by DAVID B. COE
A slight smile touched the a'laq's lips and was gone. "You speak to me like that in private, where no one else can hear, but in front of the others you treat me with contempt. Why should I honor your request? Why should I listen when you tell me that these two Mettai you've brought to my sept aren't threats to us?"
Grinsa considered this briefly. Then he shook his head, smiling at his own stupidity. "You shouldn't," he said. "While we were searching the plain for the Mettai woman, Q'Daer said something similar to me. He wondered why I'd refuse to submit to your authority and would show so little regard for Fal'Borna ways, and then turn around and risk my life trying to save your people from the Mettai woman's plague."
"Were you able to explain this to him?"
"Not well," Grinsa said. He rubbed a hand over his face. "You and I have been fighting since the moment I arrived here. The same is true of Q'Daer and me. Cresenne and I were looking for a new home, a place where we could raise our daughter-"
"We've given you that, and more! And yet you still act as if we're your enemies!"
"It's not enough to give us a home and tell us we have to live here! You've tried to control us with threats. You've tried to force us to adopt your ways regardless of what they would do to our family. Is it any wonder that I've fought you?"
E'Menua looked away, his jaw set. "You are a most difficult man, Forelander. I'm still not sure why I haven't had you killed yet. Most a'laqs would have by now."
"Well, that speaks well of your wisdom, A'Laq."
The Fal'Borna cast a quick look his way, as if to determine whether Grinsa was mocking him. Grinsa allowed himself a small smile to show that he wasn't.
After a moment, the a'laq actually smiled as well. "I'm not sure it does." As quickly as it had come, his smile vanished. "You've made your share of threats, too. You spoke of killing me the very first time you set foot in this z'kal. And you've shown little regard for me or my people. The Fal'Borna clan is as strong as any in the Southlands. We're feared by the dark-eyes and respected by every Qirsi nation, even the J'Balanar. We honored you by welcoming you into our sept, and you've done nothing since but reject our ways and make it clear that you intend to leave as soon as possible."
Grinsa nodded, his lips pursed. "You're right."
E'Menua stared at him, seeming to expect more. When Grinsa didn't say anything else, he frowned. "That's all? I'm right? No arguments? No insults?"
Grinsa shrugged. "I can tell you that Cresenne and I never meant to give offense. We were looking for a home and found you first. I'm still not sure that we belong among the Fal'Borna. But that wasn't really your point. And looking at it as you would, I can see that you're right. You made us part of your sept, and we told you that we wanted to leave. If I were in your position, I'd be angry, too."
The frown lingered on E'Menua's thin, tapered face. Clearly he hadn't expected Grinsa to say any of this.
"And I suppose I can understand that you didn't want to give up your woman," he finally said.
"Thank you for that, A'Laq."
E'Menua nodded, though he still looked unnerved by their exchange.
It seemed to Grinsa, though, that something had shifted between them. He remained wary of the man-he didn't think that he could ever be around E'Menua without keeping at least a light hold on his magic, just in case. But despite his pledge to fight on behalf of the Fal'Borna, only now did he begin to think that perhaps they could work together and face the Eandi as allies, if it came to that.
"You mentioned the Mettai before," he said after a lengthy silence. "Regardless of what other Mettai have done, I'm certain that we can trust Besh and Sirj. They want to help us. They believe that the witch's plague is to blame for this war, and so rather than returning to the safety of Mettai lands, they chose to come here with Q'Daer and me."
"They also found a way to defeat the plague and make us all immune," E'Menua said, surprising him. "Isn't that so?"
"Yes, it is."
"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
Grinsa's heart sank. He'd actually allowed himself to believe that he and the a'laq had reached an understanding of a sort, that he might be able to reason with the man.
"You believe that this is all part of a Mettai plan to win your trust?" he asked wearily.
"Or yours. They've already succeeded at that."
"I don't believe that they're capable of anything so… insidious, A'Laq. But I'd suggest that if you're suspicious of them, you speak to them yourself. I have no doubt that they'd be willing to answer any questions you ask them. I can arrange such an audience, if you'd like."
E'Menua appeared disappointed, as if he'd hoped that Grinsa would respond in anger to his doubts about the Mettai. "Yes, all right," he said, sounding bored with their conversation.
Grinsa rose. "Thank you, A'Laq."
He turned, intending to leave, and immediately sensed that E'Menua was drawing upon his magic, as he had the day before. Instantly, Grinsa reached out with his own power and took control of the a'laq's. He wasn't convinced that E'Menua actually intended to harm him-the a'laq made no attempt to free himself from Grinsa's hold on his power. But the Forelander knew that he could never show any signs of weakness in his dealings with this man.
Grinsa glanced back over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised.
"Before, when you spoke of the two Mettai, you said that 'we' could trust them, that they wanted to help 'us.' Do you consider yourself Fal'Borna now?"
"There's a war coming," Grinsa said with a grin. "Do you think I'd choose this day to count myself as part of any other clan?"
E'Menua laughed. "If you'd been horn in the Southlands, you would have been Fal'Borna. I'm sure of it."
"I'll take that as a compliment, A'Laq."
"There will he food for you by midday. Enough for two. And wood, as well."
Grinsa inclined his head. "Thank you." He released E'Menua's magic and left the z'kal.
Cresenne's late arrival at the tanning circle drew the notice of several of the Fal'Borna women, though none of them said anything to her. Even before Cresenne started eating her meals with L'Norr, she had been an outcast in the village. Many of the women who tanned with her had believed T'Lisha, L'Norr's concubine, when she told them that Cresenne was trying to steal L'Norr from her. T'Lisha no longer believed this, but several of the women still eyed Cresenne with open hostility. You may have been innocent this time, they seemed to be telling her with their glares, but that doesn't mean we trust you.
Through all of this, though, F'Solya remained her good friend. As usual, the woman had saved Cresenne a space beside her, and seeing Cresenne approach, she smiled slyly.
"I didn't think I'd see you here at all," she said, as Cresenne lowered herself to the ground and pulled out the skin she'd scraped clean the day before. "I'm not that late," Cresenne said, smiling.
"I know! That's what I mean. If I'Joled had been away as long as your man has been, I'd still be beneath a blanket." She grinned. "And so would he."
Cresenne felt her cheeks coloring, though if anything her smile broadened.
"I don't think I've ever seen you look so happy," F'Solya said. "I'm glad for you."
"Thank you."
Cresenne reached for the foul tannin that the Fal'Borna used to soften and preserve their rilda hides, and for some time the two women worked without speaking.
"What do you know about the Mettai your man brought back with him?" F'Solya asked, abruptly breaking the silence.
Cresenne paused in her work to look at the woman, surprised by the question. "Not a lot. Grinsa said that they killed the witch who first spread the plague. And he also said that they found a way to defeat the curse; if they hadn't, Grinsa and Q'Daer would both be dead, and none of us would be safe."
F'Solya nodded thoughtfully, but she wore a frown on her pretty face. "I'Joled says it's dangerous to have them here."
Cresenne felt herself tense, knowing that they had crossed into hazardous terrain. I'Joled, F'Solya's husband,
struck her as a decent man. From what she'd seen of the two of them together, she had no doubt that he loved his wife and boys. But she didn't like him, and she had the sense that he didn't like her, either. They had met only once-the night F'Solya invited her and Bryntelle to eat with them at their z'kal. At the time, she hadn't yet spoken to E'Menua about her need for food. F'Solya and I'Joled generously shared their meal with her-she had no right to think ill of him.
But she believed he was a typical Fal'Borna man: proud, stubborn, distrustful of outsiders, and disdainful of women who didn't behave the way Fal'Borna women were expected to behave. It didn't surprise her to learn that he was suspicious of the Mettai. This was how a Fal'Borna warrior thought: If one group of Mettai had declared themselves enemies of the Fal'Borna, then every Mettai in the Southlands was an enemy. Never mind all the good that Besh and Sirj had done.
Clearly Cresenne couldn't say any of this without angering her friend. "Why does he think it's dangerous?" she asked instead, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her thoughts.
F'Solya let out a small, breathless laugh, though she didn't look at all amused. "Well, because we're going to war against the Mettai, of course."
"Right. Of course. I just…" She shook her head, wishing she hadn't spoken at all. "I don't know if Besh and Sirj know the Mettai who are marching with the Eandi."
"That doesn't matter," F'Solya said. "They're Mettai."
Cresenne thought it best not to answer.
If only it had been that easy.
Her friend looked at her for a long time, the skin she was working lying forgotten in her lap. Cresenne tried to keep working, but in the end she had little choice but to look F'Solya in the eye.
"You disagree," the woman said.
"I'm not sure we should talk about this, F'Solya."
"I believe we should. You've lived among the Fal'Borna for more than two turns now. You're learning our ways, you speak of being our friends. You also know that we're under attack by the Eandi and the Mettai." Her voice rose as she spoke, and her cheeks were flushed. "You've known these two Mettai men for a day. And yet you're willing to trust them. You're willing to discount our fears of them. I want to know why."
No matter how Cresenne answered, she knew that she risked losing this friendship, the only one of any meaning she had formed since arriving in the sept. She knew as well, though, that if she lied or tried to soften the truth, she'd only make matters worse. F'Solya had never been anything but honest with her; she deserved the same in return.
"Because," Cresenne began, "when I lived in the Forelands, I was once part of a Qirsi conspiracy that aimed to destroy the Eandi courts. Eventually, I came to see that the man leading the conspiracy was evil and brutal and intent on destroying the land, not saving it. I left the movement, and thanks to Grinsa and the compassion of an Eandi king who had no reason to believe that I was anything more than a white-hair traitor, I'm still alive today. They could have assumed that I was just like all the others; they would have been within their rights to execute me."
F'Solya didn't look convinced. If anything, her expression appeared to have hardened.
"I'm not from a clan, F'Solya. Maybe that's why we look at this so differently. You've grown up believing that the world is divided into Fal'Borna and J'Balanar and Talm'Orast, and also Mettai and Eandi. My world was… different. There were Qirsi and Eandi. And there were different realms, Eibithar, Sanbira, Wethyrn. But someone could be both Qirsi and Aneiran, Eandi and Caerissan. It was more complicated."
"So you think we're simple?" F'Solya demanded.
Cresenne winced. She wasn't handling this well. "Of course not. It's just…" She stopped, shaking her head again. "You want to know the real reason I trust these men?" She didn't wait for a reply. "They saved Grinsa's life. They cast a spell that defeated the curse, and then they made it so that Grinsa could pass that spell on to Bryntelle and me."
"That's what they tell us," F'Solya said, in a voice that chilled Cresenne's blood.
"You don't believe them?"
"We have no proof that they made us immune. We can only take their word for it and hope that it's true. But if we trust them, and then it turns out that they've lied to us, thousands could die. And maybe that's what they have in mind. Maybe the Eandi put them up to this."
"They saved Grinsa and Q'Daer! Surely you believe that!"
"Saving two to kill thousands? That's a trade any warrior would make."
"F'Solya-" Again Cresenne stopped herself. She had intended to say that Besh and Sirj wouldn't do this. But her friend would surely ask how Cresenne could be so certain, and she had no good answer. She was trusting all to Grinsa's judgment, and though she believed that he was right, she knew that F'Solya wouldn't share her faith in him.
A small, satisfied smile touched the woman's lips and was gone. "Think about it," she said. "Your man trusts them. And perhaps if they had saved I'Joled, he and I would feel the same way. But they didn't. They saved the life of a Forelander. Perhaps they knew that your husband would be easier to convince than a Fal'Borna. Perhaps this was part of their plan."
"Q'Daer trusts them, too!" Cresenne said.
F'Solya raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"
Another question she couldn't answer. Cresenne had assumed that the young Weaver and Grinsa were of one mind with regard to the Mettai. But did she know this for certain? For that matter, did Grinsa?
"How many others feel this way?" she asked after some time.
F'Solya shrugged. "I'Joled didn't say. Many, I'm sure. As I said, we're at war with the Mettai. We'd be wary of these men no matter who brought them here." As soon as she said this she smiled again, though her brow creased.
Cresenne knew what she was thinking. "No one else would have brought them here, though. Isn't that right?"
The woman hesitated, then nodded. "I can't imagine that Q'Daer wanted to. He would have tried to send them away long ago."
Cresenne put down the skin she was working on and stood. "Excuse me," she said. "I have to find Grinsa."
The words sounded oddly formal to her own ears. She sensed that her friendship with F'Solya had changed, perhaps forever. But that was the least of her concerns. She left the tanning ring without waiting for her friend's reply.
Chapter 10
Besh couldn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly. The Qirsi shelter, this z'kal, as the Fal'Borna called it, was remarkably effective in keeping out the cold and wind of the plain, and the pallet on which he lay was as comfortable as his bed back in Kirayde. For the first time in a turn, he had slept through the entire night, untroubled by visions of Lici and her plague. He would gladly have slumbered for another several hours, but Sirj had already left the shelter, and Besh could hear that others in the sept were up and about.
Reluctantly he threw off his blankets, pulled on his britches and shirt, and stepped out into the brisk morning air. Sirj sat on a stump of wood beside the shelter looking out over the sept.
"How long have you been up?" Besh asked, inhaling deeply and stretching his back.
"Not long. An hour, maybe."
Besh nodded. "Have you seen the Forelander?"
Sirj merely shook his head. Looking at him again, Besh realized that the younger man wasn't merely gazing out at the settlement. His eyes were alert and he wore a grim expression.
"What's the matter?" Besh asked.
"I'm not entirely sure," Sirj said. "Try not to appear alarmed. But take a casual look around. It seems to me that we're being guarded, but they don't want us to know."
Besh nodded again. His pulse now was racing, and his stomach began to knot. He glanced about, trying to appear relaxed. It didn't take him long to see what Sirj meant. There were at least a dozen Fal'Borna warriors nearby, all of them with blades on their belts, several of them holding spears as well. Some of them were standing; others sat. But they had formed a loose ring around Besh and Sirj's shelter. There was no way for the Mettai to leave the area without encountering at least one of
them.
The Qirsi didn't seem to be watching the two men, but there was something a bit too studied in their demeanor.
"Damn," Besh said under his breath. "You say that you haven't seen Grinsa?"
Sirj gave a quick shake of his head. "Not yet."
"What about Q'Daer?"
"Not him, either."
"Have any of them said anything to you?"
"They've barely even looked at me. I think they were told to keep watch on us, and that's all. But I don't like it. If they're watching us, that means they don't trust us. They're halfway to deciding that we're the enemy."
"Grinsa won't let that happen. We healed him, and Q'Daer, too. We made them immune to the plague."
"Yes. You killed Lici, too. They don't seem to care about any of that. And I don't think that Grinsa can help us much. He's not Fal'Borna."
"He's a Weaver," Besh said. But he knew that Sirj was right. From all he'd heard about the Fal'Borna, it seemed that they were distrustful of Qirsi from every other clan in the Southlands. He could only assume that they would be even more wary of outlanders. "All right," he said a moment later. "Let's assume Grinsa can't help us. What do we do?"
Sirj shook his head. "There's not much we can do. Even if Mettai magic was a match for Qirsi magic, we're only two against an entire sept." He looked up at Besh. "If they decide to make us their prisoners, or worse, if they decide to kill us, there's nothing we can do to stop them."
"Well, then," Besh said, taking a long breath, "we need to find out what their intentions are."
Sirj looked at him with alarm. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing I hadn't been planning to do anyway," Besh told him, starting toward the heart of the settlement. He glanced back over his shoulder. "It's morning and I'm ready for my breakfast."
There were two Qirsi in front of him, both of them standing, both of them bearing spears. As soon as they saw him coming, they planted themselves in his path. They held their spears ready, but they didn't actually point the weapons at him.
