"A'Laq?" came the voice from outside again.
"Just a moment!"
"I ask only that you keep an open mind, A'Laq," Grinsa said. "I don't wish to see any man-Eandi or Qirsi-executed without cause, and I can't imagine you do, either."
"An open mind," E'Menua repeated, looking skeptical.nodded.
"Very well." He looked past Grinsa to the entryway and called for the others to enter.'Daer and L'Norr stepped into the shelter, each of them guiding one of the merchants by the arm. The Weavers glanced briefly at the a'laq, but then stared at Grinsa. The shelter was dimly lit, but he felt certain that the welt on his cheek showed clearly, even in this poor light. No doubt both men would delight in seeing it.'Menua sat at his usual spot, and gestured for Grinsa and the other Fal'Borna to do the same.began to sit as well, but Q'Daer stopped him.
"You stand, Eandi. Both of you," he added, looking at the other merchant.
"Tell us what you did to S'Plaed's sept," the a'laq demanded. Torgan hesitated, licking his lips and looking so unnerved thatfound himself wondering if perhaps the merchant was responsible for the deaths there after all.
"I did nothing," the man said at last, his voice quavering.
"You're lying."
"No! I've done nothing wrong! I went to the Sept, I sold some wares, and I left! That's all! I swear it!"
"Why did you leave so quickly then? S'Plaed says that you were in a great rush to be away from his sept. It seems you knew some great calamity was about to befall them."
"No, it wasn't that! I had just learned…" He stopped, licked his lips again. "I had just heard… some bad tidings. I wanted to be away from there, away from everyone. That's all."a'laq glanced at Grinsa and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, You see? I told you he was guilty.
"Do you think we're fools, Torgan?" E'Menua asked, facing the Eandi again. "Do you think we can't tell when a dark-eye is lying to us?" "No, of course not. But I swear to you-"
"He is lying."turned to stare at the other merchant.looked like he'd just been slapped. "Jasha!"
"He did do something to S'Plaed's sept, and what's more, he knows exactly what happened at C'Bijor's Neck."launched himself at the younger man. "You treacherous little bastard!" He knocked Jasha to the ground and was on him immediately, his hands around the man's throat. "This was your plan all along! You want to destroy me!"'Daer and L'Norr tried to pull Torgan off the young merchant, but Torgan was far bigger than both of them, and apparently as strong as he was large. Jasha's eyes were wide, and his face was turning bright red. He clawed at Torgan's hands, but to no avail. Just as Grinsa began to fear for the young merchant's life, he heard a sharp snapping sound. Torgan let out a howl of pain, rolled off of Jasha, and clutched at his right arm.
"I can just as easily break your neck, Torgan," E'Menua said calmly. "So can every other Weaver in this z'kal. Don't make us kill you."
"You're going to kill me no matter what I do," he said, bitterly. He nodded toward Jasha, who still lay on the floor, his chest heaving. "All thanks to this snake!"
"You have to tell them now, Torgan," the younger man said, still gasping. "That's why I did it."old merchant looked away. "I don't know what he's talking about."lifted himself onto one elbow. "Your only hope is to tell them everything. Believe it or not, I may have saved your life."
"Shut your mouth, whelp! My only consolation is knowing that they'll kill you, too."
"Tell them, Torgan."merchant clamped his mouth shut and pressed his lips thin.
"Do you know what mind-bending magic is?" Grinsa asked. Instantly, he wondered if he'd stepped in where he shouldn't have. But when he chanced a look at the a'laq, he saw that E'Menua was nodding.
"You're not Fal'Borna," Torgan said, as if seeing Grinsa for the first time.
"Answer the question," the a'laq commanded.exhaled. "Mind-bending. Yes, I have some idea what it can do."
"In that case," Grinsa said, "I shouldn't have to tell you that we can make you tell us. You can refuse us all you like, but in the end, we'll find out all that we need to. The question is, do you want one of us using his magic on your mind?"a long time, Torgan just sat there, cradling his maimed arm, shaking his head. "Damn you all," he finally muttered. "Damn every white-hair in the Southlands."
"What did you do to S'Plaed's sept?" the a'laq asked again. "Nothing."'Menua closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Torgan-"
"Nothing that I meant to do," the merchant said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"What does that mean?"
"Start with C'Bijor's Neck," Jasha said.glared at him, and for a moment Grinsa thought that he might attack him again. But then the merchant nodded.
"What's all this talk about C'Bijor's Neck?" the a'laq asked. "That's an Y'Qatt settlement. They're not Fal'Borna."
"No," Torgan said. "But that's where I first encountered the Mettai woman."'Menua blinked once. It almost seemed that until that moment, he hadn't actually believed this talk of Mettai magic. "Go on."
"She was selling baskets. The most beautiful baskets I've ever seen. Perfect weaving, colors that take your breath away. She could have gotten… well, she could have gotten anything for them. Instead, she sold them for far too little, and seemed pleased with the bargain she struck.
"I convinced the man she sold them to-a man named Y'Farl-I convinced him that he'd paid too much for them, and he sold them to me. I left the village soon after, and steered my cart westward intending to find septs where I could sell the baskets, and the rest of what I carried. But that night…" He trailed off; swallowed and shook his head. "That's when the pestilence struck, though I didn't know it at the time. It looked like… like a battle, like the village was under attack. There was fire everywhere-Qirsi fire. And smoke, and shattered houses. I didn't know what had happened. I thought maybe it was marauders. At the time, it didn't occur to me that it could be the pestilence."shrugged. "So I moved on, fearful of remaining near the Neck. Eventually I found S'Plaed's sept. That's where I learned of what really happened in C'Bijor's Neck. I just wanted to get away. I still hadn't considered the possibility that the Mettai woman and her baskets might have something to do with all of this. I just knew that Y'Farl was dead, and that I had missed dying myself by mere hours. So I sold the baskets at a low price and left. That night, the same thing happened to the sept. The fire again, and the rest of it. That's when I started to wonder about the woman and those baskets of hers."looked at E'Menua, and then at the two Weavers. Finally, his gaze came to rest on Grinsa. "I didn't mean to do it. I didn't even know what I'd done until after-until I watched the sept burn."several moments, all of them were silent. Grinsa could hear children laughing outside. A horse whinnied, and the wind moaned in the wood holding up the shelter.E'Menua stirred, as if shaking himself awake. "Tell us about the woman."
"No, Torgan," Jasha said. "Don't tell them anything more. Not yet." The merchant frowned. "What?"Jasha was already eyeing the a'laq. "What are you going to do to him? You've heard his tale. You know now that he didn't intend any harm. He bought some baskets and then sold them again. He's a merchant. It's what he does. You can't punish him for that."
"He killed half of S'Plaed's sept," E'Menua said, his voice hardening. "Now it seems that he had a hand in killing the people of C'Bijor's Neck, as well. What he's told us changes nothing."opened his mouth to argue, but quickly stopped himself. Instead he faced E'Menua. "May I have a word, A'Laq?"the a'laq shook his head. "No. Not about this. He will tell u5 what he knows of the woman, and then he'll be put to death. He is ar enemy of the Fal'Borna."
"And what of me?" Jasha asked.
"You're to be executed as well. You've ridden with him and protected him, all the while knowing what he's done. You deserve to die as much as he does."
"Dead we're of no use to you," Jasha said. "But if you spare our lives, we can help you find the woman."a'laq stared back at him, stony-faced. "We found you. Another sept can find the woman."'Daer and L'Norr exchanged looks.
"Forgive me, A'Laq," Q'Daer said, looking as if he expected E'Menua to strike him at any moment. "But other septs might not know her. We can bring glory to your sept. Every Weaver in the Tesserate will know of you and of your warriors."
"I've spoken on the matter." His eyes flicked in Grinsa's direction. It was only for a moment, but that was enough. "These men are to die.", Grinsa understood. "You're doing this to punish me, not them," he said.'Menua glowered at him. After a moment, he waved a hand at the young Weavers. "Leave us. Take the Eandi and go. But not far. I'm not done with them yet."glanced at Grinsa, but Q'Daer and L'Norr did as they were told. A moment later Grinsa and E'Menua were alone once more.
"Do you want to hit me again?" the gleaner asked.
"I should."
"Then do. But don't kill those men. You know as well as I that they don't deserve execution."a'laq shook his head. "You have much to learn about Fal'Borna ways, Forelander." He passed a hand over his brow. "Torgan brought the pestilence to S'Plaed's sept, and for that S'Plaed has demanded vengeance. That's within his rights as a'laq."
"Even if it wasn't Torgan's intention to hurt anyone?"
"Yes, even so."shook his head in turn. "That's just wrong."
"You have no right to judge us." The a'laq said this quietly, without any of the anger he had shown earlier. "The Fal'Borna have lived this way for centuries. We don't need strangers from the Northlands coming here and instructing us in their notions of justice."was right. Grinsa could see that. The Fal'Borna lived in a hard land, one that would sometimes require hard laws. They had survived centuries of warfare, and no doubt that too had bred a certain kind of justice. Who was he to challenge traditions a thousand years in the making?
"You make a good point, A'Laq. Forgive me."'Menua narrowed his eyes. "I haven't known you long, Grinsa, but I understand you well enough to know that this isn't your final word on the matter."smiled. "No, it's not. S'Plaed may be justified in demanding vengeance, but don't you and the other a'laqs have a right to protect your people?"
"Meaning?"
"That Mettai woman is still out there. Until she's been found, no Fal'Borna is safe. And since none of you knows who she is or what she looks like, you still need the merchants."
"You're arguing as the Eandi do."
"Occasionally even dark-eyes make sense," Grinsa said with a shrug. E'Menua laughed. "Now you sound like a Fal'Borna."
"Does that mean you'll spare their lives?"
"It means," the a'laq said slowly, seeming to make his decision in that moment, "that I'll delay their executions until the woman is found. I'll even have Q'Daer heal the dark-eye's arm."
"That seems just, A'Laq. Thank you."'Menua had grown serious again. "Don't thank me, Forelander. Not yet. The woman is the only proof we have that Torgan and his friend are telling us the truth. If the woman is found and executed by another sept, then these men will have done nothing to prove their innocence or earn my mercy. They have to find her, which means someone from this sept has to go with them."took Grinsa a moment. He didn't think of himself as being from any sept, but clearly E'Menua did.
"You'd let us go?"
"Only you."
"I can't leave Cresenne and Bryntelle."a'laq shrugged, as if the matter were of no importance to him. "You plead for their lives. You ask me to go against Fal'Borna law. Fine then. If you truly want them spared, you must do this."remained stock-still, not knowing what to say.
"You'll want to think about this, perhaps speak of this matter with your… your wife. I'll expect an answer in the morning."could barely hear E'Menua for the roaring in his ears. If you truly want them spared… At last, he nodded, stood, and stepped outside. The sky was darkening and a strong wind blew out of the west, carrying the scent of rain. The two Weavers stood just before him, glaring at him but saying nothing. Grinsa tried to step around them, but Q'Daer moved to block his way.
"Not so fast, Forelander," the young Weaver said.shook his head. "I don't have time for this right now." He tried to walk past again, but Q'Daer put out a hand to stop him.
"That's too bad. It's time you started showing the a'laq and our sept the respect we're due. The a'laq has chosen to let you live, despite the way you speak to him, so I can't kill you, much as I'd like to. But I can show you what happens to strangers who challenge the authority of the Fal'Borna."eyed the man briefly, and then glanced at L'Norr. The other Weaver stood just beside his friend, but though he wore a hard expression, he wouldn't meet Grinsa's gaze. It seemed this was Q'Daer's fight.the first man once more, Grinsa shook his head. "You're not going to show me anything, Q'Daer. You haven't the magic and you haven't the strength." He was certain of the former, less so of the latter, but he didn't let the younger man see that. "And as I said, I won't waste time on this foolishness right now."'Daer's face reddened and his hand strayed to the blade on his belt. "I should kill you where you stand!"the Forelands he simply would have walked away. That would have been the smart thing to do. But this was a different land, ruled by a different set of customs. And though new to the Southlands, Grinsa had already learned a great deal about Fal'Borna ways. He had the welt on his cheek to prove it.reached for his magic and broke the man's blade before Q'Daer could pull it free. The young Weaver's eyes widened at the muffled chiming sound of the shattered steel.
"You bastard!"he could say more, Grinsa hit him, backhanded, just as the a'laq had struck him. Q'Daer staggered back a step as Grinsa had, but he didn't fall. That was fine. Grinsa didn't wish to humiliate the man; he just wanted to put him in his place.Q'Daer could throw a punch of his own, Grinsa stepped past him. "I serve the a'laq, not you," he said evenly, eyeing the man over his shoulder. "And I don't take lessons from ignorant whelps. Next time I'll break more than your blade."two merchants were standing nearby, their eyes wide at what they had just seen. But now, as he stared at Grinsa, Torgan's expression changed, shock giving way to desperation.
"Did you save us?" he called as Grinsa walked away, still cradling his shattered arm. "Will he spare our lives?"glanced back at him, but he said nothing and he kept walking. When he reached his shelter, he could still hear Torgan shouting after him.20hadn't meant to come here. She hadn't realized where she was until she saw the bridge, and then it was too late to turn back. North. That's where she'd intended to go. There were more Y'Qatt settlements around the upper Companion Lakes -Porcupine and Bear. After leaving C'Bijor's Neck, Lici had every intention of finding them. Somehow, she hadn't.'d crossed the bridge before, after leaving Kirayde, and it hadn't even occurred to her to go back. She'd had a purpose then-it drove her, like a wolf snapping at the heels of rilda. Maybe passing by twice was too much to ask of anyone.was what she told herself, sitting in the heat of the Harvest sun, squinting against the glare, the day so bright it seemed to rob the land of color, leaving the grasses and rocks and the occasional tree looking stark and flat and dull. The old nag snorted and stomped her foot impatiently, but still Lici remained motionless atop her cart, unable to decide.was tired. The time had come for her to begin the long ride back to Kirayde. No one lived forever, not even Mettai witches. Perhaps that was why she was here. She'd never have another chance to see Sentaya. She didn't need the Sight to tell her that. Her days were nearly at an end. Vengeance was hers. Whatever purpose had sustained her in these last years was ebbing away now, leaving her grey, like the world around her. Colorless, lifeless. But when she closed her eyes and thought of Sentaya, the colors were vivid. She could taste the food and smell the wood smoke. And she didn't want any of it. Life that real, that sharp, was too much for her now. Grey suited her. Death, or the promise of it, had drawn her here, and though she was ready to embrace the ending that awaited her, she had no desire to step back into that brilliant living world that still existed in her mind. Yet she couldn't bring herself to turn away. She just sat, staring, waging war with forces she didn't quite understand. "I didn't mean to come here."it aloud was like asking the gods for leave to pass the village by, to turn around and find another way across the wash. It didn't help. The pull of the place was too strong, even for her.clicked her tongue and snapped the reins, and the old horse started forward, shaking her head as if to scold Lici for taking so long. Lici steered the cart across the bridge and, once she was on the other side, turned northward.least this time I got it right, she thought, and cackled at her cruel joke, at the poor girl who'd gotten it wrong so many years before. There were tears on her face by the time she reached the village, or what was left of it.houses stood just where she remembered them, shattered and charred, crumbling from years of neglect, green with mosses and vines. She reined the nag to a halt and sat, listening, shaded now, cooler. The sound of the wash, the smell of the pines.she was a child again, hurrying through her chores with Kytha and Baet, running to Sosli's house to see if her friend could play, tromping through the rain and snow to the small sanctuary on the eastern edge of the village. She remembered falling out of a tree near the wash when she was only six, and breaking her arm. For just an instant, she felt it again, her old, brittle bone aching with remembered pain. She could see the healer's knife glinting in the dim light of his home, the blood seeping from the scored back of his bony hand. She could feel his hands on her skin, as he probed the bone with deft, gentle fingers. The relief as her pain ebbed away, her wonder as she actually felt the bone knitting back together, his smile at what he saw on her face.bones, scrapes and cuts, even burns. These Mettai magic could mend. But not the pestilence.she followed the road it would take her past her old home. She held a vision of the house in her mind, clear and substantial. But sixteen fours had passed, and she was but a child when last she saw it. Who could say what it really looked like? Did she really want to know? Was there any point in disturbing memories that had served her for so long? Or was it already too late for such concerns?truly intending to, without really thinking about it at all, she clicked at the horse again and started forward once more., the girl within whimpered. Please. I don't want to see.ignored her. When had she become so cruel, so merciless?first she didn't recognize it. That small thing? That wreck of a house? But yes. That second one beyond it belonged to Sosli's family. Of that she was certain. So this one had to be hers.. Get away from here.stared at the house, or at least what was left of it. The front door was gone-only a pair of rusted hinges gave any indication that it had been there at all. There were large holes in the front and side walls, and looking into the house, she could see bright spots where daylight poured through the remains of the roof. And like fragments of an old rhyme, recollections of this house in which she'd spent her earliest years came back to her. Some she welcomed, as she would warmth from a fire or the scent of her mother's newly baked bread. From others she recoiled, though, of course, she could hardly welcome some without accepting all.could hear the little girl sobbing now, but try as she might, Lici couldn't make out what she said. In another moment, the sound had vanished, replaced by distant cries and the moans of the ill and, finally, by the distant rumble of an approaching storm. She didn't need the girl to tell her what was coming, to warn her away from this place. She was desperate to flee, but the time for that had passed. If only she had listened before.torch sputters with each gust of wind and hisses in the rain. She's crying, fear of the dark and the storm and the pestilence robbing her of whatever courage she might once have possessed. Her knees and shins ache from all the falls she's taken., she stumbles on, desperate now for any sign of a village or even a single house. Anything to relieve the relentless darkness of the wood.starts to rain harder Licaldi can hear the thunder growing nearer by the moment, growling like some great beast stalking her through the wood. She glances repeatedly at her torch. There can be no mistake: The flame is dying.path leads her up a steep incline, and several times she almost loses her footing. Just as she reaches the top, a bright flash illuminates the forest. Mere seconds later a clap of thunder makes the earth shudder, though, Licaldi doesn't care about the storm, or her failing torch, or her sodden clothes. Not far from the crest of the hill a faint light shines, half hidden by the trees, dimmed by the rain.breaks into a run, shouting for help and waving the torch over her head. A lone house? No. A village, larger than her own. Its houses look solid and comfortable, as if they have been built with a night like this one in mind. Most of the windows are shuttered, the doors closed. But as Licaldi continues to yell, making her way toward the marketplace, shutters and doors open, revealing white-haired men and women who peer out at her warily.Qirsi village! Gods be praised!shook her head and made herself look away from the house. Gazing toward the wash through a web of branches and tree trunks she could see the water sparkling like shattered glass. A flock of finches twittered and scolded in the branches overhead, and the trees whispered as a breath of wind brushed her skin.picked up the reins again and began to turn the cart, taking care to steer away from the house, so she wouldn't have to look at it again. It was far quicker to take the road through the village and the old marketplace, but Lici was eager now to be gone from this place. The last thing she needed was to drive her cart through the heart of Sentaya.was only halfway around when she stopped again.door is shut, the windows closed tight. Maybe, she thinks, they're all right after all.she knows better She pushes the door open. Utter darkness, save for the deep orange glow of embers that settle noisily in the hearth. The smell of sweat and vomit reach her and she gags.
"Mama?" she whispers through clenched teeth. "Papa?"answer
"Kytha? Baet?"glimmer of lightning brightens the house and Licaldi screams at what she sees. Both of her sisters are in their beds, their sleeping gowns and blankets soiled. Licaldi's father lies on the floor beside Kytha's bed, curled into a ball, as if too weak to make it back to his own bed. Kytha and Baet might well be sleeping, so peaceful do they look. But her father's eyes are still open, fixed on some spot on the ceiling.takes a step backward, turns away, and retches.her stomach is empty, and her throat is so sore she can barely draw breath, she goes to find her mother.knows just where to look. If Mama isn't in the house with Papa and the girls, she's by the stream, where she would have gone to get water for the others.staggers out of the house and makes her way down to the wash. Mama is lying on the bank of the stream, in much the same position Licaldi's father had been in. Licaldi hurries to her crying out "Mama, Mama!" like she did when she was small, even younger than Baetri. Baet, who'• dead., her mother still lives, though only just.
"Licaldi?" her mother murmurs, as Licaldi kneels beside her
"Yes, Mama. Its me."
"Did you bring healers?"touches her mother's cheek with the back of her hand. Her skin is aflame. Lightning flares, and Licaldi catches a glimpse of her mother's- face. White as bone and though her eyes are open wide, it seems that they see nothing. It won't be long now.
"Did you, child?"
"Yes, Mama. I brought healers."smiles and closes her eyes. "Good girl," she says, the words coming out as soft as a sigh. "I knew you would."
"You there!"'s eyes snapped up and she shuddered, as if released from a spell. Perhaps a hundred fourspans down the lane, an Eandi man sat atop a peddler's cart much larger than her own. He was far younger than she, with an ample gut and a full shock of red hair that poked out from beneath a leather wide-brimmed hat. The wood of his wagon was a pale, warm tan, and the beast hitched to the front was a large bay, fit and strong. This was a man of some means, a man who had done well for himself.for the distraction, she smiled, and raised a hand in greeting. The man flicked his reins and the bay started forward. Lici drove her cart in his direction, so that in mere moments their carts were side by side. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes, fine," she said. Too quick with her response, too much brightness in her voice. "I used to live here," she said a moment later. "Many years ago. I was just… remembering."man nodded. "You live nearby, then?"
"Not very, no. I've been abroad for some time now." She gestured vaguely back at her cart. "I've baskets that I've been trying to sell." She noted that his eyes strayed toward her cart. Perhaps, if he was headed in the right direction, she could interest him in some or all of her wares. "And you?" she asked, offhandedly.met her gaze again, and smiled. He had a handsome face, despite the fleshy chin and round cheeks. "I came this way hoping to find some Mettai goods, some Y'Qatt blankets, things of that sort. Things you don't often find in Tordjanne. But it's proving harder than I expected.", Y'Qatt. This was why the gods had steered her back into Sentaya. This was why she had ignored the little girl. This was why she had chanced those memories, sharp enough to draw blood. She needed to proceed carefully, though. She couldn't seem too eager to be rid of so many fine baskets. And somehow, before he left with her wares, she needed to place the spell on them.
"Mettai and Y'Qatt," she repeated aloud. "You're rather particular, aren't you?"grinned again. "I can afford to be. Any merchant can show up in a Tordjanne marketplace with the same tired goods and make a decent profit. That's not good enough for me. I've made a reputation for myself by selling not only the finest goods, but also the most unusual." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "You think me a braggart."
"You don't lack for confidence."
"I merely tell you what I know to be true. There are such merchants in these lands, as well. Surely you've heard of Torgan Plye."shrugged and shook her head.
"Well, take my word for it. If you want something on these plains, you go to Torgan Plye. And if you want something in Tordjanne, you come to me."
"And you are?"smiled and removed his hat. "Forgive me. Brint HedFarren, at your service."
"My pleasure, sir. I'm called Lici."
"The pleasure is all mine, kind lady. It seems you're new to the peddler's life. At least I assume so, since you don't know of Torgan. How did you come to be driving a cart so late in life?"gave him the same answer she'd given so many others: She wanted to see the land before she died, and so had taken to trading, using the gold she earned from selling her wares to pay for food.
"And you've managed to steer clear of the pestilence?"
"Thus far. It seems I've been fortunate."nodded, regarding her once more through narrowed eyes. "You're Mettai, aren't you, Lici?" he asked her at last.
"I am."
"And you say you're selling baskets?"
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