"You have much to learn about the Fal'Borna, Forelander."
"And you have much to learn about magic." He glanced at Q'Daer. "I'll handle the Weaver," he said. "I've some experience with men like him. You control the others. Don't let them do anything."
Q'Daer nodded, tight-lipped, his eyes watchful.
"Besh," Grinsa went on, "I seem to remember you using a spell in S'Vralna that drove off some men who were trying to hurt you. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember. I used that spell against Lici, too."
Out of the corner of his eye, Grinsa saw both Mettai men reach for their knives. He knew that the Fal'Borna would try to shatter their blades with shaping magic; that was what he would have done in their position. But he was ready for them. B'Vril, he sensed, had already readied his magic and was aiming his shaping power at Besh's knife. Grinsa reached out with his own magic and took hold of the Weaver's power.
B'Vril's eyes snapped to his. Grinsa could feel him fighting to use his magic, to free himself from Grinsa's control. But Grinsa had done this before. While still in the Forelands he had led an army of Qirsi against the renegade Weaver who sought to rule all the seven realms. That Weaver had been stronger by far than this man. And in the end Grinsa had won.
Shaping. Fire. Mists and winds. Language of beasts. Shaping, again. Even healing and delusion. B'Vril tried every magic at his disposal. And each time he reached for a new one, Grinsa was there to stop him.
Grinsa heard Besh speaking in a low voice-he was conjuring. "Wait, Besh," he said.
He knew that the old man had turned to look at him, but Grinsa didn't look away from the Fal'Borna rider. Finally, B'Vril let out a roar of frustration.
"Do something!" he yelled at his men. "Use your magic!"
"We can't!" said one of the other warriors. "The Fal'Borna won't let us."
"Damn you!" B'Vril said, glaring at Grinsa.
But Grinsa hadn't finished with him yet. Thus far, all he'd done was keep the man from attacking them. Now, he took hold of B'Vril's shaping power and slowly began to squeeze the man's skull, as if he intended to shatter the bone.
Suddenly the Fal'Borna stopped grappling for control of his various magics and instead fought desperately to expel Grinsa from his mind.
"You feel what I'm doing to you?" Grinsa asked the man.
B'Vril nodded, wide-eyed, his mouth agape.
"You understand that I could kill you with a thought?"
He nodded a second time.
Grinsa eased the pressure on the man's head, but he didn't release his magic.
"Who are you?" the man asked, still regarding Grinsa the way he might a demon from Bian's realm.
"Just a Weaver, like you," Grinsa said. "And believe it or not, I'm a friend."
B'Vril merely stared back at him.
"If Q'Daer was a traitor-if I was in league with the Eandi who are marching against your people-we'd have killed you all by now. There's nothing stopping us."
"What was it the Mettai were going to do?"
Grinsa hesitated, but only for an instant. If it turned out that they still had to fight these men, he felt confident that Besh and Sirj could think of another way to attack them. He nodded to Besh.
Besh cut the back of his hand with his knife, caught the welling blood on the flat of the blade, and mixed it with the earth he already held. He spoke a few words as he did this, though he kept his voice so low that Grinsa couldn't make them out. The dark mud in his palm began to swirl and as it did Besh threw it straight up into the air. Before their eyes, the mud appeared to fracture into a hundred pieces. An instant later, each of those clumps of dirt had begun to buzz, so that the air around them was filled with the sound.
"Hornets?" B'Vril whispered, staring at the cloud of insects.
The insects circled over them once and streamed away toward the nearby wood.
"Hornets," Besh said, grinning.
B'Vril stared at him. After a moment he began to laugh. "You were going to attack us with hornets?"
"It would have worked," Sirj said, sounding angry.
"I don't doubt it," the Fal'Borna said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "But I was expecting you to try to kill us. And you were going to use hornets." He looked at Grinsa again. "You can release my magic, Forelander. I believe you now."
The other warrior looked at his leader, clearly puzzled. "Weaver?" he said. "It's all right. Lower your weapons."
"Now it's my turn," Grinsa told him. "I'm not sure I trust you."
B'Vril threw down his spear, pulled the knife from his belt, and threw that onto the ground as well.
"We both know that your weapons are meaningless in this fight."
"It doesn't matter," Q'Daer said. "If he's laid down his spear, this fight is over. That's our way."
Grinsa and Q'Daer shared a look.
"You can let go of his magic," the young Weaver told him. "There isn't a Fal'Borna alive who would drop his weapon before another Fal'Borna and then attack."
Still Grinsa hesitated. If B'Vril truly thought that Q'Daer had betrayed his people, would he still consider him Fal'Borna?
"The rest of you do the same," B'Vril called to his men. "Your spears and your blades."
The other warriors dropped their weapons on the ground beside their mounts.
Grinsa took a long breath and then, with great reluctance, eased his grip on B'Vril's magic. The man smiled with obvious relief and nodded.
"Thank you," he said. "Perhaps one day you'll show me how you did that." Grinsa had to grin. "Perhaps."
B'Vril dismounted, walked to Q'Daer, and held out his hands. Q'Daer gripped the man's wrists from below so that B'Vril could grip his wrists from above at the same time. It was a traditional Fal'Borna greeting, one that Grinsa had seen before. When B'Vril released Q'Daer and turned to him, offering his hands in the same way, Grinsa knew just what to do.
"I see you've learned some of our customs," he said.
Grinsa nodded. "Some, yes. There's still much I don't know."
B'Vril let go of his arms and turned to the Mettai. He didn't approach them, nor did he offer the customary greeting. But he looked both men in the eye.
"Your people are marching to war against us."
"Yes," Besh said. "I don't know why. I never thought I'd see the day when we involved ourselves in your battles with the Eandi."
"Your people are also responsible for the pestilence that's been destroying Fal'Borna villages. Is it such a leap to believe they'd bring war as well as plague to our plain?"
"The plague was brought here by one person," Sirj said hotly. "And Besh killed her. We've told you that already."
Besh placed a hand on Sirj's shoulder.
"Her name was Lici," the older man said. "She's the one Sirj is talking about. She came from our village, and we followed her. Eventually we captured her, and in the end I had no choice but to kill her. You're right, though. It was a Mettai curse that killed those people and razed their villages. It was also a Mettai spell that cured Grinsa and Q'Daer of Lici's plague. I created that spell, and I can use it tonight to make you and your men immune to the plague, so that if you encounter any more of Lici's cursed baskets you'll be safe. And later, you can use your healing magic to spread my spell through your entire sept. Your people need never fear that curse again."
Clearly, this was more than B'Vril had expected. He eyed Besh with obvious curiosity, but his mistrust seemed to have vanished, and a small grin played at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, this has been a most extraordinary evening," he said at last. "I'll consider your offer, Mettai. Even before this war, I never thought that I'd allow a Mettai to use his magic on me, but I would be… relieved to know that I was immune to that plague."
"Let me know when you're ready," Besh said.
B'Vril nodded to him, gave Sirj a quick, uncertain look, and turned back to Q'Daer. "We should talk, Weaver to Weaver. I need to know…" He faltered, glancing once more at the Mettai. "I have questions for you."
"Of course," Q'Daer said. "When you arrived, we were about to build a fire and eat. We don't have enough food to feed you and your men, but you're welcome to sup with us."