lici? I thought I heard you say it before, but I wasn't certain."
"Yes," Besh said, his mouth suddenly dry. "Her name was Lici."
Jasha shook his head slowly. "It's a nice name. Friendly. I suppose names don't mean as much as we think they do." He shook his h
ead again. "You said before that she wanted to avenge some old injury done her by the Y'Qatt. Can you tell me more?"
At first, Besh was reluctant to answer. It was a Mettai matter and all his life he'd been wary of Eandi and Qirsi alike. In the end, however, he decided that he owed Jasha the truth. The young merchant had been forthcoming with him; Besh could hardly refuse to answer his questions.
"As a young girl Lici lost her entire village to the pestilence. She tried to find Qirsi who could heal her family, but she found the Y'Qatt instead of the Fal'Borna and they refused to help her."
"The Y'Qatt wouldn't use magic to heal themselves much less strangers from another village."
"You and I know that," Besh said. "But Lici was a child at the time. She'd never even heard of the Y'Qatt."
"And now there are Y'Qatt children and Fal'Borna children who will grow up hating the Mettai." Jasha looked like he might weep. "We saw a village-a Fal'Borna sept-that had been destroyed by her plague. They'll hate her forever, and because of that they'll hate all of you. This is how wars begin. I don't know how the first of the Blood Wars started, and I'm sure it didn't involve a plague like this one. But that's beside the point. People on this plain will hate the Mettai for generations. Y'Qatt and Fal'Borna children will be taught that your magic is… evil."
Besh smiled sadly. "Aren't they taught that already?"
"You know what I mean."
"Yes, I do," Besh said. "That's why Sirj and I are out here, looking for the baskets. That's why we went after Lici. You might even say that's the reason she's dead."
Jasha looked away again, his face coloring. "You're right, of course. I shouldn't have said all that. I know it's not your fault."
"No," Besh said. "It's not. But that's beside the point, too, isn't it?"
The young merchant met his gaze again and nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid it is.
Chapter 16
They made camp for the night by a wide, slow stream that carved through the grasses like the curved blade of an Uulranni horseman.
The stream was swollen from the recent rains, its waters black in the dying light.
While Grinsa hunted for scraps of wood to burn and Q'Daer pulled food from their sack of stores, the merchants gathered stones from the streambed to make a fire ring. The Fal'Borna had said nothing for hours, but Grinsa sensed that Q'Daer remained uncomfortable with their new companions and unhappy with him for asking the Mettai to join them. Perhaps he should have been concerned by this-the two of them had reached something of an understanding in recent days, but it wouldn't take much to undo the small bit of progress they'd made.
Just now, though, Grinsa couldn't bring himself to care. He and the Fal'Borna were never going to be true allies. Grinsa only wanted to get away from E'Menua's sept; Q'Daer could only take this as an affront.
The two Mettai, though, struck Grinsa as well-meaning and sincere. He was eager to speak with them beyond the hearing of Q'Daer and the two merchants, but this proved difficult to arrange. As soon as the company had finished eating their modest meal of dried meat, hard bread, and cheese provided by the Mettai, Q'Daer pulled him aside.
"We need to be more vigilant now," the Fal'Borna said, his gaze straying toward the merchants. "We need to watch them all the time. You know this, right?"
Grinsa frowned. "You think they'll try to escape?"
Q'Daer shook his head. "They no longer need to escape. They have magic now."
He shook his head. "I'm confused. Are you talking about Jasha and Torgan, or the Mettai?"
"All of them, of course."
"I thought that most Eandi hated the Mettai."
Q'Daer raked a hand through his hair, looking exasperated. "They're dark-eyes," he said, as if Grinsa were the biggest fool in the Southlands. "There's no separating them now. Already I've seen both merchants speaking with the new ones. It's only a matter of time before they try to get away."
Grinsa wondered if they wouldn't be better off allowing Torgan to go, but he kept this to himself.
"I don't think we have anything to fear from Besh and Sirj," he said instead. "Or from the merchants, for that matter."
"You're wrong. We need to keep watch at night. Do you want the first shift or the second?"
"Neither," Grinsa said, shaking his head, knowing that he was only going to make the Fal'Borna angry. "If you want to stay awake all night you can, but I intend to sleep."
Q'Daer glowered at him.
"If it would make you feel better," Grinsa went on a moment later, sensing an opportunity, "I can speak with the Mettai. Afterwards, if they say anything that seems alarming, I'll keep watch with you."
"You're too trusting, Forelander. You may have had Eandi friends in the Forelands, but dark-eyes are different here."
Grinsa merely shrugged. Q'Daer waited, as if expecting Grinsa to say more. When he didn't, the young Weaver stalked off angrily.
He watched Q'Daer walk away and then started off himself in the opposite direction, intending to find the Mettai. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with Torgan.
"They killed the witch," the man said, his scarred face livid in the pale pink glow of the rising moons.
"Yes," Grinsa said, exhaling, wanting no part of this conversation. "It seems they did."
"What does that mean for us?"
Grinsa shook his head. "I don't know, Torgan. It'll prove to E'Menua that the woman was real, and that you were telling the truth. On the other hand, the a'laq made it clear that he wanted us to kill the woman and bring glory to his sept. We didn't do that."
"So he might still execute us."
"He might. He might also refuse to let my family and me leave the sept. I just don't know. I'm sorry."
He tried to walk past the merchant, but Torgan blocked his way.
"You have to let us get away," he said, dropping his voice, and glancing around, as if afraid that Q'Daer might be nearby. "Maybe you needed us before to help you find the woman and her baskets. But she's dead, and now you have the Mettai to help you. Jasha and me-we can't do any more. Surely you see that."
"Torgan-"
"They'll kill us. That's what E'Menua wanted to do all along, and now there's nothing to stop him."
"I can't let you go, Torgan."
The man glared at him. "Why not?"
"Because if I do, E'Menua will never let us leave."
Grinsa half expected the merchant to hit him.
"You white-hair bastard! You'd trade my life for your freedom."
"Not if I don't have to, no. I'll do what I can to keep you and Jasha alive.
But if I let you go now, my wife and I have no chance at all. We'll go back to the sept-all of us. And we'll win our freedom together."
Once more Grinsa tried to walk past, and again Torgan stopped him, this time putting a hand to Grinsa's chest.
Grinsa glanced down at the man's hand before meeting his gaze again. "You want me to shatter that?" he demanded, his voice level.
Torgan blinked once. Then he dropped his hand to his side. "You're killing us," he said bitterly.
"Not if I can help it," Grinsa told him. "But let's be honest, Torgan. If our positions were reversed, you'd do exactly the same thing. Actually you'd do far less for me than I've done for you."
He didn't wait for a reply; he simply walked away. This time, Torgan didn't try to stop him. But Grinsa heard him mutter "White-hair bastard" under his breath.
Grinsa paused, but then walked on, knowing that nothing good would come of prolonging their confrontation.
It was late enough that he feared the Mettai might already have gone to sleep. But both men were sitting beside their cart in the light of the moons. They weren't speaking to each other, nor did they appear to be doing anything in particular. It almost seemed that they had been waiting for him to join them. As Grinsa approached, the older one whispered something to his companion that sounded like, "At last."
"May I join you?" Grinsa asked, pretending that he hadn't heard.
Bes
h nodded. "Please."
He sat in front of them, eyeing them both.
"It seems that all in your company bring their troubles to you," Besh said. "How is it that a Forelander has won the trust not only of two Eandi merchants, but also a Fal'Borna warrior?"
Grinsa laughed. "Is that what you think is going on?"
"Isn't it?" the old man asked. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, leading Grinsa to wonder if the Mettai was mocking him. The man's tone, though, was gentle, and he didn't strike Grinsa as the type of person who would go out of his way to make an enemy of a stranger. He had a kind look to him, a smile that appeared open and sincere. His face was round and friendly, with deep creases in the skin around his mouth and a web of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He had a dark complexion and eyes that looked black in the dim light. His white hair was cut short. Like the younger man, he wasn't particularly tall or broad, but he was lean despite his years, and there was a quiet strength to him.
"The truth is I don't think any of them trust me. But they trust one another even less."
"Sounds like we've joined a fun group," the young Mettai said quietly. Grinsa's laughter seemed to surprise him. He smiled briefly, but looked uncomfortable.
"You didn't answer my question," Besh said.
"Didn't I?"
"Not really. How is it that you're here, journeying with these men who don't trust you or each other?"
Grinsa smiled wearily and glanced up at the sky. A few stars shone brightly through the moonglow and small white clouds drifted past. It was as lovely a night as he'd seen in the Southlands. Abruptly his longing for Cresenne and Bryntelle was like a knife in his heart.
"It's a long tale to begin so late in the evening."
Besh said nothing. He just stared back at Grinsa, as if daring the gleaner not to explain himself.
"We were forced by circumstance to leave the Forelands," he said at last.
"We?" Besh asked.
Grinsa smiled, though once more he felt a twisting in his heart at the thought of Cresenne and Bryntelle. It had been too long since last he reached for Cresenne's thoughts and walked in her dreams, as a Weaver could. Tonight perhaps, later before he slept.