by DAVID B. COE
All along she had been the one who had pushed Jenoe-the invasion had been her idea, as had the alliance with the Mettai. But in the past several days her father had changed. The Jenoe she knew would never have allowed his men to kill enemy warriors as they slept. He would have rejected out of hand Torgan Plye's offer of help. Leading this army had changed him.
Tirnya could hardly blame him. She had lost two men in a skirmish with road brigands and it had taken every bit of her courage and composure to face the parents of one of them. Jenoe had lost hundreds of men the last time they faced the Fal'Borna, and they had yet to encounter a white-hair force as large as their own army. She could hardly imagine the burden he carried.
She knew only that with each day that passed her father seemed more like a stranger to her, and that she herself was to blame. Her idea, her fault.
"You look troubled."
She looked up from the fire. Gries had come to sit beside her. Several of the other captains had left them, probably to go sleep. Enly sat opposite her, speaking in low tones with Stri and one of the captains from Waterstone.
"I'm all right," she said, smiling weakly.
"I see." Clearly Gries didn't believe her.
She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and exhaled heavily. "It's the merchant," she told him. "I wish my father had sent him away."
"You must have known that he wouldn't."
Tirnya shrugged.
"If what he's saying about that basket he carries is true, he's offering us a powerful weapon. More powerful even than the wolves and eagles of the Mettai."
"So you think we should use it," she said, her voice flat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Enly was watching them, but she tried to ignore him.
"I don't want to," he said. "I sense that you don't, either. But we can't simply refuse. We don't know yet what's waiting for us at the Horn. We don't even know what we'll have to face at the next sept. We have to consider every possible weapon we have at our disposal."
"Not this one," she said without thinking.
"Is using the plague that different from what we've already done?"
"It is if we can't keep it from killing children."
"I don't think it kills children," Gries said. "Remember the first sept we found. Most of the adults had died-the survivors were mostly children who hadn't yet come into their power."
"Yes," Tirnya said, turning to face him. "Nearly all the survivors were children, but not all the children survived. They did at the second sept, because we made sure of it."
He offered a small shrug, as if conceding the point.
"You think I'm being soft," she said, straightening. "You think that I argue this way because I'm a woman."
Cries actually laughed. "You're putting words in my mouth."
Tirnya blushed, and was thankful for the darkness. "I'm sorry. I do that sometimes. My father hates it."
"No need to apologize. And I don't think you're being soft."
She looked at him doubtfully.
He laughed again. She liked the way he laughed. It was full-throated without being too loud, and it sounded genuine, unforced.
"All right," he said. "I don't think you're being soft because you're a woman. Different people respond to these things in different ways." He grinned. "How's that?"
"Better," she said, smiling in turn.
She glanced across the fire again. Enly and Stri were gone, as were most of the others.
"It's getting late," Tirnya said, starting to stand.
Suddenly he was holding her hand, his grip gentle but insistent. His fingers felt warm and slightly rough, though in a comforting sort of way.
"It's not that late," he said quietly.
She slowly sat back down.
"What will you do if you win this war, Tirnya?" he asked, holding her gaze.
She swallowed. "My father and I will have a great deal to do. We intend to make this plain an Eandi stronghold again. We want to return Deraqor and Silvralna to the glory of their early history. That will take work. It'll take years."
"It sounds like a hard life," Gries said. "Lonely as well."
"It might be," she said, trying to sound sure of herself. He was still holding her hand and she found herself staring at their fingers. "But it's something that he and I have pledged ourselves to do, for our people and for their children."
Actually, Tirnya wasn't quite sure where all this was coming from. She and her father had said little about what would come after the war. Prior to leaving Qalsyn, all of their planning had been for the march into Fal'Borna land and the battles that would ensue. Her father remained utterly focused on their next encounter with the Qirsi. She wasn't sure he had given any thought to what would happen once they recaptured the Horn. They hadn't really talked about the lives they would lead there.
"And is there no room in that future for anything more?" the Fairlea captain asked.
Abruptly Tirnya was trembling and she didn't know why. "I… I'm not sure. That's such a long way off."
He inclined his head slightly. "I suppose it is." He reached forward with his free hand and touched her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze again. "But I'd ask you to consider whether you don't deserve to be happy as well. You say that you do this for your people and their children. What about you, Tirnya? What about your children?"
She couldn't speak. She merely gazed back at him, scared by what he was saying, unwilling to get up and walk away.
After a moment, Gries leaned forward ever so slowly, his face drawing near to hers. She leaned away just a bit and he hesitated. But she didn't say anything to stop him, and her gaze kept flicking from his dark eyes to his lips. He leaned forward again and brushed her lips with his own. Once, then again.
Tirnya closed her eyes, her lips parted, her pulse racing like a river in flood.
He kissed her. No brushing of lips this time, but a full kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft and he caressed her cheek with a finger.
After a moment, Tirnya pulled away.
"This is a bad idea," she whispered, her eyes still closed, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
"You think so?" he whispered back. He brushed his lips against her cheek. "I thought it was rather brilliant myself."
She giggled, but her hands were shaking and she felt cold.
"I can't do this now, Gries. Maybe… I don't know. There may come a time. But not now, not in the middle of this war."
He kissed her again, and she let him.
"You're sure?" he asked in a husky voice.
"No," she said.
He leaned back, smiling. "I didn't expect that."
She felt her cheeks coloring again. "Neither did I, actually."
"So…?"
"I need some time to think," she said. "I don't…" She trailed off, shaking her head, unsure of what she intended to say.
He held a finger to her lips. "I think I understand." He leaned forward again and kissed her brow. Then he stood. "Good night, Captain Onjaef." She smiled.
"Good night, Captain Ballidyne."
Tirnya watched him walk away and took a long, deep breath. After a moment she glanced around, half expecting to see that Enly was watching her. He wasn't.
But the merchant was, his one good eye glinting in the firelight. Tirnya shuddered.
Chapter 17
He slept terribly, awakened again and again by imagined noises or chased from his slumber by dark visions. At one point he dreamed that he and his men were surrounded by hordes of Qirsi, all of them carrying brightly colored flames in their hands, all of them singing battle songs and laughing at the pitifully small army he commanded.
Awakening from that dream, Enly promptly fell asleep again and stepped into a new one. This time he saw only Tirnya and Gries. They were lying together on the plain, naked, their bodies entwined. At first they were oblivious to him, concerned only with the rhythm of their movements. But as Gries's thrusts grew ever more urgent, Tirny
a looked over at Enly and laughed.
This time when Enly awoke it was to a damp, grey dawn, and he was in as foul a mood as he could remember.
He'd walked away from the fire early enough the previous night that he hadn't actually seen Gries and Tirnya go off together to the captain's sleeping roll or to hers. But after his conversation the day before with Fairlea's lord heir, after watching them exchange glances throughout the evening, and seeing them sitting side by side speaking in lowered voices, Enly had little doubt that the two had spent the night together.
"So be it," he muttered to himself. "He can have her and good riddance." Brave words. Would that it were so easy.
He'd as much as pushed Gries into her arms, and for the life of him he couldn't imagine why he'd done it. Except that he'd had no choice. He couldn't have claimed that she was his, because Tirnya would have been quick to announce to the entire world that she wasn't. He could almost hear his father laughing at him, mocking him for wasting his thoughts on a girl who hadn't shared his bed for more than a year. Maisaak would have told him that the sick feeling in his gut was exactly what he deserved for allowing himself to become infatuated with an Onjaef.
Enly couldn't help thinking that he had put the idea of Gries in Tirnya's head the very day Qalsyn's army met up with the soldiers of Fairlea. He'd gone on and on about how much he hated the man; he'd warned her away from him.
Tirnya looked for ways to infuriate him; he should have realized that nothing could have made Gries more attractive to her.
"Idiot!" he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. He threw off his damp blankets, knelt, and rolled up the blankets and his sleeping roll. Then he stood and carried them to where he'd left Nallaj, his bay. Most of his men were already awake and they called greetings to him as he walked past.
When he reached the horses, Tirnya was there. Naturally.
He faltered at the sight of her, but recovered quickly, walking past her to recover his saddle.
He said nothing to her as he saddled his horse. She didn't speak either, and he preferred it that way. For about a minute.
He glanced at her a couple of times as he tied his sleeping roll in place. She appeared to be ignoring him.
"Good morning," he finally said.
She looked up, her expression mild. "Good morning." Her hair was tied back and a few wisps fell over her face. She looked beautiful, as always. Great.
"Late night?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Not particularly." Then, as an afterthought, "You?"
He let out a short, harsh laugh. "Hardly."
Tirnya frowned and gave him an odd look before turning her attention back to her saddle.
Enly cast about for something else to say, something that might help him figure out just what had happened between her and Gries the night before. But nothing came to him, and he decided he'd be best off walking away in silence.
"Damn!" she said, still struggling with her saddle.
"What's the matter?"
"I can't get the cinch to fasten."
He walked over to where she was standing and squatted down to examine the buckle and leather.
"There's your problem," he said after a moment, pointing to a twist in the leather just at the point where it passed through the metal buckle. He struggled with it for several moments before finally untwisting the strap. He stood. "It should be all right now."
"Thanks," she said, barely meeting his gaze.
"I thought I'd find the two of you together."
Enly and Tirnya turned at the same time.
The merchant, Torgan Plye, was there, a smile on his face, his one good eye gazing at the two of them.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said, in a tone that gave the lie to his words.
Enly and Tirnya had grown up together. Even as children, raised by fathers who hated each other, they had seen each other in the Qalsyn marketplace and in the boxes at the Harvest Tournament. And in all these years, he'd never known her to be afraid of anything or anyone. It was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with her. But at the sight of this hulking merchant, with his scarred face and unctuous smile, she edged closer to him. At any other time, he would have enjoyed this, but he had to admit that the man made him uncomfortable, too.
"What do you want?" Enly asked him, making no effort to sound welcoming.
"Forgive the intrusion, Captain," Torgan said. "I merely wish to have a word with you and Captain Onjaef."
Tirnya eyed him warily. "About what?"
"You made it quite plain to your father and to me that you didn't want me riding with your army," Torgan said. "I think I can even understand why. This plague is.." He shook his head. "It's a nasty business. I know that. I can see why you wouldn't want to use it, even against an enemy as dangerous as the Fal'Borna."
"But you're going to try to convince us to use it anyway, aren't you?" Enly said.
Torgan regarded him with an amused expression. "Yes," he said, chuckling. "Yes, I am."
Tirnya turned her back on him to adjust her saddle. "You're wasting your breath."
"You haven't given me a chance to waste anything, Captain. At least hear me out before you dismiss what I have to say."
Tirnya faced him again. "Why should I? What you're talking about is cruel and evil and… and unworthy of a soldier of Stelpana."
The merchant gazed back at her placidly. "Tell me, Captain, how do you intend to take back D'Raqor?" He said the name with a Fal'Borna inflection, seeming to know how much this would bother her. "Defeating septs is one thing, but taking a fortified city from the Fal'Borna is quite another."
"We'll lay siege to it, as armies do. We may draw upon the magic of the Mettai who march with us, but that's different."
"I agree," Torgan said. "It is different. And do you intend to take S'Vralna the same way?"
"Yes, of course."
The man nodded. "I see."
"Is there a point to this?" Tirnya asked.
"What would you say if I told you that S'Vralna is already in ruins, that taking it back will be as simple as marching through the city gates and claiming it for Stelpana?"
Tirnya gaped at him, her face pallid in the grey morning light. "Silvralna's in ruins? You've seen it?"
"Yes. I was there. Most of the white-hairs who lived there are dead. The vast majority of those who survived are children." A small smile crossed his lips and was gone. "The second largest city on the Horn, and you'll reclaim it without losing a single man. Surely you see the value of that."
"But you say that the city is ruined."
Torgan inclined his head, conceding the point. "The damage was extensive.
"I don't want that to happen to Deraqor."
"A siege will damage the city, too. And if you lay siege to D'Raqor but hold back in your attacks for fear of harming her, you'll never stand a chance."
Tirnya made no answer. She just stared at him for a moment longer before turning back to her mount.
Torgan faced Enly. "You know I'm right. Both of you do. You may not like the thought of using this plague as a weapon, but the fact of the matter is you already have. You wouldn't be out here, marching on the Horn, if the plague hadn't ravaged the land. Isn't that so?"
Enly couldn't deny it. This invasion had been Tirnya's idea, and as the merchant surmised, she had seen in the plague and its spread across the plain all the justification she needed. So had Jenoe, and Enly's father, the lord governor.
"Well, think about it," Torgan said, when neither of them answered. "I'm not so foolish as to believe that soldiers like you will put much stock in what a merchant has to say about warfare. But you have to decide whether you truly wish to win this war. You may not like my methods, but I can assure you of victory. I don't think even your Mettai allies can do that."
He smiled faintly, nodded to Enly, and walked away.
Tirnya glanced back and, seeing that Torgan had left them, exhaled slowly. "I don't like him," she said with quiet intensity.
&n
bsp; "You hide it well."
She gave Enly a sour look. "I suppose you like him."
"Actually I don't. And before you even suggest it, I don't agree with him about using the plague, either."
"Really?"
"Really. But he raises a good point. We're already taking advantage of the plague. How much worse would it be to use it as he suggests?"
She shook her head. "It's different. Don't ask me how, because I can't explain it. I just know that it is."
"What will your father do?" Enly asked.
"I don't know. He… he hasn't been himself in recent days. After losing all those men to the white-hairs' fire magic.." She shook her head again. "Before that, I think he would have sent the merchant away without speaking to him."
Enly wasn't as sure of this as she seemed to be, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
Their eyes met, and for an awkward moment they stood gazing at each other in silence.
He looked away first. "I should see to my men," he said. "I'm sure your father will want to be moving soon." He took hold of his mount's reins and started to lead the beast away.
"Enly, wait."
He turned to face her. Her brow was creased, and she looked like she was about to say something. Then she smiled weakly and gave one more quick shake of her head.
"It was nothing."
He didn't believe her, but he didn't force the matter. He merely nodded and walked away with Nallaj trailing behind him.
Before he had gone far, he heard someone calling to him. At first he couldn't see who it was, and he didn't recognize the voice. After a moment, though, he spotted Mander, Fayonne's son, striding toward him, waving a hand over his head.
The young man stopped in front of him, slightly winded and frowning. He was an odd-looking man, with angular features and a long, narrow face. His skin looked pale in the silvery light. With his black hair hanging limply to his shoulders and his dark eyes peering out from beneath his brow, he had the look of an overgrown waif.
"Your men didn't know where you were," he said. "And they didn't seem inclined to help me find you."
That didn't surprise Enly at all. Like most of the soldiers in Jenoe's army, his men didn't like the idea of relying on magic in this war, and they wanted nothing to do with the Mettai. They would have done all they could to keep the man away from their captain.
