by DAVID B. COE
In the end she decided that she didn't. She stood over the first woman and pulled her sword back, intending to stab her through the heart. These women were white-hairs. Their people had taken Deraqor from the Onjaefs and had killed thousands upon thousands of Eandi over the centuries. This should have been easy for her.
Her sword hand dropped to her side. She opened her mouth to call for Oliban, knowing that she wouldn't be able to carry out her orders.
But at that moment, the woman before her stirred and her eyes fluttered open. Golden yellow they were, and for just an instant, she stared up at Tirnya.
Her heart abruptly pounding, Tirnya jumped forward and plunged her blade into the woman's chest. The Fal'Borna cried out, flailed briefly, and then was still, blood staining her shirt.
The piece of rilda skin covering the shelter's entrance was thrown back. "Capt'n!" Oliban said. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Tirnya said, breathing hard. "One of them… one of them woke up."
Oliban looked down at the woman Tirnya had slaughtered. After a moment, he drew his blade, walked to the other woman, and killed her as well. Then they left the shelter and made their way to the next one.
It was slow, grim work. At one point, Tirnya heard shouting and screams from the far end of the sept. She later learned that several Fal'Borna, including at least two shapers, had awakened before any of the Eandi soldiers reached them and had put up quite a fight before being killed by Stelpana's archers. Several more Eandi soldiers had died, most with snapped necks.
But by late in the day, all the adult Fal'Borna had been slain, as had the remaining eagles. Tirnya had rarely seen such carnage. The sept was littered with bodies, the earth stained crimson in many places. Jenoe ordered his men to pile the bodies and burn them, which meant that all of the Fal'Borna children were awake long before the Eandi army left the sept. Most of the younger ones cried piteously, while the oldest among them stared stony-faced at the pyres and the Eandi soldiers.
Tirnya had learned her lesson from her encounter with the boy in the last settlement; this time she made no effort to speak with any of the children. She stood at the edge of the village nearest to the horse paddock, staring off across the plain, hoping that the wind wouldn't shift and send the stench of burning corpses her way.
She hadn't been alone long when she heard a footfall behind her. Knowing that it had to be Enly, she turned, the words on her tongue intended to send him away and let him know in no uncertain terms that she didn't need comforting or sympathy. But it wasn't Enly who stood before her, nor was it Gries, or Stri, or her father, any of whom she also might have expected. Instead, she found herself facing her lead riders, Oliban, Qagan, Dyn, and Crow.
"What's happened?" she asked.
Oliban looked at the other three, but they were all eyeing him. For a long time he had spoken for all of them. It seemed that the others expected him to do so now, too.
"Oliban?" Tirnya said.
"We…" He shook his head. "Th' men are… troubled by wha' happened t'day, Capt'n. They wasn't happy abou' goin' t' war alongside th' Mettai, bu' they knew tha' we'd be better off with a bit o' magic on our side. Bu' this…" He shook his head. "Killin' white-hairs is one thing. Don' ge' me wrong. None of us has any problem with that. Bu' killin' them while they sleep? What are we doin', Capt'n?"
Before she could answer, Crow said, "There's some who are sayin' now tha' they'd rather face th' Fal'Borna with no magic at all than use any more o' this blood magic."
"Is that what you say, Crow?" Tirnya asked.
He hesitated, but only for an instant. "Yes, Capt'n, I guess it is."
Tirnya wasn't sure what to say to them. A part of her felt that she should have been angry. They were questioning her judgment as well as her father's. But she also understood. The first time the Mettai used magic on their behalf, their monstrous wolves nearly killed several soldiers. This time the eagles seemed more intent on each other than on the Fal'Borna, and the sleeping spell, while effective, made what should have been a battle into something more akin to a massacre. She didn't want anything to do with magic anymore, regardless of whether the conjurings were done by Mettai or Fal'Borna. Then again, had it not been for Mettai magic, most of them would be dead. She reminded the men of this.
"Ye're right," Oliban told her. "Tha' spell saved hundr'ds, if no' thousands." He glanced at Crow. "T' be honest, some don' hold with those who'd go on without any Mettai magic at all. I don' much like th' Mettai, bu' I don' think we can win this war without 'em. What we did t'day, though; tha' was… it was wrong, Capt'n. There's no other word for it. It was wrong."
"Do you think we could have won the battle any other way?" she asked, looking at each of the men in turn.
For some time none of them answered.
Finally, Oliban said, "Probably not."
She thought to ask if they were suggesting then that this war wasn't worth fighting, but she wasn't sure she wanted to hear their answer to that.
"I don't think so, either," she said instead. "This is war. You do what you have to in order to win. Today we did something that none of us felt good about. But at the end of the day, we're alive and our army is largely intact. Given what that Fal'Borna fire did to our lines, despite the Mettai spell, I think it's clear that matters could have been far worse."
Crow looked like he might argue the point further, but Oliban cut him off with a sharp look.
"Thank you, Capt'n," Oliban said.
The others muttered thank-yous as well, and they left her there. She watched them walk back into the sept and rejoin the rest of her company. Then she started back herself. She spotted Enly from afar and steered clear of him, but wound up face-to-face with her father.
"I just had a meeting with the captains and Hendrid," he said. "Where were you?"
"I'm sorry, Father. I was… my lead riders needed to speak with me. I was with them."
"Is there a problem?"
She shook her head. "They were asking about rations. That's all."
He eyed her doubtfully.
"What did you tell the other captains?" she asked, hoping to forestall more questions.
"I didn't like the way today's battle went. We were poorly prepared and took too long to develop a strategy for attack. Out here on the plain, an army as large as ours can easily be spotted from a distance. The Fal'Borna will be ready for our attack, and the next sept might ride to meet us. So we're going to alter our marching formations. I want archers and the Mettai at the front of our lines at all times. And I want the archers mustered into companies of one hundred each. These companies will march together, eat together, and make camp together. They should be able to respond to commands instantly. Each of you will have command of one of them. Enly will tell you which is yours."
"Enly?" she said.
"You weren't there; he was."
She heard the rebuke in his voice and didn't dare argue. "All right. What about the swordsmen?"
Her father shook his head, glancing around the sept at his army. "I almost wish I hadn't brought any. This war will be won with magic and arrows. We lost more than two hundred bowmen today. I've already ordered as many swordsmen to take the places of those who fell. If I had more bows, I'd order more into the arrow companies."
Tirnya nodded. Magic and arrows. "What about the Mettai?" she asked. "What do you mean?"
"Some of the men were disturbed by the way today's battle went. To be honest, I was, too."
Jenoe's eyes narrowed. "Disturbed in what way?" he demanded.
Tirnya threw her arms wide. "You have to ask? We killed them in their sleep, Father! I had to kill a woman who lay in her shelter beside children!"
His face reddened and the muscles in his jaw tightened. He rarely lost his temper, but Tirnya had seen him go on tirades in the past, and she expected he would now. When he spoke, though, his voice was low and controlled. In many ways this was worse.
"You wanted this war, Tirnya. You wanted the Mettai with us. You got both. Thi
s is the magic we have, and distasteful though you may find it, this is the only way we can win. If you prefer to watch the Fal'Borna slaughter our army, then I'll tell Fayonne to take her people and go home. Otherwise, I'd suggest you keep quiet and follow my orders."
She felt as though he had slapped her.
Jenoe walked off before she could speak, leaving Tirnya to stare at the ground and try not to cry.
When at last she had composed herself, she looked up and caught sight of Enly and Gries, who were together and walking her way. Her first thought was that for two rivals who were supposed to hate each other, they agreed a lot and spent a good deal of time together. Her next thought was that she really wanted nothing to do with either of them just then.
She turned and started to walk away.
"Tirnya!" Enly's voice.
She stopped, exhaled, and turned back to them.
"What?" she said, making no effort to mask her annoyance.
Enly stopped in front of her, seemingly unaffected by her tone. "I thought you'd want to know that I put you in charge of the archers from your company and Stri's. Stri agreed to take command of a company from Fairlea."
Tirnya nodded. "Very well. Thank you."
"Are you all right?" he asked, stepping closer to her and lowering his voice.
"Why wouldn't I be?" she said, turning and walking away from him again. "We won today, didn't we?"
Chapter 14
LOWNA, ON OWL LAKE
U'Selle had spent much of her life living at the fringe of her own clan, upending traditions she'd never intended to challenge. She had been born in Lowna, an established town along the Silverwater, rather than in the impermanent septs of the Central Plain. She and her people had made their gold by trading in the marketplace rather than by tracking rilda. She knew that some on the plain considered towns like hers to be Fal'Borna in name only. In most ways that mattered, these people believed, the people of Lowna were more like the Talm'Orast or H'Bel, the prosperous merchant clans that inhabited the lands west of the Ofirean.
It didn't help that U'Selle was one of the few female a'laqs in all the land. Rather than earning her a modicum of respect from other sept leaders, her position served only to isolate her further. Most of the other a'laqs seemed to think her undeserving of the title. And perhaps she was. Yes, she was a Weaver. But if there had been another male Weaver living in Lowna when her beloved F'Jai died ten years before, she would gladly have allowed him to become a'laq.
As it was, she had been so grief-stricken those first few turns after he died that she barely understood that the clan council of the village had chosen her to lead them. When at last she realized that everyone seemed to be calling her A'Laq, it was too late to do anything.
Over the years, she had come to enjoy leading the village, and though the other a'laqs seldom showed her the respect she thought she deserved, her own people never seemed to question the choice they had made all those years ago.
Now she was dying of consumption, and though she fought the illness as best she could, she had to admit to herself that she was ready to die. She wished that there was a Weaver in her village who might take her place as a'laq, but there was nothing to be done about that. All in all, she'd had a good life, despite losing F'Jai too soon. And she had fully expected these last turns of her life to be peaceful.
The gods, it seemed, had something else in mind for her. First, they brought Jynna, a young Y'Qatt girl who came to Lowna with a wild story of a Mettai witch and cursed baskets and a white-hair plague. The tale turned out to be true, and in the end Jynna was joined by several more Y'Qatt children, orphans all, who now lived among them, almost as if they had been born Fal'Borna. Not content with this, the gods then sent to Lowna a merchant named R'Shev, who told a remarkable story of his own. An Eandi army had been seen along the Silverwater making ready for an attack on the Fal'Borna. And amazingly, they marched with Mettai sorcerers.
There would he no peace for her in the last days of her life. Instead, U'Selle had been the one to warn the rest of the clan that war was coming to the plain. Less than a turn before, she had used her magic to enter the dreams of other a'laqs and tell them of the approaching Eandi warriors and their Mettai allies. This once, they had treated her with courtesy and gratitude. It almost seemed that they finally recognized what U'Selle had known all along: Regardless of how her people made their gold, or how she had come to lead her village, she was Fal'Borna. Nothing else mattered. If there was to be a war, her people would fight in it. They would spill their blood in defense of the clan lands; they would kill or be killed, just like every other Fal'Borna on the plain.
Ever since giving this warning to her fellow a'laqs, U'Selle had waited for some word as to what would happen next. By now, she was certain, the Eandi had crossed into Fal'Borna land and were attacking septs. But she heard nothing. No Weavers walked in her dreams to tell her how the war was going or what other Axis on the plain expected her and her people to do. Had they forgotten Lowna? Had they been defeated? Impossible! Had they already destroyed the invaders? She thought this unlikely as well.
Night after night, U'Selle slept fitfully, waiting for dreams that never came, waking in the morning to frustration and a vague fear that she tried to ignore.
On this night, though, the ninth of the waxing, all that finally changed. Or so she thought.
Her dream began as had others in which Weavers walked. There was a clarity to such dreams that U'Selle had learned to recognize long ago, when F'Jai first courted her without the knowledge of her parents. He had visited her in her dreams, where they could share kisses and speak of their future life together in private. Always these visions had seemed more real, more solid, than any other dreams she'd ever had. And even now, with F'Jai long dead and Weavers disturbing her sleep for far less pleasant reasons, that solid feeling remained.
So as soon as the dream began she knew to look for a Weaver. Whoever had come had conjured for her a bland stretch of plain that she didn't recognize, a cloudless blue sky, and a gentle, cool wind. She turned, searching for the a'laq.
Her first thought upon seeing the man was that her senses had betrayed her and this wasn't real, after all. This Weaver didn't look at all Fal'Borna. He didn't look like any Qirsi she'd ever seen. He was as broad in the chest and shoulders as one of her own people, but he was nearly a full head taller than any Fal'Borna she knew, and his skin was ghostly pale.
He must have sensed her doubts, because he said immediately, "It's all right, N'Qlae. I'm a friend. I intend you no harm."
She looked around again. It felt the way Weaver dreams always did. The setting, his voice-it had to be real. And yet…
"What clan are you from?" she asked. "Who are you?"
"My name is Grinsa jal Arriet. I'm from the Forelands, though right now I'm living among the Fal'Borna. I'm in the sept of E'Menua, son of E'Sedt."
U'Selle nodded. She had no trouble believing that this strange, handsome man came from the Northlands. And she'd heard of E'Menua. "Why have you come to me this way?"
"You've heard of the plague that's been spreading across the plain?" he asked. "The one conjured by the Mettai?"
U'Selle smiled thinly. "Yes, I've heard of it. Are there any among our-" She frowned. "Among my people who haven't?"
A small smile touched his lips and he inclined his head, seeming to concede the point. "Probably not, N'Qlae."
"I'm properly addressed as A'Laq."
The man frowned at this, clearly puzzled. "I've never… I thought…"
"It's rare for a woman to become a'laq, but it does happen. My husband was a'laq. When he died, there were no other Weavers in the village, so I took the title."
"Forgive me, A'Laq."
"Tell me, Forelander, how did this plague become your concern?"
"I told you, A'Laq: I'm living now among the Fal'Borna. It's the concern of every Qirsi on the plain. But more than that, I've had the plague, and I very nearly died of it."
"What?" she said.
Then she shook her head. "I don't believe you. I haven't heard of anyone surviving this illness."
"I had help. I was saved by two Mettai men. Their names are Besh and Sirj, and they come from the village-"
U'Selle shook her head and held up a finger, stopping him. "You're telling me that you were healed by Mettai? The same people who conjured this plague in the first place, who now march against us with the dark-eyes; you want me to believe that they healed you?"
"It's the truth," he said simply. "This plague wasn't spread by all Mettai people. It was created by one twisted old woman from the same village these men come from. They tracked her, killed her, and sought to keep the plague from spreading. Eventually another Fal'Borna and I wound up journeying with them, and when we fell ill, these men created a new spell that cured us."
"That's a most remarkable tale, Forelander," the a'laq said in a voice intended to make clear that she still didn't believe him.
"It gets more remarkable, A'Laq."
She raised an eyebrow.
"The spell these men created did more than heal. It protects us from ever getting the plague again. Like the plague, it's spread by magic. So by walking in your dreams, I've passed their spell to you and made you immune to the plague."
"You're sure of this?" she asked, not yet daring to hope that it was true.
"I am, A'Laq. As I say, I had the plague. I offer as proof the fact that I'm alive. But there's still more. You can pass this spell on to the others in your sept, simply by touching them with your magic. Any magic will do. This is a gift to your people from E'Menua. All he asks is that if you encounter this plague, you let him know immediately that the spell worked and saved your people."
She regarded the man through narrowed eyes. "This is all very strange," she said. "I haven't met E'Menua, but from all I've heard about him, he doesn't seem like the kind of a'laq who would send gifts freely to other septs."
