The Horsemen's Gambit bots-2

by DAVID B. COE

  "Sit," he said, waving vaguely at the ground in front of her. "I wasn't certain whether your child eats this food yet, but I made extra, in case he does."

  "She's a girl," Cresenne said, still standing.

  He looked up at that, meeting her gaze. "Forgive me. She."

  He turned his attention back to the stew, stirring it again and crumbling into it some dried leaves that looked much like the rildagreen F'Solya had used. L'Norr looked much like the other Fal'Borna men Cresenne had encountered. Broad in the shoulders and chest, with long white hair that he wore loose to his shoulders and bright yellow eyes that glittered like gold coins in the firelight. His face was rounder than that of the a'laq or F'Solya's husband, which made him look barely old enough to be living away from his parents.

  The man glanced up at her again. "Please, sit," he said. "You have nothing to fear from me."

  "You know that I'm Grinsa's wife," she said, not moving. "I don't consider myself his concubine, and I'm not looking to be anyone else's. Not even for food."

  A slight smile touched his lips. "I have a concubine."

  Cresenne felt her face reddening. "Oh."

  "The a'laq told me you needed food." He shrugged. "I have more than I can eat. So sit down, and have something."

  Still uncomfortable, she lowered herself to the ground on the opposite side of the fire. Bryntelle was looking around the z'kal, chattering nonsense, her pale eyes wide. Eventually, her gaze came to rest on a small pile of items that sat along the edge of the shelter: a small hide-covered drum, a shield and spear, what looked to be a ceremonial mask. The child let out a small squeal and then tried to wrench herself out of Cresenne's grasp so that she could go investigate. Not that she could crawl or walk yet, but she seemed determined nevertheless, and she began to fuss again when Cresenne didn't put her down.

  "Is she all right?" L'Norr asked, a slight frown on his face.

  "Yes. She's just curious."

  "About what?"

  Cresenne laughed in spite of herself. "About everything."

  He nodded, but said nothing more, stirring the pot again. Cresenne felt that she ought to say something, but nothing came to her and as their silence lengthened she grew increasingly uncomfortable. Before she could break the lull in their conversation, however, there was a quick tap on the flap covering the entrance to the z'kal. L'Norr glanced up, looking alarmed, but before he could say anything, the flap was pushed aside and a young woman stepped into the shelter.

  "T'Lisha!" the 'Weaver said.

  She didn't answer him. Instead, she stared down at Cresenne a hard expression on her pretty oval face.

  "So, it's true," she said after some time. Her gaze flicked toward L'Norr briefly, then quickly back to Cresenne, as if she expected her to attack at any moment. "They said that she was here, but I didn't believe them."

  Coltish. That was the one word that came to Cresenne's mind as she looked at the girl. She was tall for a Fal'Borna-nearly as tall as Cresenne herself. And unlike F'Solya and so many of the other women of the sept, she was lanky, her body showing only the first faint signs of maturing to womanhood. Her skin was smooth and colored golden brown like that of the other Fal'Borna, and her eyes were so pale they almost looked white. She was exceedingly pretty, but Cresenne couldn't help thinking that she was far too young to be any man's concubine.

  She didn't give voice to this, of course. Rather she extended a hand in greeting. She would have preferred to stand, if for no other reason than to put herself on equal footing with the girl. But she still held Bryntelle in her lap, and without being certain how T'Lisha was going to respond to the situation, she didn't want her child anywhere but in her arms.

  "My name's Cresenne," she said, making herself smile.

  "I know who you are," the girl shot back.

  Cresenne kept the smile fixed on her lips. "Good! Then you understand that I'm already married and that you have nothing to fear from me."

  The girl narrowed her eyes, but didn't respond immediately.

  Cresenne pressed on. "With Grinsa gone, my daughter and I have no food, and at the a'laq's suggestion we've come to L'Norr for our evening meal. He's generously offered to share his stew with us. Will you be joining us as well?"

  The girl eyed her for another moment, still looking confused.

  "He's mine," she finally said, her expression hardening once more. "You claim the Forelander as your husband, but you're no Weaver."

  "No," Cresenne said, still wishing she could stand, "I'm not. But where we come from that doesn't matter."

  "Well, it does here. And with Q'Daer gone, and your man with him, L'Norr is the only Weaver left who doesn't have a wife."

  "That's enough, T'Lisha," the young man said quietly.

  "You think I'm too young to understand why you're really here?"

  "I said that's enough." He had raised his voice this time, drawing the girl's gaze.

  He stood, stepped around the fire, and took her by the arm, though not roughly. "Come with me," he said, his voice low again.

  She glared back at Cresenne, but she allowed L'Norr to lead her out of the z'kal.

  They started arguing almost at once, and though Cresenne could hear their voices clearly, she made a point of not listening, choosing instead to sing to Bryntelle.

  Eventually the flap opened again, and L'Norr reentered the shelter. He faltered for an instant, glancing down at Cresenne, but then returned to his place on the far side of the fire and sat. He stirred the stew once again, before reaching for bowls.

  "She won't have any?" he asked, indicating Bryntelle with a curt nod. "No, thank you."

  He spooned some stew into a bowl and handed it to Cresenne along with a second, smaller spoon. He served himself and immediately began to eat, seemingly doing his best to ignore both Cresenne and Bryntelle. After a moment, Cresenne began to eat, too. The stew wasn't nearly as flavorful as F'Solya's had been, but it was warm and Cresenne was ravenous.

  "It's very good," she said between mouthfuls. "Thank you for sharing it with us."

  L'Norr grunted something that might have been a "thank you" or a "you're welcome"; it was hard to say for certain. Before long, Cresenne had emptied her bowl, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, she held it up for him to see.

  "May I?" she asked.

  He nodded, barely bothering to look at her.

  She refilled her bowl and sat back again, eating this second helping almost as quickly as she had eaten the first.

  "I'm sorry if our being here has created problems for you," she finally said. Her bowl was empty again, but she decided to wait before asking for more.

  L'Norr shrugged.

  "You could have invited her to join us."

  "This is my z'kal," he said, casting a quick, dark look her way. "I don't need you telling me what I can and can't do."

  "No, of course you don't," she said. "That's not-"

  "You're here because the a'laq has commanded me to share my meals with you. You have no claim on me or on my shelter or even on my food. Were I to decide to give you nothing more than rancid meat and stale bread, I would still be living up to the a'laq's expectations. I share this food out of kindness. So I'll thank you to leave me alone while I'm eating and to say nothing about matters that don't concern you."

  She felt as though she'd been slapped. She had to bite her tongue to keep from railing at the man. She didn't deserve to be talked to in that way-she'd done nothing wrong, nothing to give offense. Since her arrival in the sept she'd done all she could to make herself invisible. She wanted only to survive until Grinsa returned, so that they might find a way to get away from this settlement and out of Fal'Borna lands. And yet it seemed that at every turn, someone was yelling at her or insulting her or accusing her of things she hadn't done and had no intention of doing. It was enough to make her want to scream.

  But of course she couldn't, any more than she could yell back at him. She couldn't get up and leave, either. She was utterly powerless here.
She'd never truly felt this way before. Even when she was still living in the Forelands, a prisoner in the castle of the king of Eibithar, victimized again and again by the renegade Weaver and his assassins, she hadn't been this helpless. She'd been able to fight back, to use her magics and her wits to protect herself. Here, even that comfort was denied her. She could only sit, enduring the sting of this man's ire, willing herself not to cry in front of him.

  She put down the bowl, her hands trembling slightly, what was left of her appetite gone.

  "May I have some water?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  He stared at her for a moment, then reached for a full skin and handed it to her. She took a drink and gave it back to him.

  "Thank you."

  L'Norr took it back, drank a bit himself, and placed it on the ground beside him. His jaw muscles were clenched and he refused to look her in the eye.

  "A Fal'Borna Weaver has to marry another Weaver," he finally said, his voice so low that Cresenne had to lean closer just to hear him. "You know this. But there aren't any Weavers among the women of E'Menua's sept, except for D'Pera, of course. U'Vara, the a'laq's daughter, shows signs of being a Weaver. But she can only marry one man, and eventually the a'laq's sons will come of age, and they will be given wives before any of the rest of us."

  He looked up. "That's why concubines are so important. T'Lisha is young, and she shouldn't have spoken to you as she did, but she's all I have. She may be all I ever have, unless I'm willing to leave here or marry a woman from another sept."

  It was more explanation than she had expected, and no doubt he felt that it was more than she deserved. Yet, Cresenne could muster little sympathy for him. Her life had come to a point where she had no choice but to think first of herself and her child.

  "Are you saying that you don't want me to come back?"

  L'Norr smiled thinly. "If I could tell you such a thing, I would. I have no reason to wish you ill, and I'm sorry for you. But if I could send you away to make T'Lisha happy, I'd do it in an instant." He shook his head. "But E'Menua has made it clear to me that I'm to feed you until your man returns."

  Her relief was immediate and profound, making it much easier for her to be generous.

  "Then what can I do to make things better between you and T'Lisha?"

  The question seemed to surprise him. "What can you do?"

  "She's not going to like the fact that I'm here every evening. But perhaps there are ways in which I can convince her that she has nothing to fear from me."

  L'Norr shook his head, looking terribly young, his eyes fixed on hers. "I don't know. I'll have to think about this."

  "Would you like me to speak with her?"

  "No!" L'Norr said quickly. "That would be a bad idea. She's made up her mind about you already. She considers you a rival, an enemy even. You'd be best off staying away from her."

  The relief Cresenne had felt a moment before vanished, leaving her feeling cold. It was bad enough that everyone in the sept thought of her as Grinsa's concubine and as someone who was intent on luring every Weaver in the settlement to her bed. But to have an enemy, someone who actually wished her ill… This was precisely why she had wanted to go unnoticed. She knew what it meant when the Fal'Borna declared someone an enemy, and though she couldn't imagine that the enmity of one girl meant the same thing as that of the entire clan, she had no desire to find out what it did mean.

  "You have to tell her that I'm not a rival!" she said. "I don't want her for an enemy, L'Norr. You have to tell her that!"

  He looked taken aback. "I… I can try to tell her, but I'm not sure she'll listen. If I defend you, she'll only hate you more."

  Of course he was right. She once had a jealous lover, and there had been no reasoning with him. Every reassurance she offered him he managed to twist into further proof of her infidelity.

  "The last thing I need is for someone else in this sept to have a reason to hate me," she said, trying to sound reasonable. Bryntelle had started to fuss again, perhaps sensing Cresenne's distress, as she so often did. Cresenne kissed her brow and began to rock her gently. "And the last thing you need," she went on, "is for T'Lisha to think you're betraying her every time I come to your shelter for a meal. I understand that you don't want me speaking to her, but then you need to convince her that she has no reason to fear me."

  "And I'm telling you I don't know how to do that," L'Norr said.

  "Have her eat her meals with us. Let her be here whenever I am. That way she can see that there's nothing more to these meals than there appears."

  He shook his head, looking uncertain. "I don't know if she'll agree. And even if she does, it may not satisfy her."

  "Then think of something else," she said, her patience waning. "As you said, E'Menua expects you to feed me. So unless you want to lose her, you'll find a way to fix this."

  The young Weaver didn't look happy, but after a moment he nodded. They sat without speaking for several moments.

  "Thank you for the meal," she finally said. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

  He shook his head. "No. You can leave."

  Cresenne hesitated. She had hoped that her meals with L'Norr might lead to some sort of friendship. She certainly hadn't wanted this night's meal to end with such bitterness. But she didn't see any way to make matters better; it seemed more likely that the longer she stayed, and the more she said, the worse it would be.

  She stood, still holding Bryntelle in her arms, and looked down at him. "Good night, then."

  "Good night."

  She turned and left the shelter. Glancing around as she emerged from the z'kal, she saw that a few people were looking her way, all of them young women. None of them said anything, and she did her best to ignore their stares as she walked back to her shelter. But she felt their eyes boring into her back, and she expected at any moment to hear them start calling her a whore, or worse. By the time she reached her z'kal she was shaking with anger, her cheeks burning, her eyes brimming with tears. She'd done nothing wrong. Nothing. So why did she feel so ashamed?

  As much as she wanted to cry, she refused. Since arriving in E'Menua's sept, she had been treated with contempt by nearly everyone except F'Solya. She had been dismissed as being an unworthy mate for Grinsa, she had been ignored and insulted, and she had been forced to endure all of this in near total isolation. And she'd had enough.

  She had no way of fighting back, of course. Most of the Fal'Borna had made up their minds about her long ago; Cresenne had little hope that she could convince any of them that she was anything more or less than they already thought her to be. But she wasn't helpless, and she didn't need anyone else to tell her what she already knew to be true: Grinsa loved her. No matter what they had been through-and the gods knew that they had been through a lot-he had chosen to spend his life with her, and she with him. The Fal'Borna could not take that away from them.

  "We don't care what they think, do we, Bryntelle?" she said, blinking the tears from her eyes as she looked down at her child. "They can call me whatever they want, but we don't care, right?"

  Bryntelle grinned at her and then laughed.

  Cresenne smiled. "That's right."

  She put Bryntelle to bed and then lay down herself. It took her a long time to fall asleep, though, and even after she did, she slept fitfully, troubled by strange, disturbing dreams that made no sense to her when she awoke in the morning. She sensed that she had slept too long and she dressed hurriedly, feeling disoriented.

  Once more, as she made her way to the tanning circle, she felt that people were watching her, speaking of her behind her back. Even the younger girls who took Bryntelle for the day behaved strangely around her, some of them suppressing grins as if amused by some ill-mannered joke, others staring at her with open hostility. Despite having resolved the night before not to let all of this bother her, she had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming at all of them that she'd done nothing wrong. But it was only when she reached the tanning circl
e that she realized how serious matters had become. F'Solya was there, and her space beside the woman was open, but her friend said nothing to her as she sat. Worse, when Cresenne said "Good morning," F'Solya didn't reply.

  Cresenne felt herself growing cold, though the sun was shining and the air was warmer than it had been in days.

  For a long time neither of them spoke, until finally Cresenne couldn't endure the silence any longer.

  "You have something you want to say to me?" she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the skin she was tanning.

  At first F'Solya said nothing, though Cresenne could tell that she had stopped working and was staring at her. "Why would you do it?" she demanded at last. "After all we've done for you, why would you do such a thing?"

  Cresenne turned to face her. "What is it you think I've done?"

  "T'Lisha said that she found you in L'Norr's z'kal last night."

  "And did she tell you why I was there?"

  The question seem to catch her friend off guard; the reason would have seemed so obvious that probably none of the people T'Lisha told-the entire sept by now, no doubt-even thought to ask.

  "No," F'Solya said, her voice softening. "She just… she just said…"

  "She told all of you I was there, and allowed your imaginations to do the rest." Cresenne shook her head. "I expect that from the rest of them, F'Solya. But I thought you and I were friends."

  "We are," F'Solya said. She took a breath. "Tell me why you were there. Please."

  "I was there for food."

  The woman frowned. "Food?"

  "Yes. That's all."

  "But the a'laq-"

  "The a'laq refused to sell me food," Cresenne said. "And he said he wouldn't give me any, either. But he said he'd arrange for L'Norr to share his meals with me. E'Menua said that since he didn't have a wife or children, he'd have plenty to spare."

  F'Solya shook her head, looking utterly confused. "But that makes no sense."

  "I know," Cresenne told her. "But it's the truth."

  "Why would the a'laq make feeding you so complicated when it could have been so simple?"