by DAVID B. COE
Stam started toward Wislo, who was grazing a short distance away, and noticed immediately that the old beast looked agitated. He was switching his tail wildly. He held his head high and had his ears laid flat, and he was scraping his hoof in the dirt. Stam stopped and scanned the horizon, a different sort of fear taking hold of him.
"What is it?" he asked in a low voice. "What's got you upset?" Wislo shook his head and whinnied.
Stam gazed westward for another few moments, but he saw nothing. He was convinced, however, that something was out there. It could have been wild dogs, which moved south out of the highlands in packs as the Snows approached. It also could have been the Fal'Borna.
He'd never been one to place much faith in his own intuition, but it seemed too great a coincidence that he should wake up feeling as he did and then find Wislo in such a state.
"They've found us, haven't they?" he said. "Or they will have soon enough."
He made his decision in that moment. If the Fal'Borna caught up with him as he was driving his cart toward the Silverwater, they'd assume the worst. But perhaps he could deceive them.
He led Wislo back to the cart, put the harness on him, and climbed into his seat. And then he started westward, back the way he had come. Perhaps if the Qirsi encountered an Eandi merchant making his way into their land, they'd believe that he had been in the sovereignties all this time. Surely they wouldn't be able to blame him for anything that had befallen their people during the past turn.
This was Stam's hope, anyway.
Before he and Wislo had covered even half a league, he spotted the riders. There were at least a dozen of them, and they were driving their mounts hard, heading due east on a line a bit north of the one Stam had taken. They seemed to spot him just a moment or two after he spotted them, and they turned right away, thundering toward his cart, their white hair flying like battle pennons.
They reached him in mere moments, reining their horses to a halt a short distance in front of him and brandishing spears.
"Stop right there, dark-eye," one of the men called to him.
He was broad and muscular, with golden skin and bright yellow eyes. He might have been a few years older than his fellow riders, but otherwise there was little that distinguished one of the riders from the others. For all the years Stain had spent among the Qirsi clans, learning their ways and taking their gold, he had never figured out how to tell one Fal'Borna from another, or one J'Balanar from another of his kind.
"Greetings," he said, raising a hand. He was pleased to hear how steady his voice sounded.
"What are you doing in Fal'Borna land, Eandi?"
Stam let his hand fall to his side. He thought this an odd question, but he tried to keep his tone light. "I'm a merchant."
"Do you think we're fools? Of course you're a merchant. But what are you doing here?"
He opened his mouth to answer, hesitated, then repeated, "I'm a merchant."
The Qirsi and the rider next to him shared a look.
"Where have you come from?" the second man asked.
Stam had never been a very good liar, so he thought it best to keep his answers simple. He almost said, "Aelea," but that would have put him too close to Mettai lands. Instead, he said, "Stelpana."
For some reason, this seemed to pique the Fal'Borna's interest. "Where in Stelpana?"
He felt a bead of sweat trickle from his right temple. "Nowhere in particular. I just visited a few villages along the east bank of the Silverwater."
"And how many days ago did you cross?"
Stam hesitated, chewing his lip. He wasn't exactly sure how far he'd come since leaving H'Nivar, and he didn't know how many days' travel he was from the wash.
"I… maybe… I don't know. Three days?"
Again the Fal'Borna exchanged looks.
"Three days," the first man repeated.
Stam nodded. His mouth had gone dry.
"What goods are you carrying?"
The one question he'd been dreading most.
"The usual. Blankets, blades, cloth, some jewelry, a few flasks of wine."
"Baskets?"
"A couple, yes."
Their bearing changed. Clearly they'd already been suspicious of him; now they appeared to grip their spears tighter, to regard him with open hostility.
"Where did you get them?" the first man demanded in a hard voice.
"I traded for them with another merchant."
"His name?"
"I… I don't remember. It wasn't someone I'd met before."
The Fal'Borna frowned. "Where was this?"
He felt as if he were sinking in mud. Every lie he told seemed to compound the last one, and he was having more and more trouble remembering what he had said a moment before.
"One of the villages," he said. "In Stelpana."
"You've had them long?"
"No. Just a few days."
"I take it these are Mettai baskets."
He nodded. "Yes."
"Why would you bring them into Fal'Borna lands now?"
"T-to trade. I'm a merchant. That's what I do. But I can leave. I can turn back, if you want me to."
The first man shook his head. "Get off your cart."
"But, I-"
"Off!" the man said, his voice like a smith's sledge.
Stam hurriedly climbed off the cart, his legs trembling. The Fal'Borna nodded to two of his riders. Immediately the men jumped off their mounts, strode over to Wislo, and unharnessed him.
"What are you doing?" Stam asked.
"We're going to burn your cart, and we don't wish to harm your animal."
"No!" Stam said. "You can't!"
The man grinned darkly. "No? Perhaps you'd prefer that we search your cart. Perhaps you'd like us to handle those baskets you're carrying. Isn't that why you brought them here?"
Did they know that he'd been in their land all this time? Did they know what had happened to the septs he'd visited?
"I. I don't mean your people any harm. I never have. You must believe me."
"I don't. If you've just come from Stelpana, then you know that your people and mine will soon be at war, if we're not already."
Stam's eyes widened.
"That's right, Eandi. We know about the army your people are gathering on the other side of the Silverwater. We also know about your alliance with the Mettai."
Stam had no idea what to say. He wasn't even sure that he believed the man. An army? An alliance with the Mettai? It made no sense. Why would the Eandi sovereignties attack the Fal'Borna? Why would his people risk the resumption of the Blood Wars?
The hatred that divided Qirsi from Eandi was as old as Qirsar and Ean, the gods who had created the people of this land. The two gods-who were both brothers and rivals-had instilled in the people their enmity for each other. Eandi fear of Qirsi magic was rooted in the earth, like the mountains of Aelea and the woodlands of Tordjanne. The Qirsi's contempt for the Eandi was as fundamental to life on this plain as water and air. The Blood Wars had been over for a century, but the truce that followed had done nothing to change the way white-hairs and dark-eyes regarded one another.
But during the last century of the old wars, the Qirsi had beaten the Eandi armies in battle after battle. They'd taken the fertile land of the Horn, pushing the warriors of Stelpana back across the Thraedes. And then they'd gradually taken the Central Plain as well, forcing the Eandi to cede more territory, until at last the white-hairs held everything west of the Silverwater.
Now, according to this man before him, the Eandi were planning an attack. It made no sense. Or did it?
"They've allied themselves with the Mettai?" he asked. "You're sure of this?"
The Fal'Borna bristled. "You think I'm lying?"
"No, of course not. I just…" He shook his head. "I don't understand why they'd do this."
"Your kind hate us. Isn't that enough?"
But it wasn't enough. Yes, the Eandi of the sovereignties hated the Qirsi, and they hated the Fal'Borna
most of all. But to send thousands of men to their deaths…
They must have believed they had a chance to succeed. Was the magic of the Mettai that powerful? Could it win this new war for them?
"Step away from your cart, dark-eye. Unless you want to burn with your baskets and the rest of your wares."
It hit him like a fist to the stomach, stealing his wind, nearly making him gag. Young Red's baskets. That was why the Eandi were attacking now. From the way the merchants at H'Nivar spoke of this white-hair plague, Stain gathered that it was sweeping across the land, destroying septs and villages just as it had those he visited.
"Move, dark-eye!" the Fal'Borna barked at him.
Stam staggered forward, away from his cart. After just a few steps, though, he stopped. "Wait. My gold."
"Your gold will burn along with everything else. The fires we conjure spare nothing."
"But that's all I have. How will I live?"
The man regarded him, the look in his eyes so cold it made Stam shudder. "You won't," he said.
Stam felt his legs give way. If it hadn't been for the Fal'Borna warrior beside him, who grabbed him by the arm, he would have fallen to the ground. "I don't deserve to die," he said. "I'm just a merchant."
"You're an Eandi, and your people are about to invade our lands. You've just crossed the Silverwater carrying baskets that you know will kill us. You truly expect us to spare your life?"
"I didn't."
The man narrowed his eyes. "You didn't what?"
Stam straightened and pulled his arm free of the warrior's grip. If he was going to be executed, he'd die with his pride intact. He wouldn't let the white-hairs hold him up, and he wouldn't be killed with a lie on his lips.
"I didn't just cross the Silverwater. I lied to you."
"What do you mean?" the Fal'Borna demanded. "Why would you lie about such a thing?"
Stam actually laughed. "I thought I was saving my life."
The man stared hack at him, a stony expression on his square face.
"I've been trading on the plain for nearly half the year. The last time I was in one of the sovereignties, the Growing hadn't even begun. I lied to you because I sold baskets in two villages that were then struck by the wh-" He winced at what he'd almost said. "By this pestilence that's killing your people."
The Fal'Borna glared at him. "If you're arguing for your life-"
"I'm not. I'm simply telling you the truth. I didn't know what the baskets would do. It took the second outbreak of the pestilence for me to begin to understand, and even then I needed to hear other merchants speaking of it in H'Nivar before I finally made the connection."
"When was this?"
"A few days ago. I've been trying to reach the Silverwater ever since." The man shook his head. "But this morning-"
"This morning I sensed that you were near, so I turned around and pretended to be driving onto the plain instead of leaving it. If I had known that war was coming…" Stam shook his head. "I don't know what I would have done, but I wouldn't have bothered with this deception."
"You know that we still intend to kill you."
Stam nodded, taking a long, unsteady breath. He wasn't ready to die. Then again, he wasn't sure he ever would be. His had been a good life. Suddenly his eyes were filled with tears.
The Fal'Borna eyed him briefly. Then he faced Stam's cart. An instant later the cart burst into flames, the wood popping violently, the cloth that covered his wares turning black and curling like a dry leaf. Wislo had been led away from the cart, but still he reared when it caught fire.
Stam was surprised by how little smoke there was. The Fal'Borna was right: Qirsi fire burned everything.
"There are more baskets, you know," Stam said, staring at the blaze. "I wasn't the only merchant who bought them."
"We know that. We'll find the others."
"And you'll kill those merchants, too?"
"We're at war," the Qirsi said, as if the answer was obvious. "The Fal'Borna won the plain by showing no mercy to our enemies. We'll defend our land the same way."
"We're merchants, for pity's sake! We didn't intend-"
"Enough," the man said. He didn't raise his voice, but he didn't have to. "Your death will be quicker than those of the Fal'Borna you sickened with your baskets. Think of that as you go to Bian's realm."
Stam wanted to be brave, to die well, as he had heard soldiers phrase it. But he couldn't help the sob that escaped him in that moment.
Abruptly he felt pressure building on the bone in his neck. He tensed, opened his mouth to scream. But no sound passed his lips. Instead he heard, as clear as a sanctuary bell, the snapping of bone. And all was darkness.
Chapter 2
STELPANA, ALONG THE EASTERN BANK OF THE SILVERWATER WASH
Tirnya Onjaef had done everything in her power to make certain that the army of Qalsyn reached the Silverwater Wash by this day. It had been her idea to attack the Fal'Borna. She had recognized the spread of the white-hair plague across the Central Plain for what it was: a unique opportunity to win back for the people of Stelpana the lands lost to the Qirsi during the Blood Wars, and to reclaim for her family its ancestral home of Deraqor. She had persuaded her father, Jenoe, a marshal in the Qalsyn army, to use his considerable influence to push for this invasion. And it had also been her idea to propose an alliance with the Mettai, the Eandi sorcerers of the north. This strategy finally convinced His Lordship, Maisaak Tolm, Qalsyn's lord governor, to let them march.
This was to be her war. When at last the armies of Stelpana defeated the Fal'Borna and reestablished the Central Plain as Eandi territory, the lion's share of the glory would be hers as well. She stood on the cusp of history And never in her life had she been so bored.
They'd been camped along this shallow stretch of the wash for two days, awaiting the arrival of the army from Fairlea, the largest city in northern Stelpana. This was one of two armies Stelpana's sovereign had sent to supplement the force that marched from Qalsyn under the command of Tirnya's father. The other army, from the southern city of Waterstone, had arrived the same day as Jenoe's soldiers.
Tirnya had never been patient. Her father still told anyone who would listen the story of the first year she attended Qalsyn's famed Harvest Battle Tournament. She was three years old at the time and already headstrong. Sitting with her mother and hundreds of spectators, waiting for the first match to begin, she had finally grown so irritated that she stood on her seat and screamed as loud as she could, "When is someone going to fight?" Even His Lordship had laughed, though he was a thoroughly humorless man who despised Tirnya's father.
If anything, Tirnya found it harder to wait now than she did when she was young. She prided herself on being punctual, on following orders, and on demanding the same of those under her command. She had little tolerance for those who weren't as conscientious as she.
In this case, though, her own annoyance was the least of her concerns. The Snows were almost upon them. Already, cold winds blew out of the north. In another turn or two, these winds would strengthen and bring with them wicked storms from the lofty peaks of the Border Range. An invasion of Fal'Borna lands held tremendous risks any time of year. The Qirsi rilda hunters were fierce warriors and accomplished sorcerers. Fighting them on the plain during the Snows would have been unthinkable under any other circumstances.
But the plague was striking at the Fal'Borna now. No one knew for certain how long its effects would last. Tirnya and her father couldn't afford to wait for the warmer turns of the Planting. By that time their opportunity would have vanished, and Deraqor might be lost to the Onjaefs for another century. Every day that they waited brought the Snows that much closer, and gave the Fal'Borna another chance to find a cure for this illness that had weakened them. For now, as well, the Fal'Borna didn't know of their plans, or if they did, they hadn't yet had time to gather an army of their own and send it to the Silver-water. That advantage wouldn't last forever.
Jenoe might have been as eager a
s she to cross the river and begin their march toward Deraqor and the Horn, but he didn't show it. After waiting a few hours the first day they reached the wash, he suggested that they make the most of the delay by using the time to train their soldiers. Hendrid Crish, the marshal of the Waterstone army, agreed, and soon captains from both armies were leading their soldiers in drills.
The Mettai, who had marched with Jenoe's army from their village of Lifarsa near Porcupine Lake, kept to themselves but eyed the soldiers from afar.
Tirnya trained with the rest that first day, but by the middle of the second morning, she had become too agitated to do much more than watch the eastern horizon for signs of the Fairlea army. She left it to her lead riders to train her men. As darkness fell that night she went to speak to her father. She was so angry that she couldn't help raising her voice, even though Marshal Crish was there with Jenoe.
"They're going to make a mess of this, Father!" she said, raking a hand through her long hair. "We can't wait much longer."
Jenoe had merely shrugged. "There's nothing I can do. I'm sure they'll get here before long. Until then, we'll train."
He was right, of course. They couldn't do anything at all. But that only served to make her angrier. She stalked off without saying more, and bedded down before most of her men had finished eating their suppers. She lay huddled in her blankets for a long time before falling asleep, and awoke frequently during the night, thinking each time that she had heard the sounds of an approaching army.
On this, the third day since their arrival at the camp, they woke to dark skies and a heavy, wet snow. Still, Tirnya's father called for the men to train. When they complained, he said, "We may have to fight the Fal'Borna in weather like this. Best we're ready for it."
Again Tirnya kept apart from her men, gazing eastward, shivering within her riding cloak.
"You should train with them."
She turned at the sound of the voice, but quickly looked away.
Enly Thlm. He was Maisaak's son, lord heir of Qalsyn. He was also a captain in the Qalsyn army, just like her. And once, not so very long ago, he had been her lover.
