by DAVID B. COE
He stared at her. "The Mettai," he said, the word coming out as softly as a breath.
Tirnya nodded. "The Mettai. What if we succeeded in those early days of the wars because like the white-hairs we didn't only carry weapons into battle, we carried magic as well?"
She didn't wait for his answer. She stood, drained her cup, and spun away from the table.
"Where are you going?" Enly called after her.
"Home," she said over her shoulder. "I need to speak with my father."
Chapter 14
Jenoe's reaction was not quite what Tirnya had expected. The breathless, wide-eyed whisper she had drawn from Enly, the quickened pulse and rush of excitement she had felt herself-these, or some variation, were what she also expected from her father.
Instead, he merely stared back at her, looking perplexed, and said, "The Mettai?"
"Don't you see it, Father? We don't have to fight this war without magic. It doesn't have to be Eandi might against white-hair sorcery anymore. We can ride into battle and challenge their greatest strength."
Her father shook his head, clearly still skeptical. "I think you're overly taken with the idea, Tirnya."
"`Overly taken'!" she repeated, sitting back in her chair beside the hearth and shaking her head in amazement. "I can't believe I'm hearing this."
"First of all, Mettai magic is no match for the power that Qirsi sorcerers wield. They have no Weavers to coordinate their attacks. Every conjuring requires blood. It's not like the magic of a white-hair at all."
"But still," she said, "it's something. It's more than we have without them."
Jenoe shrugged, conceding the point with obvious reluctance. "Perhaps, but that's the other matter. Over the past several centuries, our kind have had few dealings with the Mettai. We've shunned them, and they've kept to themselves in the northern reaches near the Companion Lakes. What makes you think they'd want to help us?"
"Their eyes are as dark as ours, Father. And I doubt very much that they have any affection for the Qirsi. As I understand it, the Mettai have been shunned by both races."
"Yes, they have. But after all these years that's hardly the basis for an alliance."
"Maybe they don't want to be shunned anymore," Tirnya said. She sensed that the Mettai were the key to all of this, and she refused to give up on the idea. "Maybe they're ready to reconcile with the sovereignties. For all we know, they have been for years, but none have approached them."
"You're thinking with your heart, and not your mind. The Mettai are a proud people. There would have been no need for them to wait for us. If they wanted to reconcile, they could have approached one of the sovereignties long ago." He shook his head. "Whatever their history, at this point they keep to themselves because they want to. No one bothers them, which I assume is just how they like it. I can't imagine them suddenly wanting to fight in a new round of Blood Wars."
"Fine then," Tirnya said. "We can offer them gold or land, or whatever it is they want. If they help us take back Deraqor and the Horn they can have the entire Central Plain, for all I care."
"I'm not sure that will work, either."
She propelled herself out of the chair and began to pace the chamber, struggling to control her frustration. She felt her father watching her, but she didn't look at him.
"I'm just trying to make you see this plainly, Tirnya. It's not going to be nearly as easy to make an ally of the Mettai as you seem to think it is."
Tirnya halted just in front of him. "Put that aside for a moment, and answer this: Do you think it would help us to have them fighting on our side?"
"If it were possi-"
"No!" she said. "Never mind the difficulties of getting them to join us. I'm just asking you if you think it would help."
He seemed to weigh this for several moments before nodding. "All other considerations aside, I'd have to say that it would. Their magic might not be as potent as that of the Qirsi, but it's formidable in its own way."
"Not only that," Tirnya said, "but if we could approach them quietly and add them to our army without the white-hairs knowing it, their magic would come as a complete surprise to the Fal'Borna." She squatted down in front of him, looking into his dark eyes. "Imagine that, Father! Think of what it would be like for the Qirsi to find themselves confronted not only with a great army, but one that somehow could attack them with magic. By the time they recovered and figured out what was happening…" She stopped herself, afraid to say the words aloud. "Well, it would give us a tremendous advantage."
"It might at that," Jenoe said soberly. And she knew what was coming next. "But that brings us back to the point I was making earlier. It's fine to speculate about all of this. But I don't believe we can convince the Mettai to fight with us."
"As the man leading this army, what would you be willing to give them in order to have them wielding their magic on our behalf?"
Jenoe frowned. "What would I give them?"
"We're hoping to win back our homeland, to take back Deraqor. We have gold, we'll have land. What would you give the Mettai?"
"I really don't know," he said, shaking his head.
"Well, think about it," Tirnya told him. "We've been trying to come up with a plan that will give us a chance against the Qirsi. And we can't wait much longer. The Snows are coming, and the effects of this plague won't last forever. In my opinion, this is the best chance we have, and I intend to tell His Lordship as much as soon as he'll see me."
Jenoe regarded her for a long time, saying nothing. At last he shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Tirnya. I've been thinking…" He faltered and looked away. "I don't think this is such a good idea."
"Going to the Mettai, you mean?" she asked. But she had the feeling that he meant much more.
"No. I'm not sure about that either. But I mean this whole plan: attacking the Fal'Borna, trying to take back Deraqor."
His words struck at her heart. It was bad enough arguing with Enly and hearing the doubt in Oliban's voice. But to learn now that her own father doubted her! She wasn't usually given to tears, but for just an instant she thought that she might cry. A moment later she had managed to master her emotions. Jenoe gave no indication that he understood how much he had hurt her, and that was fine with Tirnya.
"There's nothing wrong with the idea," she said evenly. "The last time we spoke you were all for it. We can do this, Father. You know we can. The white-hairs are suffering; the Mettai might well be willing to join us. But really it's up to you. If you speak against the idea, Maisaak won't allow us to go forward."
"Then I should speak against it," he said quietly, staring at the fire.
"Just the other day you agreed that the Horn and Deraqor were worth fighting for. You were the one who arranged for us to see His Lordship."
His eyes flicked toward hers. "I was wrong."
"No, you weren't. Now, what happened?"
Jenoe shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"It was Mother, wasn't it?" Tirnya said, knowing as she spoke that it was true. "She talked you out of it."
"You'd talked me into it," he said, sounding sullen. "I've been caught between the two of you before, and I don't like it one bit. There are times when you're right, but this isn't one of them. I'm too old to be marching off to war so late in the year. And I have no desire to die in a hopeless battle, even if it is for Deraqor."
"It's not-" She stopped, shaking her head. Enly, her father, and now her mother as well. Her lead riders hadn't spoken against the idea of attacking the Fal'Borna, but they wouldn't have. They were good soldiers, all of them. They understood that it wasn't their place to gainsay their captain. It seemed clear from Oliban's questions, though, that he had his doubts, too.
It appeared that the only people who agreed with her were Stri and the lord governor, and having Maisaak on her side made her uncomfortable. What if Enly was right? What if Maisaak only encouraged her because he saw her idea as an easy way to rid himself of the Onjaefs? The truth was, until sh
e'd thought of approaching the Mettai, Tirnya herself had harbored doubts as to their ability to defeat the Fal'Borna.
Still, she wasn't ready to give up her dream so easily.
"I have a compromise to offer," she said, pacing once more.
Her father looked up at her. "What kind of compromise?"
"I still think that this can work, that we have a chance to take back the Horn and Deraqor. You think I'm being reckless and that we're doomed to fai1."
Jenoe winced. "Tirnya-"
"It's all right, Father. I'm just about the only one who believes that we can succeed at this, so maybe I am being a bit reckless."
"What's your idea?"
"We lead an army westward to the Silverwater, and then we seek out the Mettai. If we can convince them to join us, we march on to Deraqor and fight for our family's lands. If we can't we return to Qalsyn."
He looked genuinely surprised. "You'd do this?"
"I'm not certain I have any choice."
"What if Maisaak won't agree?"
Tirnya shrugged. "Then there's really not very much we can do, is there?"
Jenoe gazed into the fire again. After a few moments, he began to nod slowly. "Very well. We'll seek an audience with His Lordship tomorrow."
"All right," Tirnya said, nodding in turn. It wasn't ideal; it wasn't as much as she had hoped. But it was something. Her dream was alive still. Considering all those who were arrayed against her, that was as much as she could have expected.
Every sound was too loud, as if some evil sorcerer from the west had made his ears five times their normal size. The least light stabbed into his eyes like sparkling shards of glass, and there was a taste in his mouth that had him wondering if he'd snacked on ashes from the floor of his hearth before stumbling into bed the night before. This last he didn't dwell on for long, because the very thought of eating anything-anything at all-nearly made him retch.
All Enly wanted to do was sleep. A day or two ought to have done it. But once more his father had summoned him to his chambers, and though Enly's memories of the night before could generously be called sketchy, he did recall something of his conversation with Tirnya. He could only assume that once more the Onjaefs had requested an audience with the lord governor, and once more, rather than face Jenoe and Tirnya alone, Maisaak had called for him. He might have found it amusing, but the mere thought of laughter served only to redouble the pain in his head.
The guards outside his father's chamber were, of course, unfailingly courteous, except for the fact that they kept yelling at him, and when they knocked on His Lordship's door they seemed to be using a smith's sledge.
They opened the door at his father's reply and gestured for him to enter.
"Thank you," he whispered as he stepped past them.
He thought he heard one of the men snicker at his back.
"You look awful," Maisaak said as Enly stumbled in.
Enly shaded his eyes with an open hand and searched the chamber for his father, who was by his writing table. "Thank you," he muttered. "Would you mind closing the shutters on those windows? It's blinding in here."
Maisaak actually laughed. "Sit down. I'll have the healer bring you a tonic."
Enly dropped himself into a chair that faced toward one of the walls and closed his eyes. "I take it that's a no."
His father didn't answer. Instead he stepped to the door, opened it, and spoke briefly with one of his guards.
"Late night, eh?" Maisaak asked a moment later.
"So it seems."
"What was the occasion?"
Enly shook his head, both hands raised to his temples. "I haven't any idea.,'
That much was a lie, but after all these years, telling his father that he was still drinking himself senseless over Tirnya Onjaef struck him as unwise.
"I suppose you know why I called for you."
"There's no need to shout. And yes, I assume this is about Jenoe and Tirnya."
"Good. I'm glad to know that you still have your wits about you, such as they are."
A thin smile flitted across Enly's face, but he didn't respond or open his eyes.
"Do you have any idea what the Onjaefs might want this time?" his father asked.
"Tirnya's been making plans for their new war. I suppose they've come up with something."
"Perhaps," Maisaak said. "Would this have anything to do with your present condition?"
"You think their plans include getting me drunk?"
"You know what I I… Never mind."
His father went back to the parchments on his desk, leaving Enly to wallow in his misery. When she'd left him the night before Tirnya had been saying something about the Mettai, but that was really the extent of what he could recall. In truth, he didn't want to remember more. When he first spotted her in the Swift Water, she'd still been angry about their argument earlier in the day. But she'd seemed pleased as she left, and it occurred to him that whatever plan she and Jenoe had concocted might well have originated with him. The thought made him feel even sicker, which he hadn't believed was possible.
He might have dozed off, because the next thing he knew his father was shaking him none too gently.
"What?" he complained.
Maisaak forced a warm cup into his hand. "Here's your tonic." Enly managed to open his eyes. "Oh. Thank you."
His father didn't answer.
He lifted the cup to his lips, then hesitated. The brew smelled strongly of mint, ginger, and dittany, and he wondered if he could keep it down. "Drink it," Maisaak said. "You'll feel better."
"And if it has the opposite effect?"
His father's mouth twisted sourly. "If it comes to that, there's a chamber pot in the next room."
Enly nodded and took a small sip. When that did nothing to make him feel worse, he took another, and then a third. Soon he was drinking the brew more freely, and by the time another knock on the door signaled the arrival of Tirnya and her father, he was starting to feel just a bit more like himself.
He stood to greet the marshal and his daughter, his head spinning slightly as he did.
Jenoe grinned and nodded toward the cup. "I'd know that scent anywhere. Late night?"
Enly glanced at his father. "Why is it that men of a certain age always assume that a hangover indicates a late night? I'm perfectly capable of drinking myself into a stupor before midnight bells."
" 'Men of a certain age,' " Jenoe repeated, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Maisaak. "I think, Your Lordship, that we've just been insulted."
Maisaak smiled thinly. "Pay no attention to him, Marshal. I've learned that's the best way to handle his little barbs." He indicated a pair of chairs near his writing table. "Please sit," he said.
"Thank you, Your Lordship," Tirnya said.
They took their seats, as did the lord governor. Enly returned to his chair near the hearth. Two servants appeared, laden with platters of cheese, fruits, and a flask of honey wine. He tried to ignore the food and the wine.
"So," Maisaak began, once the servants had withdrawn, "you have matters to discuss with me?"
Jenoe and Tirnya shared a look. After a moment the marshal nodded to her, as if in encouragement.
"Yes, Your Lordship," she said. "Since speaking with you last, we've come to see that any assault on the Fal'Borna would be… well, it would be very difficult." She cleared her throat. "More so, I fear, than I had originally thought."
Enly's father nodded. "No doubt. A siege is always difficult. And against the Qirsi…" He shrugged, leaving the thought unfinished.
"Yes," Tirnya said. "We'd be risking a great many lives and destroying a peace that's lasted more than a century. And, of course, we have no guarantee of success."
"There are no guarantees in warfare, Captain," Maisaak said. He narrowed his eyes. "Are you telling me that you've reconsidered, that you no longer want to take back your ancestral homeland?"
"No, Your Lordship."
Maisaak frowned. "Then, I'm afraid I'm confused."
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"Forgive me," Tirnya said. "I'm not explaining this well. We've come to the conclusion that we have but one path to success. It carries some risks, and you may not approve. If you give us your pemission, and it works, we'll continue on into Fal'Borna lands and take back Deraqor. If it doesn't, we'd choose to return here, without facing the Fal'Borna."
She had Maisaak's attention. Enly could see that much. He had a look on his face that was both wary and amused.
"And what is it you propose?" the lord governor asked.
Tirnya hesitated, casting another glance at her father. Again the marshal nodded.
"We'd like to approach the Mettai, Your Lordship. We'd like to propose an alliance with them."
For a moment, Maisaak didn't so much as blink. It appeared to Enly that this was the very last thing he had expected her to say.
"The Mettai," he whispered. He looked at Jenoe. "Was this your idea?"
"No," Jenoe said. "Tirnya came up with this all on her own."
Through the haze of whiskey and ale came a sudden burst of memories. In the instant before Tirnya opened her mouth Enly knew what she would say and more than anything he wanted to silence her. But his reactions were slow. And really, what could he have said even if he had been quicker? In the next moment it was too late.
"Actually, Your Lordship," she said, "without Enly I never would have thought of it."
Maisaak's eyebrow went up and he glanced Enly's way once more, his expression unreadable. "Is that so?"
Tirnya appeared to realize what she had done. "He was merely answering my questions about the old Blood Wars, Your Lordship. I was curious as to how Eandi armies had managed to win as many early battles as they did, and I knew that you had encouraged him to learn as much as possible about the history of the wars."
Enly's father frowned. "And he said that our ancestors fought alongside the Mettai?"
"No, Your Lordship. He merely mentioned that the Eandi clans were more united in the early years, which made me wonder if perhaps they had been so united as to ally themselves with the Eandi sorcerers."
Maisaak still did not look satisfied. But he nodded once, his familiar thin smile fixed on his lips again. "I see. That's quite a leap, Captain. Some might even call it inspired." The words were kind enough, but he didn't sound admiring so much as annoyed.
