The Sorcerer's Plague bots-1

by DAVID B. COE

  It was a fair question, one that he'd been asking himself since he first began arguing for the man's life earlier that day. "The merchant means nothing to me. But I had a friend in the Forelands, a man who committed no crime, a man who'd be dead now if Eandi justice worked as Fal'Borna justice does."

  E'Menua bristled. "Are you trying to provoke me? Do you wish to see just how far I'll go in punishing you?"

  "No, A'Laq. I only want to see justice done."

  "The Tesserate has declared that this man and any who help him are to die. You would defy them?"

  "Of course not," Grinsa said. "But why did the Tesserate decide this?" "Because S'Plaed has told them that Torgan attacked his sept with the pestilence."

  "And if you were to learn that this wasn't true, wouldn't you be bound to tell the Tesserate?"

  "I'd be pitting myself against S'Plaed."

  "Is that worse than allowing an innocent man to die?"

  "You judge us," the a'laq said darkly. "You have no right." "I'm not judging you. I'm trying to understand you."

  E'Menua regarded him for some time before finally giving a small shake of his head. "You are a most difficult man, Forelander. The truth is I don't know how to answer your question. Openly opposing the a'laq of another sept, even one that has been weakened as S'Plaed's has, can be dangerous. And it may do little good. The Tesserate may not listen to me-S'Plaed has a good deal of support in Thamia. So do I, but in this matter I'd be taking the part of an Eandi."

  "A'Laq?" came the voice from outside again.

  "Just a moment!"

  "I ask only that you keep an open mind, A'Laq," Grinsa said. "I don't wish to see any man-Eandi or Qirsi-executed without cause, and I can't imagine you do, either."

  "An open mind," E'Menua repeated, looking skeptical.

  Grinsa nodded.

  "Very well." He looked past Grinsa to the entryway and called for the others to enter.

  Q'Daer and L'Norr stepped into the shelter, each of them guiding one of the merchants by the arm. The Weavers glanced briefly at the a'laq, but then stared at Grinsa. The shelter was dimly lit, but he felt certain that the welt on his cheek showed clearly, even in this poor light. No doubt both men would delight in seeing it.

  E'Menua sat at his usual spot, and gestured for Grinsa and the other Fal'Borna to do the same.

  Torgan began to sit as well, but Q'Daer stopped him.

  "You stand, Eandi. Both of you," he added, looking at the other merchant.

  "Tell us what you did to S'Plaed's sept," the a'laq demanded. Torgan hesitated, licking his lips and looking so unnerved that

  Grinsa found himself wondering if perhaps the merchant was responsible for the deaths there after all.

  "I did nothing," the man said at last, his voice quavering.

  "You're lying."

  "No! I've done nothing wrong! I went to the Sept, I sold some wares, and I left! That's all! I swear it!"

  "Why did you leave so quickly then? S'Plaed says that you were in a great rush to be away from his sept. It seems you knew some great calamity was about to befall them."

  "No, it wasn't that! I had just learned…" He stopped, licked his lips again. "I had just heard… some bad tidings. I wanted to be away from there, away from everyone. That's all."

  The a'laq glanced at Grinsa and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, You see? I told you he was guilty.

  "Do you think we're fools, Torgan?" E'Menua asked, facing the Eandi again. "Do you think we can't tell when a dark-eye is lying to us?" "No, of course not. But I swear to you-"

  "He is lying."

  Everyone turned to stare at the other merchant.

  Torgan looked like he'd just been slapped. "Jasha!"

  "He did do something to S'Plaed's sept, and what's more, he knows exactly what happened at C'Bijor's Neck."

  Torgan launched himself at the younger man. "You treacherous little bastard!" He knocked Jasha to the ground and was on him immediately, his hands around the man's throat. "This was your plan all along! You want to destroy me!"

  Q'Daer and L'Norr tried to pull Torgan off the young merchant, but Torgan was far bigger than both of them, and apparently as strong as he was large. Jasha's eyes were wide, and his face was turning bright red. He clawed at Torgan's hands, but to no avail. Just as Grinsa began to fear for the young merchant's life, he heard a sharp snapping sound. Torgan let out a howl of pain, rolled off of Jasha, and clutched at his right arm.

  "I can just as easily break your neck, Torgan," E'Menua said calmly. "So can every other Weaver in this z'kal. Don't make us kill you."

  "You're going to kill me no matter what I do," he said, bitterly. He nodded toward Jasha, who still lay on the floor, his chest heaving. "All thanks to this snake!"

  "You have to tell them now, Torgan," the younger man said, still gasping. "That's why I did it."

  The old merchant looked away. "I don't know what he's talking about."

  Jasha lifted himself onto one elbow. "Your only hope is to tell them everything. Believe it or not, I may have saved your life."

  "Shut your mouth, whelp! My only consolation is knowing that they'll kill you, too."

  "Tell them, Torgan."

  The merchant clamped his mouth shut and pressed his lips thin.

  "Do you know what mind-bending magic is?" Grinsa asked. Instantly, he wondered if he'd stepped in where he shouldn't have. But when he chanced a look at the a'laq, he saw that E'Menua was nodding.

  "You're not Fal'Borna," Torgan said, as if seeing Grinsa for the first time.

  "Answer the question," the a'laq commanded.

  Torgan exhaled. "Mind-bending. Yes, I have some idea what it can do."

  "In that case," Grinsa said, "I shouldn't have to tell you that we can make you tell us. You can refuse us all you like, but in the end, we'll find out all that we need to. The question is, do you want one of us using his magic on your mind?"

  For a long time, Torgan just sat there, cradling his maimed arm, shaking his head. "Damn you all," he finally muttered. "Damn every white-hair in the Southlands."

  "What did you do to S'Plaed's sept?" the a'laq asked again. "Nothing."

  E'Menua closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Torgan-"

  "Nothing that I meant to do," the merchant said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  "What does that mean?"

  "Start with C'Bijor's Neck," Jasha said.

  Torgan glared at him, and for a moment Grinsa thought that he might attack him again. But then the merchant nodded.

  "What's all this talk about C'Bijor's Neck?" the a'laq asked. "That's an Y'Qatt settlement. They're not Fal'Borna."

  "No," Torgan said. "But that's where I first encountered the Mettai woman."

  E'Menua blinked once. It almost seemed that until that moment, he hadn't actually believed this talk of Mettai magic. "Go on."

  "She was selling baskets. The most beautiful baskets I've ever seen. Perfect weaving, colors that take your breath away. She could have gotten… well, she could have gotten anything for them. Instead, she sold them for far too little, and seemed pleased with the bargain she struck.

  "I convinced the man she sold them to-a man named Y'Farl-I convinced him that he'd paid too much for them, and he sold them to me. I left the village soon after, and steered my cart westward intending to find septs where I could sell the baskets, and the rest of what I carried. But that night…" He trailed off; swallowed and shook his head. "That's when the pestilence struck, though I didn't know it at the time. It looked like… like a battle, like the village was under attack. There was fire everywhere-Qirsi fire. And smoke, and shattered houses. I didn't know what had happened. I thought maybe it was marauders. At the time, it didn't occur to me that it could be the pestilence."

  He shrugged. "So I moved on, fearful of remaining near the Neck. Eventually I found S'Plaed's sept. That's where I learned of what really happened in C'Bijor's Neck. I just wanted to get away. I still hadn't considered the possibility that the Mettai w
oman and her baskets might have something to do with all of this. I just knew that Y'Farl was dead, and that I had missed dying myself by mere hours. So I sold the baskets at a low price and left. That night, the same thing happened to the sept. The fire again, and the rest of it. That's when I started to wonder about the woman and those baskets of hers."

  He looked at E'Menua, and then at the two Weavers. Finally, his gaze came to rest on Grinsa. "I didn't mean to do it. I didn't even know what I'd done until after-until I watched the sept burn."

  For several moments, all of them were silent. Grinsa could hear children laughing outside. A horse whinnied, and the wind moaned in the wood holding up the shelter.

  Eventually E'Menua stirred, as if shaking himself awake. "Tell us about the woman."

  "No, Torgan," Jasha said. "Don't tell them anything more. Not yet." The merchant frowned. "What?"

  But Jasha was already eyeing the a'laq. "What are you going to do to him? You've heard his tale. You know now that he didn't intend any harm. He bought some baskets and then sold them again. He's a merchant. It's what he does. You can't punish him for that."

  "He killed half of S'Plaed's sept," E'Menua said, his voice hardening. "Now it seems that he had a hand in killing the people of C'Bijor's Neck, as well. What he's told us changes nothing."

  Grinsa opened his mouth to argue, but quickly stopped himself. Instead he faced E'Menua. "May I have a word, A'Laq?"

  But the a'laq shook his head. "No. Not about this. He will tell u5 what he knows of the woman, and then he'll be put to death. He is ar enemy of the Fal'Borna."

  "And what of me?" Jasha asked.

  "You're to be executed as well. You've ridden with him and protected him, all the while knowing what he's done. You deserve to die as much as he does."

  "Dead we're of no use to you," Jasha said. "But if you spare our lives, we can help you find the woman."

  The a'laq stared back at him, stony-faced. "We found you. Another sept can find the woman."

  Q'Daer and L'Norr exchanged looks.

  "Forgive me, A'Laq," Q'Daer said, looking as if he expected E'Menua to strike him at any moment. "But other septs might not know her. We can bring glory to your sept. Every Weaver in the Tesserate will know of you and of your warriors."

  "I've spoken on the matter." His eyes flicked in Grinsa's direction. It was only for a moment, but that was enough. "These men are to die."

  Suddenly, Grinsa understood. "You're doing this to punish me, not them," he said.

  E'Menua glowered at him. After a moment, he waved a hand at the young Weavers. "Leave us. Take the Eandi and go. But not far. I'm not done with them yet."

  They glanced at Grinsa, but Q'Daer and L'Norr did as they were told. A moment later Grinsa and E'Menua were alone once more.

  "Do you want to hit me again?" the gleaner asked.

  "I should."

  "Then do. But don't kill those men. You know as well as I that they don't deserve execution."

  The a'laq shook his head. "You have much to learn about Fal'Borna ways, Forelander." He passed a hand over his brow. "Torgan brought the pestilence to S'Plaed's sept, and for that S'Plaed has demanded vengeance. That's within his rights as a'laq."

  "Even if it wasn't Torgan's intention to hurt anyone?"

  "Yes, even so."

  Grinsa shook his head in turn. "That's just wrong."

  "You have no right to judge us." The a'laq said this quietly, without any of the anger he had shown earlier. "The Fal'Borna have lived this way for centuries. We don't need strangers from the Northlands coming here and instructing us in their notions of justice."

  He was right. Grinsa could see that. The Fal'Borna lived in a hard land, one that would sometimes require hard laws. They had survived centuries of warfare, and no doubt that too had bred a certain kind of justice. Who was he to challenge traditions a thousand years in the making?

  "You make a good point, A'Laq. Forgive me."

  E'Menua narrowed his eyes. "I haven't known you long, Grinsa, but I understand you well enough to know that this isn't your final word on the matter."

  Grinsa smiled. "No, it's not. S'Plaed may be justified in demanding vengeance, but don't you and the other a'laqs have a right to protect your people?"

  "Meaning?"

  "That Mettai woman is still out there. Until she's been found, no Fal'Borna is safe. And since none of you knows who she is or what she looks like, you still need the merchants."

  "You're arguing as the Eandi do."

  "Occasionally even dark-eyes make sense," Grinsa said with a shrug. E'Menua laughed. "Now you sound like a Fal'Borna."

  "Does that mean you'll spare their lives?"

  "It means," the a'laq said slowly, seeming to make his decision in that moment, "that I'll delay their executions until the woman is found. I'll even have Q'Daer heal the dark-eye's arm."

  "That seems just, A'Laq. Thank you."

  E'Menua had grown serious again. "Don't thank me, Forelander. Not yet. The woman is the only proof we have that Torgan and his friend are telling us the truth. If the woman is found and executed by another sept, then these men will have done nothing to prove their innocence or earn my mercy. They have to find her, which means someone from this sept has to go with them."

  It took Grinsa a moment. He didn't think of himself as being from any sept, but clearly E'Menua did.

  "You'd let us go?"

  "Only you."

  "I can't leave Cresenne and Bryntelle."

  The a'laq shrugged, as if the matter were of no importance to him. "You plead for their lives. You ask me to go against Fal'Borna law. Fine then. If you truly want them spared, you must do this."

  Grinsa remained stock-still, not knowing what to say.

  "You'll want to think about this, perhaps speak of this matter with your… your wife. I'll expect an answer in the morning."

  He could barely hear E'Menua for the roaring in his ears. If you truly want them spared… At last, he nodded, stood, and stepped outside. The sky was darkening and a strong wind blew out of the west, carrying the scent of rain. The two Weavers stood just before him, glaring at him but saying nothing. Grinsa tried to step around them, but Q'Daer moved to block his way.

  "Not so fast, Forelander," the young Weaver said.

  Grinsa shook his head. "I don't have time for this right now." He tried to walk past again, but Q'Daer put out a hand to stop him.

  "That's too bad. It's time you started showing the a'laq and our sept the respect we're due. The a'laq has chosen to let you live, despite the way you speak to him, so I can't kill you, much as I'd like to. But I can show you what happens to strangers who challenge the authority of the Fal'Borna."

  Grinsa eyed the man briefly, and then glanced at L'Norr. The other Weaver stood just beside his friend, but though he wore a hard expression, he wouldn't meet Grinsa's gaze. It seemed this was Q'Daer's fight.

  Facing the first man once more, Grinsa shook his head. "You're not going to show me anything, Q'Daer. You haven't the magic and you haven't the strength." He was certain of the former, less so of the latter, but he didn't let the younger man see that. "And as I said, I won't waste time on this foolishness right now."

  Q'Daer's face reddened and his hand strayed to the blade on his belt. "I should kill you where you stand!"

  In the Forelands he simply would have walked away. That would have been the smart thing to do. But this was a different land, ruled by a different set of customs. And though new to the Southlands, Grinsa had already learned a great deal about Fal'Borna ways. He had the welt on his cheek to prove it.

  He reached for his magic and broke the man's blade before Q'Daer could pull it free. The young Weaver's eyes widened at the muffled chiming sound of the shattered steel.

  "You bastard!"

  Before he could say more, Grinsa hit him, backhanded, just as the a'laq had struck him. Q'Daer staggered back a step as Grinsa had, but he didn't fall. That was fine. Grinsa didn't wish to humiliate the man; he just wanted to put
him in his place.

  Before Q'Daer could throw a punch of his own, Grinsa stepped past him. "I serve the a'laq, not you," he said evenly, eyeing the man over his shoulder. "And I don't take lessons from ignorant whelps. Next time I'll break more than your blade."

  The two merchants were standing nearby, their eyes wide at what they had just seen. But now, as he stared at Grinsa, Torgan's expression changed, shock giving way to desperation.

  "Did you save us?" he called as Grinsa walked away, still cradling his shattered arm. "Will he spare our lives?"

  Grinsa glanced back at him, but he said nothing and he kept walking. When he reached his shelter, he could still hear Torgan shouting after him.

  Chapter 20

  RUINS OF SENTAYA, NEAR N'KIEL'S SPANON THE SILVERWATER WASH

  She hadn't meant to come here. She hadn't realized where she was until she saw the bridge, and then it was too late to turn back. North. That's where she'd intended to go. There were more Y'Qatt settlements around the upper Companion Lakes -Porcupine and Bear. After leaving C'Bijor's Neck, Lici had every intention of finding them. Somehow, she hadn't.

  She'd crossed the bridge before, after leaving Kirayde, and it hadn't even occurred to her to go back. She'd had a purpose then-it drove her, like a wolf snapping at the heels of rilda. Maybe passing by twice was too much to ask of anyone.

  That was what she told herself, sitting in the heat of the Harvest sun, squinting against the glare, the day so bright it seemed to rob the land of color, leaving the grasses and rocks and the occasional tree looking stark and flat and dull. The old nag snorted and stomped her foot impatiently, but still Lici remained motionless atop her cart, unable to decide.

  She was tired. The time had come for her to begin the long ride back to Kirayde. No one lived forever, not even Mettai witches. Perhaps that was why she was here. She'd never have another chance to see Sentaya. She didn't need the Sight to tell her that. Her days were nearly at an end. Vengeance was hers. Whatever purpose had sustained her in these last years was ebbing away now, leaving her grey, like the world around her. Colorless, lifeless. But when she closed her eyes and thought of Sentaya, the colors were vivid. She could taste the food and smell the wood smoke. And she didn't want any of it. Life that real, that sharp, was too much for her now. Grey suited her. Death, or the promise of it, had drawn her here, and though she was ready to embrace the ending that awaited her, she had no desire to step back into that brilliant living world that still existed in her mind. Yet she couldn't bring herself to turn away. She just sat, staring, waging war with forces she didn't quite understand. "I didn't mean to come here."