The Sorcerer's Plague bots-1

by DAVID B. COE

  "I saw the mark. I assumed you'd tell me about it eventually."

  He grinned. The bruise felt tight and sore. "There's not much to tell. I argued with him in front of the other Weavers, the two Eandi, and a large number of warriors. He ordered me into his shelter and hit me."

  Grinsa was still smiling, but Cresenne looked deadly serious. "You're lucky he didn't do worse."

  He shrugged and looked away. "I suppose."

  She bent lower, searching for his eyes, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I mean it, Grinsa."

  "I don't think he's any more powerful than I am."

  "That's not the point," she said. "And you know it. In any test of magic you'll stand alone against four of them. Strong as you are, you won't survive that."

  "I know. You're right." He twisted his mouth. "While we're on the subject, I should also tell you that I hit Q'Daer. He challenged me after

  I left the a'laq's z'kal, said he was going to teach me to respect Fal'Borna ways."

  "And you hit him?" she asked, her voice rising.

  He rubbed his hand. It was sore, too. He felt as though he'd come through a street brawl. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

  She shook her head, looking frustrated. "Why are you trying to antagonize them? Is there some purpose to it, or is it just some Weaver thing?"

  He had to laugh. "Some Weaver thing?"

  She smiled reluctantly and shrugged. "You know, 'My magic's bigger than yours.' "

  "No," he said, still laughing. "It's not some Weaver thing." He shook his head, his mirth fading. "Really, I'm not certain what it is. I can't help myself. Q'Daer is dangerous, I know. But I think I can handle him. When all is said and done, this is about E'Menua. And I honestly don't know why I keep defying him. The others are so quick to defer to him, even when he's wrong. I can't bring myself to do the same. So I fight him. I don't know; maybe I'm hoping that he'll get so angry with me that he'll just let us go."

  "I'd say he's more likely to get so angry that he'll have you killed. That's more in keeping with Fal'Borna custom, if you ask me."

  She had a good point.

  "But maybe you're on to something," she went on a moment later, sounding thoughtful.

  "What do you mean?"

  "What did he say he'd do if you found the Mettai woman?"

  "Nothing really. He said he'd allow the merchants to live until she's found, but I think that if we can prove their innocence, and bring glory to the sept by finding the Mettai woman, he'll spare their lives."

  "But he said nothing about you?"

  "No," Grinsa said, understanding coming to him at last. "Nothing, at least not along the lines you're suggesting."

  She grinned, her eyes dancing in the candlelight. "I haven't suggested anything. A concubine would never be so presumptuous."

  "If we propose a bargain like this, and he agrees, I have to go with the merchants and find this woman. There would be no way for me to back out."

  Cresenne nodded, her expression sobering. "I know. But if he agrees it might be worth it."

  Grinsa leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, a kiss she returned passionately.

  "I don't want to leave you," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

  "I don't want you to go. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life among the Fal'Borna, and I certainly don't want Bryntelle to grow up knowing only these people. In the last few days, I'd actually started to consider that we might stay here, that we might not have a choice in the matter. But now, with this, I don't know anymore. You'll never be happy here; that much is clear. And I'm not sure I can be, either."

  "Bryntelle is happy," Grinsa said. "You told me so yourself."

  She smiled. "Yes, Bryntelle is happy. But this isn't the life I want for her, and I know you feel the same way."

  "And what about you? You have a friend now. F'Solya, is it?"

  "F'Solya is a friend, but even she doesn't know what to make of us, of what she's hearing about our past. We're not like these people, Grinsa. We both know that. So let's do what's necessary to get away, and be done with this a'laq and his sept."

  They kissed again, and then Cresenne took his hand and led him to the small pallet, where they undressed and quietly, tenderly made love. After, as they lay together in the soft light of the single candle, Cresenne said, "I don't want you dying for these people."

  "I don't want that either."

  Her smile this time was fleeting, brittle. "I'm serious, Grinsa. I know you. You'll do anything to find justice for these men. You'll think nothing of risking your life to save theirs. And I'm telling you-I'm asking you-don't do it. If you fail, you fail. They'll be put to death, and we might not get away. But at least you'll be all right. At least you'll come back to me."

  "VVhat you're saying is I should remember that I'm doing this for us, and not for them."

  She took a breath, then nodded.

  "I'll try."

  Cresenne smiled again, and this time it lingered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked it of you."

  "It's all right."

  "No, it's not. That's not the kind of person you are. You can't do what I just asked of you any more than you can simply let these men be killed. I just…" She shook her head.

  He touched her cheek, making her meet his gaze. "I was serious a moment ago. I don't want to die for these merchants. I'll come back to you-to both of you. You have my word."

  "And what if E'Menua doesn't agree to these terms? He doesn't care whether these men live or die, but he seems to care a good deal about keeping us here. If you insist that he agree to this, he might just say that you can't go at all."

  "Yes, he might. Or he might be so certain that we can't find the woman that he'll take the bargain a step further."

  Cresenne winced. "If you fail, we stay with the Fal'Borna for the rest of our lives."

  "Right."

  She stared at the candle briefly, slowly shaking her head. At last she shrugged and faced him again. "Then that's the risk we take. There are worse fates."

  "You're certain?"

  "What choice do we have, Grinsa? It all comes back to this: You can't stand by and let those men be killed. So we'll make this demon's bargain, and hope for the best." She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. "I hope these men are worth all we're risking for them."

  Grinsa wanted to assure her that they were, but the truth was he knew precious little about either of them. In the end, "So do I" was all he could offer her.

  The following morning, Grinsa made his way to the a'laq's shelter. It was grey and damp, and a chill wind still blew down from the north, making the shelters of the sept quiver and snap. The horses stood in their paddock looking miserable, their heads and tails hung low.

  As usual, the two young Weavers were outside E'Menua's z'kal, though neither of them appeared too happy to be there. They wore heavy, fur- lined skins around their shoulders, with hoods thrown over their heads.

  L'Norr watched him approach, his eyes bright, alert. Q'Daer wouldn't look at him. There was a welt on his cheek, similar, no doubt, to the one Grinsa bore. Grinsa nearly laughed when he saw it-they looked like twin sons of some brute of a father.

  "Welcome to Harvest on the plains," L'Norr said, as Grinsa drew near.

  "It's like this a lot?"

  "Until the Snows come. Then it'll be exactly the same, except colder." A fine time to be abroad in a hostile land.

  "I need to speak with the a'laq," Grinsa said.

  L'Norr seemed to read something in Grinsa's tone, because he merely turned and entered the shelter. For a moment, Grinsa and Q'Daer stood together outside, avoiding each other's gazes, saying nothing. Then L'Norr emerged again and nodded to the gleaner. "He's waiting for you."

  "Thank you."

  Grinsa entered the z'kal. It was warm within. E'Menua sat by a small fire, and beside him sat an attractive woman with long white hair and a piercing gaze. There were small lines around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise her skin was
smooth. She eyed Grinsa as he stood before them, but she neither smiled nor spoke. Sensing her powers, Grinsa realized that she was a Weaver as well. This had to be D'Pera, the a'laq's wife.

  "You've made your decision, Forelander?" the a'laq asked, drawing Grinsa's gaze.

  "You could say that. I have a proposition for you."

  E'Menua's eyebrows went up. "A proposition?"

  "I'll do this-I'll go with the merchants to find the Mettai witch who threatens your people. And if I succeed in finding her, you not only spare the merchants, you also allow Cresenne, Bryntelle, and me to leave your sept."

  The a'laq seemed to ponder this for some time. D'Pera still said nothing, but she watched her husband closely, the way a sea captain might eye a bank of storm clouds.

  "And what if you fail?" E'Menua finally asked.

  Grinsa knew the a'laq would get there on his own, so he gave the only answer he could. "If I fail, we stay with you."

  "And you agree to be joined to a Weaver."

  He shook his head. "No, that's not part of the bargain."

  "Then there is no bargain."

  Grinsa spun away and stepped toward the entrance to the shelter. "Fine."

  "Fine?" E'Menua repeated, stopping Grinsa on the threshold. "You'll just let those men die?"

  He faced the a'laq again. "Their lives mean nothing to you. Why should they mean anything to me?"

  "To be honest," E'Menua said mildly, "I'm not certain. But I know that they do." E'Menua seemed so calm, so sure of himself, that Grinsa had to wonder if he'd been expecting this proposition all along. Had he and Cresenne been that obvious?

  "I won't marry another woman. Ever."

  "Apparently you believe you're in a position to dictate terms to me," E'Menua said. "You're not. I'll allow you to leave if you succeed, but if you fail, you'll live among us Fal'Borna, accepting our customs and laws as your own. That's the only choice I'm offering you. You can go under those conditions, or you can remain here as you are now."

  A voice in his mind screamed for him to leave the shelter, to find some other way to win his freedom from this man and his people. There was just so much he was willing to risk, and he had long since grown weary of having E'Menua outthink him at every turn. Had it not been for the two merchants, he would have simply walked out into the rain. But though the two Eandi meant little to him, he couldn't throw their lives away. Cresenne, who knew him so well, had told him as much the night before.

  "You won't breathe a word of this to Cresenne, and while I'm gone, you'll do everything necessary to keep her and Bryntelle safe."

  E'Menua's expression didn't change. "And if I don't agree?"

  Before Grinsa could respond, D'Pera laid a hand on the a'laq's arm. They shared a look, and after a moment the a'laq faced him again.

  "Yes, very well. You have my word that she'll be safe, and she won't be told of our agreement." He hesitated, but only for an instant. "She's bound to learn of it eventually, though."

  "Only if I fail," Grinsa said. "And I have no intention of failing."

  The a'laq nodded and laughed, though good-naturedly. "Very well, Forelander." He grew serious once more. "You'll take Q'Daer with you, as well as the merchants, and all four of you will have mounts."

  "Does it have to be Q'Daer? Couldn't I go with L'Norr instead?"

  E'Menua grinned. It seemed he knew of their dislike for one another. Perhaps he'd even heard of their encounter the previous day. "Q'Daer is the older of the two," he said. "It's his place to make such a journey."

  Grinsa nodded. He didn't relish the idea of being stuck with the young Weaver for so long, but he was learning quickly that Fal'Borna customs left little room for negotiation. And however much he would have preferred a different companion, he knew that Q'Daer would be far less happy about it than he. There was some small consolation in that.

  "All right. You'll provision us with food and gold?"

  "The merchants will. They've ample stores of both, and if we have to give you a bit more food, we'll make certain that they compensate us."

  Grinsa could see the logic in that. "Someone will tell me when the others are ready to go?"

  "Of course."

  The gleaner nodded. "Very well. Thank you, A'Laq."

  He started to leave, but E'Menua spoke his name, stopping him.

  "You may not believe this," the a'laq said, as Grinsa looked back at him, "but I hope you succeed. If what the dark-eyes say about this woman is true, she must be hunted down. And if it's our sept that manages to kill her, it will increase our standing in Thamia."

  Perhaps he should have been grateful to the a'laq for saying this, but all he could think was that he didn't give a damn about the glory of his sept. "I'll do what I can," he said, and left the z'kal.

  The rain had grown stronger, as had the wind.

  "The a'laq will be wanting to speak with you," Grinsa said to Q'Daer as he stepped past the man on his way back to his shelter. "What about?" the young Weaver called after him.

  Grinsa didn't answer.

  He found Cresenne on their pallet, nursing Bryntelle. She sat up as he entered the shelter, her eyes searching his face.

  "What did he say?" she asked.

  "He agreed to our terms."

  She frowned, laying Bryntelle against her shoulder and patting her back. "Just like that?"

  "He wasn't completely happy about it, but yes, he agreed." Cresenne shook her head. "I don't believe you."

  "Cresenne-"

  "Tell me all of it, Grinsa. You're leaving me alone with these people, and that's fine. I as much as told you to. But I deserve to know all of it."

  He sat, exhaling slowly. "It's nothing we shouldn't have expected. If I succeed in finding the woman and, I suppose, killing her, we're free to go and the merchants will be spared. If I fail, we stay here."

  "And?"

  He started to answer, but she held up a hand, silencing him. He could see her piecing it together. At last she began to nod.

  "And you take a wife," she said. "That would be the one other thing E'Menua would want. You have to be joined to a Weaver, don't you?" "It's not going to come to that."

  "But that's what he wants."

  "Yes," Grinsa admitted, feeling as if he had betrayed her. "I can go back to him if you want, tell him I won't be going after all."

  She shook her head. "No. You're right: We should have expected it. They were going to insist on this eventually anyway. Otherwise there's no point in making us stay." She smiled bitterly. "You're most valuable to them as a studhorse."

  "I'm not certain how to take that."

  Cresenne laughed, but a moment later she was sobbing, tears coursing down her smooth cheeks. Immediately, Bryntelle began to cry as well. Grinsa put his arms around Cresenne and kissed the top of her head as she fussed over the baby.

  "I don't have to go, Cresenne," he whispered. "There are other ways to get away from here."

  But she shook her head. "It's not that. I mean, I don't want you to go, but we'll get through it."

  "Then why are you crying?"

  She shrugged. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. We came to the Southlands to get away from the fighting and the danger and all the rest. I just wanted to make a life here, and instead we're being forced apart again, just like before."

  He stroked her fine hair. "I know. I thought it would be different, too."

  She wiped the tears from her eyes impatiently and looked up at him, kissing him gently on the lips. "You should be getting ready to go. I imagine they'll be coming for you soon."

  "They can wait, if they have to."

  "No. The sooner you get going, the sooner you'll be back." She forced a smile. "We'll be all right." She held up Bryntelle, who had also stopped crying. "See? We're better already." She kissed him again. "Go on. Get ready."

  He nodded, though he didn't stand just yet. Instead, he held out a finger to Bryntelle. She took hold of it in her tiny fist and leaned forward, trying to put all of it-his finger and her
fist-in her mouth.

  "We'll find her quickly," he muttered, staring at the baby. "I swear we will."

  Cresenne nodded. "Good."

  He forced himself off the pallet, grabbed his travel sack, and began to fill it-a second knife, his flint, a length of rope, a change of clothes, an overshirt, a skin he could use for water.

  When he was done, he sat again beside Cresenne, his shoulder touching hers, but neither of them spoke. They watched Bryntelle and they waited. Before long, someone called for him from just outside the z'kal. He and Cresenne shared a look.

  "Gods keep you safe and guide you back to us," she whispered. "I love you."

  They kissed one last time. Then he stood and left the shelter.

  The rain had slackened, but the wind still blew and the sky remained dark and hard as slate.

  Q'Daer and the two merchants were already mounted. They had brought Grinsa the great bay he and Cresenne bought in Yorl. He tied his travel sack to the saddle and swung himself onto the mount.

  He looked around briefly, expecting to see E'Menua come to see them off. But the rest of the sept seemed to be ignoring them, as if they were strangers, or wraiths.

  "We have everything?" Grinsa asked, meeting Q'Daer's gaze.

  The young Weaver barely looked at him. "Yes," he said, kicking at the flanks of his grey horse.

  Grinsa didn't follow. Instead, he called the man's name, forcing him to halt and wheel his mount.

  "It wasn't my idea to have you come along," he said. "It was the a'laq's. If I had my way, I wouldn't be doing this at all, and I certainly wouldn't be riding with you."

  Q'Daer stared at him a moment. Then he nodded, and started off again, northward, into that harsh wind and away from the sept. Grinsa and the merchants followed.

  For some time, they rode in silence, Q'Daer some distance ahead, Grinsa next, and the two merchants just behind him. Finally, the younger Eandi asked, "Aren't you and the other white-hair afraid that we'll try to escape?"

  Grinsa looked back at him. After a moment, he formed an image of fire, and then thrust it into the mind of the man's horse. The beast reared, nearly unseating the merchant, who clung desperately to the reins.

  "Language of beasts," Grinsa said, facing forward again. "We both have it. You're welcome to make the attempt, but I assure you, you won't get far."