by DAVID B. COE
"It's… it's nothing, A'Laq."
E'Menua looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
"I… I had hoped the Mettai's spell would protect us. I'm disappointed. That's all."
"Ah, of course," E'Menua said, nodding. "I understand. You journeyed with the Mettai for many leagues. You'd come to believe that they might be our friends."
"Yes, A'Laq. I had hoped it was so."
"No doubt the Forelander tried to convince you of this."
"He trusts them, yes."
"But do you trust him?"
Q'Daer stared at the ground. He could feel the a'laq's eyes upon him, but at that moment he didn't dare meet the man's gaze.
All of this should have been so simple. He was Fal'Borna. Nothing else mattered. I hadn't he said as much to Grinsa a hundred times as they traveled across the plain together? The Forelander had refused to submit to the a'laq's authority. He had spent every moment of the last several turns trying to leave the sept, making it clear that he wanted nothing to do with the Fal'Borna or their traditions. Q'Daer had no reason to trust him. Faced with a conflict between the Forelander and the Mettai on one hand, and the a'laq and his people on the other, there should have been no question as to where his loyalties lay.
But on this day nothing seemed as clear as it should. If he was to be honest with himself, he had to admit that he didn't just want to believe the Mettai. He did believe him. He didn't merely wish that Grinsa had been right about all of this. He felt certain that the Forelander was right.
And that meant that the a'laq had deceived them.
He did it to protect the sept, said a voice inside his mind. We're at war! Nothing matters more than the safety of our people.
But what threat did these Mettai pose? They had saved his life, and Grinsa's, too. They had cast that spell.
You heard Besh! There was no spell. It was a trick. Nothing more.
Yes, he had heard what the Mettai said. But he had seen the look on the old man's face. More, he had seen the look on D'Pera's face. He had seen how she stared at the a'laq, an accusation in her pale eyes. E'Menua had betrayed her. He had betrayed all of them.
"I asked you a question, Q'Daer. Do you trust the Forelander?"
But that really wasn't the question he had asked, or was asking now. E'Menua wanted to know what kind of man he was. He wanted to know if Q'Daer was willing to sacrifice a pair of dark-eye sorcerers for the good of the sept. He wanted to make certain that Q'Daer would remain true to his a'laq no matter what.
Are you Fal'Borna? That was what E'Menua had asked him.
He shouldn't have needed even to think about it.
"I don't believe the Forelander means to harm us, A'Laq. I think he'll fight beside us when it comes time to face the dark-eyes."
"That's not what I meant."
Q'Daer knew this. He hadn't intended to avoid the real question. His mind had taken him there, as if of its own free will. He needed time to think. He needed to be alone.
"I'm sorry, A'Laq. What did you mean?"
He chanced a look at E'Menua and saw that the a'laq wore a slight frown, as if he were searching for the right words.
"You say that the Forelander trusts these two Mettai. But you just heard the old one admit that they meant to harm you, that they meant to harm us all.”
"Yes, I did hear that." This time Q'Daer couldn't keep the edge from his voice.
E'Menua cast a quick look his way, his eyes narrowed. "I don't like your tone."
"Forgive me, A'Laq."
The a'laq started to say something more, still looking angry, but then stopped himself, as if thinking better of it. They were still walking, and had gone beyond the bounds of the sept to follow the small rill that ran by the settlement. Q'Daer tried to keep his eyes fixed on the ground in front of them, but he couldn't keep himself from glancing repeatedly at E'Menua. He had never been good with people. L'Norr had a much easier time reading the moods of others and getting along with them. He could have used his friend's insights now. What did the a'laq expect of him? What should he have said? This was a man he had known and respected all his life. Before today, he'd rarely had cause to question the alaq's decisions. He knew that E'Menua had his reasons for doing what he had. But he didn't know what those reasons could be, and he didn't expect the a'laq to explain himself.
He was surprised.
"You're wondering why I did it, aren't you?"
Q'Daer swallowed, still unsure of what to say.
"It's all right, Q'Daer. You're a Weaver. You could be a'laq of your own sept someday. We're leaders. We understand each other."
"Yes, A'Laq."
"These Mettai, they can't be trusted. You understand this, right?"
"I…" He licked his lips. "Yes, A'Laq."
He could feel E'Menua's eyes on him. "They're Eandi, Q'Daer. They may wield magic, but their eyes are dark."
Q'Daer nodded, still not looking at the a'laq.
"We're about to ride to war against a dark-eye army," E'Menua went on. "There are Mettai in that army. We can't have our warriors wondering if those people are truly our enemies. They have to be certain. And these two men-they confuse things. If we let them live, if we give our warriors reason to think that the Mettai are our friends, that they have saved your life and protected us, we put doubt in their minds as they go to war. I can't allow that."
This he could understand. The Forelander seemed to make things so complicated all the time. But what the a'laq had told him made sense. This was how a Fal'Borna thought. Perhaps north of the Border Range, where Grinsa came from, a Qirsi could afford to look for the good in his dark-eye enemies. But out here on the plain, in a land that had seen nearly a thousand years of war between the races, a warrior didn't have that luxury.
"Are you with me, Q'Daer?"
"Yes, A'Laq," he said, finally facing E'Menua.
The a'laq grinned. "Good." He placed a hand on Q'Daer's shoulder and both of them stopped walking. "You know that the Forelander will talk to you about this. He'll try to convince you that the Mettai are being treated unjustly."
Q'Daer nodded solemnly. "I know that, A'Laq. I can handle Gr-" He stopped, his cheeks growing hot. "I can handle the Forelander."
E'Menua patted his shoulder and started to walk back to the sept. "That's what I hoped you'd say," he called back over his shoulder.
Chapter 12
Grinsa spotted E'Menua and Q'Daer together and knew immediately that he'd already lost this battle. He had hoped that Q'Daer might understand what the a'laq had done, and that he might be angry enough about it to stand with him in protecting the Mettai. But seeing them now, E'Menua's arm resting easily on the younger man's shoulder, a smile on his bronze, tapered face, Grinsa felt his hopes vanish. He actually considered turning and walking away without even speaking to Q'Daer. He dismissed the idea in the next moment, but only because he couldn't imagine facing Besh and Sirj again and having to admit that he hadn't even tried to sway the man.
E'Menua turned away from the young Weaver and started walking in Grinsa's direction, looking far too pleased with himself. Grinsa ducked back out of sight in the shadow of a z'kal, though he thought that the a'laq had probably spotted him.
As he suspected, a short time later he heard the man call out in a low voice, "I know you're there, Forelander."
Slowly, Grinsa stepped out from behind the shelter.
"You're too late, you know," E'Menua told him. "You'll never get him to help you."
"Why did you do it?" Grinsa asked him. "Why do you hate those men so? They've risked their lives to save ours, and yet you remain determined to put them to death."
"Ask Q'Daer. He can explain it to you."
E'Menua smiled again and started to walk past him.
Grinsa reached out and grabbed the a'laq's arm, forcing him to stop. "I'm asking you."
The a'laq wrenched his arm free and glowered at him. "You'd better watch yourself, Forelander. You keep pushing me, as if I'm no one of consequence. You seem to thi
nk that I'm powerless to defend myself. You're wrong. And if you're not careful, you'll feel the full weight of my wrath. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want that."
He stalked off, leaving Grinsa to rail at himself for his foolishness. Cresenne had warned him about this, and yet he'd been unable to keep himself from provoking the man. He had already come to the realization that he had little chance of winning Q'Daer over to his side in this conflict. E'Menua held the lives of the two Mettai in his hand, and Grinsa was giving him every reason to kill the men, if for no other reason than to spite him.
Still angry with himself, Grinsa started walking toward Q'Daer, who was making his way back to the sept. Seeing him approach, the young Weaver halted. Grinsa had expected that Q'Daer would try to avoid him, but the Fal'Borna made no attempt to wave him away. He wasn't even scowling. Rather than take comfort in this, Grinsa swore silently. You're too late, you know. What had E'Menua said to the young Weaver?
"You're wasting your time," Q'Daer said.
Grinsa opened his hands and forced a smile. "I haven't even said anything yet."
"You don't need to. I know why you're here, and there's nothing you can say that will make me turn against the a'laq."
"Can I ask you why?"
At that, Q'Daer frowned. "You wouldn't understand. You're not Fal'Borna."
"No, I'm not. But your reasons must be quite compelling. These men saved our lives. They cast a spell to protect all Qirsi from Lici's plague. The only way the a'laq could convince his own people to turn against them was to use magic to make Besh lie. Surely if what the a'laq told you can convince a Fal'Borna to betray a friend, it should be enough to sway a man as simple as-"
"That's enough!"
The familiar scowl was back on Q'Daer's face, and for some reason Grinsa found this reassuring.
He kept silent, waiting for the Fal'Borna to say more, knowing that if he waited long enough the man would feel compelled to explain himself.
"We're about to ride to war," Q'Daer told him at last. "That may not mean much in the Forelands, but here it does. The Mettai are allied with our enemies. And our warriors have to be clear about that as they ride into battle."
He drew himself up, as if readying himself for Grinsa's retort.
But Grinsa nodded. It was more than merely clever. It actually made sense. He'd known soldiers back in the Forelands-a man named Gershon Trasker came to mind immediately-who would have seen the value in seeking such clarity for the men under their command.
"So accepting that Besh and Sirj are friends might weaken the resolve of our warriors if they face a Mettai army. Is that right?"
Q'Daer made no effort to mask his surprise. "Yes. That's exactly right."
"Did E'Menua admit that he'd forced Besh to say those things?"
The Fal'Borna didn't answer.
"Never mind," Grinsa said. "It doesn't really matter if he did. You and I both know the truth. The n'qlae does, too." He smiled bitterly. "And it doesn't make a damn bit of difference, does it?"
Grinsa didn't expect a response to this, either, but after a moment the young Weaver shook his head.
"No, it doesn't."
"Does he intend to execute them?"
"I would imagine."
"Do you know when?"
"No."
Grinsa continued to eye him.
"Truly, Forelander, I don't know. He didn't say much about this. He told me… why it would be dangerous to let these Mettai live. But he said nothing about their executions."
"Do you think it would be possible to convince the a'laq to spare them?" Q'Daer exhaled loudly. "I thought you understood. I don't want their lives spared!"
"I do understand, Q'Daer. But you have to understand that in my mind this is wrong. You're not talking about executing enemies of the Fal'Borna."
The man started to say something, but Grinsa raised a hand, silencing him.
"E'Menua can force Besh to say that he started the very first Blood War, but that doesn't make it true. And you and the a'laq can convince yourselves that you're justified in killing them, but that doesn't change the fact that this is murder, plain and simple."
Q'Daer regarded him with contempt. "For just a moment, I thought that perhaps you were finally starting to think like a Fal'Borna. I should have known better."
"No, Q'Daer, I am starting to think like a Fal'Borna. But I'm still a Forelander in my heart."
The young Weaver shook his head and started away from him.
"Wait," Grinsa said. "I'm not fool enough to think that I can change E'Menua's mind about Besh and Sirj. Not yet at least. But do you think that he would allow them to live as prisoners if he thought that he could learn something from them about Mettai magic?"
When the man didn't answer, Grinsa went on. "Think about it, Q'Daer. They'd be prisoners. That would be clear to your warriors. But we wouldn't be killing innocent men, men who saved your life and mine. Wouldn't you prefer that?"
Q'Daer faced him again. "I won't speak on their behalf."
"I'm not asking you to," Grinsa said. "I'm simply asking you if you think it's possible that E'Menua would agree to it."
"I don't."
"No, of course not," Grinsa said, shaking his head. He could only hope that Cresenne had more success with D'Pera. He looked the young Weaver in the eye. "You may not believe this now, but if Besh and Sirj are executed, their wraiths will hover at your shoulder for the rest of your days. You'll carry them with you to Bian's realm."
He didn't wait for Q'Daer to say more. Instead, he turned and hurried back to his shelter.
Cresenne was already there, gathering firewood from a sizable pile that had been left for them beside the z'kal. Bryntelle sat nearby, amusing herself by scraping the dirt with a small stick.
Cresenne looked up at his approach and smiled weakly. "There's food, too. That's something at least."
Grinsa felt himself sag. "Your conversation with the n'qlae didn't go well?"
She straightened. "Not really," she said, lowering her voice. "She's not happy with what E'Menua did, but he's her husband and the a'laq. She's not going to do anything to humiliate him."
He nodded, knowing that he should have expected this. "Maybe she doesn't have to." He asked Cresenne much the same question he'd asked Q 'Daer.
"Prisoners?" she said, frowning. "Besh and Sirj won't like that idea at all."
"I don't like it, either," Grinsa told her. "But at least they'd be alive. We'd still have a chance to save them."
"A chance, yes," she said. "But do you know how we'd do it?"
"I have an idea," he said, lowering his voice. "It's something I urged E'Menua to do as soon as we arrived back in the sept, but he ignored me. Maybe it's time I did it myself."
She looked puzzled, and even after he explained to her what he had in mind, she still looked doubtful.
"You'd be taking a great risk…" She shook her head. "There's so much that could go wrong."
"I know. But at least they'd still be alive. If this doesn't work, we can try something else. But for now, the important thing is that we convince the n'qlae to help us. Do you think we can?"
Cresenne nodded. "I don't know, but we should try. You should also speak with Besh and Sirj, to prepare them. As I said, they're not going to like this."
"I will," he said. "Tomorrow."
"What if E'Menua executes them tonight?"
"He won't," Grinsa said. "He'll want to make a spectacle of it. He'll want to use their deaths to humiliate me."
She nodded. "You're probably right."
They stood looking at each other. After a moment, she took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
"It wasn't supposed to be this complicated," she said.
He smiled sadly. "No, it wasn't."
Bryntelle gave a small squeal at something she'd done with the stick. This time Grinsa's smile was full and genuine. He bent down and scooped the child into his arms. She squealed again, and he kissed her cheek.
"We have smoked
rilda meat," Cresenne said. "And silverroot. Let's have supper like any other Fal'Borna family, and pretend none of this is happening. At least for a little while."
"That sounds nice," Grinsa said. "Doesn't it, Bryntelle?" Bryntelle brushed his nose with her hand and laughed. "She thinks so, too," Grinsa said, turning to Cresenne.
She was smiling. "It's nice to see the two of you together again. I'd like to see more of that."
"Me, too."
Grinsa carried an armful of firewood into the z'kal. Before long the silver-root was boiling on a low fire, and the aroma of watermint and thyme filled the shelter. He and Cresenne ate a quiet dinner and after putting Bryntelle to sleep, they slipped out of their clothes and lay together on the small pallet, surrendering to their passion once more. He had missed everything about her-the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, the softness of her hair.
"This concubine thing has its advantages," Cresenne said after, her head resting on his chest, her eyes closed.
"I was thinking the same thing."
She smiled, but said nothing. A few moments later, she started slightly, seeming to rouse herself.
"I'm falling asleep," she murmured.
"You should," he told her. "There's no reason why both of us need to stay up all night."
"I should be up with you, though."
"No. Sleep. I'll be all right. And you'll need to get up with Bryntelle in the morning."
She took a breath, then raised her head to look him in the eye. "All right," she said, sounding more awake. She kissed him softly on the lips, rolled off of him, and lay beside him, her eyes open and reflecting the faint firelight. "You think this will work?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm running out of ideas."
Cresenne nodded. "Wake me if you need me."
"I will."
Grinsa rose from the pallet, pulled on his clothes again, and stepped out into the cold night air. Clouds hung low over the sept, obscuring the stars but glowing slightly with the light of Panya and Ilias, the two moons. The sept was quiet save for the occasional whinny of a horse and a low thread of laughter coming from a nearby shelter. He pulled his overshirt tight around his shoulders and sat on a log by the z'kal.
