by DAVID B. COE
"He was closest to L'Norr, the new a'laq," the woman said. "I think you'd be best off staying away from him. He won't be interested in your sympathy."
Besh nodded, thinking that it had been a mistake to come speak with the woman. "Very well. Thank you, N'Qlae."
The two Mettai left her shelter and returned to their own. Neither of them said a word.
They ate their evening meal with Grinsa, Cresenne, and Bryntelle, and for once their conversation with the Forelanders didn't linger on matters of war or their captivity or even the Fal'Borna. They exchanged stories about their homelands and their families. They talked about magic. And they tried to ignore the fact that come the morning they would say good-bye and never see one another again. They stayed with Grinsa and Cresenne late into the night, lowering their voices after Bryntelle fell asleep. But still, the evening ended too soon.
The following morning Besh and Sirj awoke with first light and, upon emerging from their shelter, found a young Fal'Borna warrior waiting for them in the cold morning air. Two horses stood beside the man, each laden with a pair of leather sacks filled with dried rilda meat, smoked cheese, and hard bread. Besh thanked the man, who just nodded and left them.
As the warrior strode away, Grinsa and Cresenne arrived from a different direction.
"Is everything all right?" Grinsa asked, staring after the Fal'Borna. "Yes," Besh said. "Horses, food-this is all that we were hoping for." Grinsa frowned, glancing around the sept. "The a'laq hasn't come." Besh smiled ruefully. "No, but I didn't expect him."
"You saved the life of every man and woman here. You deserve more."
"We're Mettai," Besh said, as if that should have explained everything. Grinsa shook his head, looking like he might say more. But Cresenne placed a slender hand on his shoulder, and that seemed to calm him.
He stepped forward and gathered Sirj in a warm embrace. "You're a good man," the Forelander said. "May the gods grant you and your family a long, happy life together."
Sirj thumped him on the back. "Thank you, Grinsa. May they help you and yours find a home where you can be safe and live out your years in peace."
Grinsa stepped back, and Cresenne gave Sirj a light kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for saving my husband," she said.
Sirj laughed. "I think he returned the favor more than once."
Grinsa faced Besh, smiling sadly. "You still have F'Ghara's necklace?" he asked. "You might need it if you encounter any Fal'Borna on the way back." Besh patted his pocket. "I have it. But we'll try to avoid any septs just the same."
"Probably wise," Grinsa said. He regarded Besh for several moments. "I wish we'd had more time," he said. "I think I could have learned much from you."
"Thank you," Besh said. "I wonder if you would do me the honor of exchanging blades with me."
The Forelander looked puzzled.
"It's an old Mettai tradition," Besh told him. "A gesture of friendship and respect."
He pulled out his knife and offered it to Grinsa. After a moment, Grinsa took it. Then he pulled out his own blade and handed it to Besh.
"You honor me," Grinsa said.
Besh smiled. "That was my intention."
They embraced like brothers, and to Besh's surprise he found himself blinking back tears.
"Be well, Besh," Grinsa whispered. "May the rest of your days be filled with joy."
"And yours, Grinsa."
Besh released the man and turned to Cresenne. "Take care of him," he said. "He seems to spend much of his time taking care of others."
She smiled. "You've noticed that, have you?" She kissed Besh as she had Sirj. "I'll do my best. And who will take care of you?"
Besh smiled in turn. "Sirj will. And his wife, my daughter. And their children. I go home to a good life. You needn't worry about me."
"Good," Cresenne said. "Then I won't. I'll just thank you for all you did for us-and for the Southlands-and leave it at that."
Besh nodded, his eyes stinging again. He turned quickly to Sirj. "Let's be on our way," he said. "We've a long journey." He paused, looking at the Forelanders one last time. Then he climbed onto his horse and led Sirj out of the sept and onto the plain.
For a long time the two Mettai rode in silence, as a cold wind swirled around them. Besh had expected to feel cold and miserable throughout this ride back to Kirayde, and he thought it likely that there would be times when he would. But for this morning at least, his relief at being away from the Fal'Borna and on his way home was enough to keep him warm.
"Do you think they're all right?" Sirj asked suddenly. "Who?"
"Elica and the children."
Besh could picture them all in his mind-Elica, strong and long-limbed, her dark hair framing her face; Mihas, Annze, and Cam laughing at some joke one of them had told, their dark eyes dancing. And beside them all, he saw his beloved Ema, dead these many years, but still a presence in his heart and his memories. She looked at him now and smiled, as if to reassure him. To reassure them both.
"Yes," he said. "They're fine."
Sirj cast a look his way. Clearly he wanted to believe what Besh had said, but was afraid to. "How can you be so sure?" he asked.
Besh grinned. "Call it the intuition of an old man. They're well, and they can't wait to welcome us home."
Chapter 27
EASTERN PLAIN, SOUTH OF THE COMPANION LAKES,
CELEBRATION MOON WANING
U'Selle had never thought that she would ride to war as the leader of her people. She could hardly think of men like S'Doryn, T'Noth, and T'Kaar as warriors, and she didn't think of herself as an a'laq who could lead men into battle. But with an Eandi army on the march in Fal'Borna lands, and with so many septs ravaged by the Mettai plague, even people in villages as remote as Lowna had been called to arms.
She was old and frail, but she was a Weaver, and she could still ride. She had spoken with other a'laqs, who had told her that a large Fal'Borna army was on its way to face the Eandi, and a second was forming in case that one failed. She and her people were to ride south, along the Silverwater, to make certain that no Eandi reinforcements entered the clan lands from Stelpana.
They rode to N'Kiel's Span, a short journey of four days, and they made camp by the wash. There they waited, watching for any sign of Eandi soldiers. U'Selle had expected that the journey would be a hardship, but she found it exhilarating instead. The cough that would eventually kill her seemed to subside, leaving her feeling stronger and more alive than she had in some time.
S'Doryn rode with her, as did the brothers, T'Noth and T'Kaar. Despite their grim task they spoke of many things and spent a good deal of their time laughing. U'Selle never would have thought that riding to war could be such fun. Perhaps this was why men of the Southlands did it so often. So long as there were no battles to be fought, she thought she could continue to enjoy herself.
And so she was deeply relieved when, just three nights after their arrival at the span, an a'laq named O'Tal entered her dreams to tell her that the fighting had ended, and that she and her people could return home.
"The Eandi army is marching your way," he said. "But we've given them leave to cross the plain back to their home. If you see them, you should allow them to cross the wash."
"We will, A'Laq," she said. "Thank you for letting me know. How did the battles go? Were we victorious?"
"There were losses on both sides," he told her. "This was a war of magic. We should be grateful that it didn't last long."
He told her no more than that, and she found his reticence unsettling.
U'Selle informed her people the following morning that they would be heading back to Lowna. Most of the men seemed pleased, though confused. As they began to break camp and prepare for the short ride home, S'Doryn approached her.
"So we've won?" he asked. "Just like that?"
She regarded him briefly, then started walking back to where she'd tethered her horse, knowing that he would follow. "I don't know exactly what happened," she said quietly. "It sounds
as though the battle was… inconclusive. The Eandi are leaving, so clearly they didn't win. But when I gave O'Tal a chance to say that we had won, he refused. When was the last time a Fal'Borna warrior did that?"
"What did he say?"
"That it was a war of magic, and that we should be glad its over." U'Selle made herself smile. "Go. Saddle your horse. The sooner we leave, the sooner you'll see N'Tevva and your girls again."
He smiled at that. But before he could say anything, a cry went up from the far side of the camp. The two of them shared a look and then hurried in that direction. By the time they reached the western end of the camp, several of the men had gathered there and were watching a lone rider approach on horseback.
It appeared to be a large man, and U'Selle thought it likely that he hadn't spotted the army yet. He was close enough that she could hear him singing to himself-he sang poorly and loudly. Their camp was near a cluster of trees, which might have explained how the man could have missed them, though U'Selle thought it odd. Perhaps he didn't see well.
A moment later, he did see them. Suddenly he reined his horse to a halt. After a moment's indecision, he turned southward and spurred his animal to a gallop.
"After him!" U'Selle said. "I want to know who he is."
In moments several of the men, including T'Noth, were on their mounts thundering after the stranger. U'Selle and S'Doryn returned to their horses, saddled them, and followed. By the time they caught up with the others, they had surrounded the man.
He was Eandi; a big, heavy brute of a man with a scarred face and only one good eye. His hair was the color of storm clouds and unkempt. His clothing was tattered and travel-stained. His mount, on the other hand, was an impressive beast. It might even have been a Fal'Borna horse.
The other riders parted when U'Selle and S'Doryn reached them, allowing the two of them to face the man.
"Who are you?" the man demanded. "I've asked them but they won't tell me.
U'Selle raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps that's because you're an Eandi on Fal'Borna land, and that's a question for us to ask you."
The man scowled at her.
"I'm a merchant. I'm headed back into Stelpana."
"A merchant?" she repeated doubtfully. "Where are your wares, merchant?"
The man licked his lips, his one good eye darting from face to face, as if seeking a friend, or searching for a weakness in their circle.
"I lost them," he said at last. "I… had a dispute with one of your a'laqs. He took my wares and my cart."
"But he gave you a horse?" S'Doryn asked. He sounded skeptical, too. "What's your name?" U'Selle asked the man.
He didn't answer. After a moment's hesitation he reached into his pocket and pulled out something that looked like a burnt piece of cloth or parchment.
"Don't come near me!" the man said with such menace that U'Selle nearly laughed out loud. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you give me no other choice."
"You'll hurt us with that?" S'Doryn asked.
"Yes. You can laugh all you like. But I can destroy you all with this. I'm nearly home. I just need to get across the wash. And you're going to let me, because if you don't you'll all die."
Several of the men were chuckling now, but T'Noth wasn't, and neither was U'Selle. Looking more closely at the thing in the man's hand, she saw that it wasn't parchment after all. And it appeared too stiff to be cloth. An instant later it hit her like a fist.
"What is that you're holding?" she asked in a hard voice. But she knew.
"You know of the plague," the man said, looking her in the eye, his back straight. "The one conjured by the Mettai."
"We know of it," U'Selle said.
"This is a piece of cursed basket. It still carries that Mettai magic, and if you come near me you'll be sickened. All of you will be. I've seen what this plague can do, and trust me, you want no part of it."
S'Doryn glared at the man, murder in his pale eyes. "We've seen what it can do, too, you bastard. You dare to use that plague as a weapon?"
"I will if I must. It's up to you. Let me go, and you'll be spared. Try to stop me, and you'll die a terrible death."
"No," U'Selle said.
The man stared at her. "What do you mean, no?"
She smiled harshly. "I mean no, you won't be making any of us sick. Not with that."
"You think you can stop me?"
"I know we can," she said. "Apparently you haven't heard that there's a second Mettai spell. Its spread across the plain nearly as quickly as that first one did. It makes us immune to the plague."
The man's hand holding the scrap of basket dropped a bit, but then he raised it again. "I don't believe you. There is no such spell."
"There is," she said. "It was conjured by two Mettai on the Central Plain. It saved the lives of men who had been sick with the plague and it made them immune. One of those men walked in my dreams as Weavers can and passed the spell on to me. I've passed it on to all the people in my village. So that basket you hold is no more dangerous to me than a blade of grass."
And to make the point, she glanced at the scrap of basket and used her magic to make it burst into flame. The merchant let out a small cry and dropped it. It fell to the ground and continued to burn, as the merchant watched helplessly.
"This man who came to you," he said, his voice barely audible. "Tell me about him."
"He was a Forelander, living now in-"
"E'Menua's sept," the man finished for her.
"You know him."
The merchant nodded. "I thought he was dead."
"You were wrong," U'Selle said. "Now, merchant, tell me your name, so that when other a'laqs ask me, I'll be able to tell them who it was we killed."
The man sighed, seeming more weary than scared. "My name is Torgan Plye."
U'Selle's eyes widened. "You're Torgan Plye?"
He nodded.
"You're the one who spread the plague in the first place."
"Actually," he said, "I wasn't. At least not intentionally." A bitter smile flitted across his homely face. "I don't suppose that matters much, does it?"
"No," U'Selle said coldly. "You were declared an enemy of the Fal'Borna a long time ago. And today you threatened to kill us with a plague that has already devastated our land. You've earned this death. Get down off your horse."
The merchant dismounted and looked around the circle, shaking his head slowly. "I knew you white-hair bastards would be the death of me. This morning I started thinking that I might actually make it to the wash, but even then I knew. One way or another, you were going to find a way to kill me."
"It seems you were right," U'Selle said evenly. "Do you have anything else you wish to say?"
He frowned. "I hope you all rot."
U'Selle nodded once. "And I hope that Bian is as merciful as you deserve, Torgan Plye."
She reached for her shaping magic and snapped the man's neck. He collapsed to the ground and was still, his one good eye still open, staring up into the sky.
"Leave him for the dogs and crows," U'Selle said loudly. "It's time we were headed home."
The others stared at the man's body for a moment or two before slowly riding back to the camp. Only T'Noth, S'Doryn, T'Kaar, and U'Selle remained.
"I wonder if the spell would have worked," T'Noth said.
U'Selle looked at him. "You mean the one that made us immune?" The young man nodded.
"I believe it would have," she said. "But I'm just as glad that we didn't have to find out." U'Selle turned to S'Doryn. "The Forelander told me that the old Mettai witch was killed by the two men who made this new spell. And now Torgan's dead, too. When we return to Lowna, you can tell Jynna that all this is finally over."
S'Doryn smiled sadly. "I could tell her that," he said. "And I will if she asks. But usually she doesn't like to talk about it, and I can hardly blame her."
U'Selle reached out and patted his shoulder. "I think she and Vettala are lucky to have you."
"Funny," the man s
aid. "N'Tevva and I feel that way about them."
The four of them wheeled their horses away from the broken body of the Eandi merchant and returned to their camp. Within the hour, they were riding back to their home by the Companion Lakes.
Epilogue
Grinsa, Cresenne, and Bryntelle left the sept only a few days after the departure of the two Mettai. L'Norr and D'Pera spoke to them at length in the days before, trying to convince them to stay, but both Grinsa and Cresenne had long since made up their minds to leave the Central Plain.
They rode north and west on the horses they had first purchased in Yorl, their very first day in the Southlands. They skirted the Fallow Downs, wishing to avoid the J'Balanar, and entered the Berylline Forest. There they encountered the woodland clans-the A'Vahl and the M'Saaren. They had heard other Southlands Qirsi speak of both peoples, and had been prepared to find that the A'Vahl were difficult and arrogant. After the Fal'Borna, they seemed anything but.
They found an A'Vahl settlement along the eastern banks of the river named for the clan. They were welcomed there, of course, because Grinsa was a Weaver, and even among the less warlike clans of the Southlands, Weavers were sought after. They stayed among the A'Vahl for nearly half a turn, learning the ways of the clan, and enjoying their wonderful food, which included a dazzling array of roots and greens, fruits and nuts, and some of the finest venison either Grinsa or Cresenne had ever tasted. They were shown how the A'Vahl shaped wood into bowls and furniture and musical instruments that they traded with peddlers from throughout the land. To his surprise, Grinsa discovered that he had a certain talent for woodwork, just as Cresenne had found during their turns with the Fal'Borna that she had a penchant for tanning.
It was curiosity, more than anything else, that made them leave. They liked the A'Vahl and both of them believed that they might have made a life for themselves there. But they had heard much about the M'Saaren, and so they crossed the A'Vahl River and journeyed south, until they found a large M'Saaren settlement called Sh'Rette. Once more they were welcomed into the village, and once more they were impressed with what they found there.
