Besh laughed. Even as he did, though, he saw the Fal'Borna Weaver rise from his seat beside the other fire and start walking in their direction.
"Here comes your answer," he said.
Sirj looked up, instantly growing serious. Grinsa had stood as well, and was following the man. Clearly the Forelander had taken it upon himself to keep Besh and Sirj safe. And though Besh usually had confidence in his own ability to watch out for himself, under the circumstances, he was grateful.
B'Vril stopped a short distance from their fire and cleared his throat.
"I was wondering if I might have a word with you," he said.
Besh waved him on. "Of course. Please join us."
The Fal'Borna stepped into the firelight, and after a brief hesitation, sat down on the ground. Grinsa had halted just beyond the reach of the fire's glow, and he remained in the shadows, content, it seemed, to watch and listen. "I want to learn more about this spell you've offered to put on me."
"Not just on you," Besh said. "You need to understand that. This is a spell that you can pass on to any Fal'Borna, simply by using your magic on them."
"I'm a Weaver," the man said. "I can wield the magic of all my warriors as a weapon. Would that pass your spell to them?"
Besh looked up at Grinsa, who nodded.
"Yes, it would," Besh said, facing the Fal'Borna once more.
B'Vril exhaled. "I see."
"You fear that I intend to harm you and your men, that I'll place this spell on you and you'll be unable to stop it from spreading."
"The thought had occurred to me."
Besh nodded. "I understand. I expect that the Forelander has tried to put your doubts to rest and has failed. So I won't even make the attempt. If he can't convince you, I certainly can't."
"This plague that's been spreading through our lands has us scared."
"Yes," Besh said. "It should. But Lici didn't intend the plague for your people. She took it to the Y'Qatt."
The man frowned. "The Y'Qatt?" Clearly he didn't believe this, and Besh understood why. The Y'Qatt were aescetics, Qirsi who eschewed all use of magic because they believed that Qirsar, the god of the Qirsi, had never intended their powers to be used.
"I know. It made no sense to us, either. But years ago, when she was just a girl, the pestilence struck her village. She crossed N'Kiel's Span in search of help, hoping to find Qirsi who could heal her family and friends. Instead she found the Y'Qatt."
"Blood and bone," B'Vril muttered.
"Everyone in her village died, and Lici blamed the Y'Qatt." Besh leaned forward, making the man look him in the eye. "You believe the Mettai are your enemy. I understand that. This plague, this war; these are tragedies. But Lici didn't want to hurt you. She lost what remained of her sanity when she learned that her cursed baskets were headed out onto the plain. And the rest of us…" He shook his head. "You think that Sirj and I might be different from other Mettai and that therefore you can trust us. But you have it backwards. It's the Mettai who march against you who are different. I don't know why they're doing this, but I promise you that most of my people would want no part of your war.”
B'Vril didn't respond other than to nod. He didn't look at Besh. "You don't believe me," the old Mettai said, feeling weary.
"It doesn't matter if I believe you. Even if all you're telling me is true, it can't change the fact that these Mettai have allied themselves with the Eandi. They've made all of your people enemies of all of mine. That's simply the way of things."
Only to the Fal'Borna, Besh wanted to say. But he kept this thought to himself.
"But I can see why Q'Daer and Grinsa trust you," the man went on after a moment's pause. "And I'd be grateful to you if you would use your magic to make me immune to the plague."
"All right," Besh said. "In return, I'd ask that you tell other Fal'Borna what I've told you. You don't have to believe it, and you don't have to try to convince them of anything. I ask only that you repeat what I've told you and let others judge for themselves."
He didn't answer at first, and Besh started to wonder if the Fal'Borna would refuse him. But then B'Vril nodded again. "All right."
Besh smiled. "Thank you."
He pulled out his knife. But before Besh could cut himself Grinsa stepped forward into the firelight.
"You don't have to do that, Besh."
"What do you mean?" the Mettai asked.
"I used my magic on him," Grinsa said. "Or rather, I stopped him from using his magic on me. He's already immune."
"I don't understand," B'Vril said, looking first at Grinsa and then at the Forelander. "How can I already be immune?"
"The spell I created is as contagious as Lici's plague," Besh said. "When Grinsa used his magic against you he passed on the spell."
B'Vril eyed Besh doubtfully. "How will we know if it worked?"
Besh smiled weakly. "I hope we never will. I hope that the plague has run its course and all of Lici's baskets have been destroyed. But the only way we can be certain is if you're exposed to the plague."
Even in the firelight, Besh could see the man blanch.
"The spell worked when he used it on me," Grinsa said. "It'll work for you, too."
B'Vril looked back at the Forelander. "I can pass it to my men?"
"Q'Daer already did when he held their magic. You can pass it to others the same way. Any contact with your magic should make them immune, too." The Fal'Borna turned to Besh again. "Thank you."
Best shrugged. "It turns out I didn't do anything, but you're welcome. I'd ask that you remember our agreement."
"I will. You have my word."
B'Vril stood, thanked Besh again, and bade him and Sirj good night. He stepped past Grinsa, nodding to the Forelander as he did, and returned to his warriors.
Grinsa sat down beside Besh.
"You were ready to help him," the Forelander said. "You would have been justified in refusing, the way he spoke to you."
"No," Besh said, putting away his blade. "I wouldn't have been. How could I have justified allowing those men to die when I have the power to save them?"
"I don't know. But other-"
"Please, Grinsa," Besh said, cutting him off. "I know that you mean well. Sirj and I are grateful for your friendship and your protection. But I'm tired, and I'm sore, and I'm in no mood to talk. I want to sleep and tomorrow I want to ride as far as we can without it killing me."
Besh grimaced at what he heard in his own voice. This was no way to speak to a friend. But Grinsa merely smiled and placed a hand on Besh's shoulder.
"Sleep sounds like an excellent idea." He stood once again. "Dream well, my friend," he said, and walked away.
"He's a good man," Sirj said, and Besh thought he heard a gentle rebuke in the younger man's tone.
"I know." What else could Besh say?
They awoke the following morning with first light. B'Vril and his mer said quick farewells and rode off toward the rising sun and the war that was approaching from the east. A short time later, Besh and the others broke camp as well.
Besh's muscles had grown stiff overnight, and he could barely walk, much less climb onto his horse. He needed help from both Grinsa and Sirj; by the time he was sitting in his saddle, he was exhausted and humiliated.
The first step his mount took made him gasp with pain, and he nearly told the others to leave him there. Better to be found by another company of Fal'Borna warriors than to endure such misery. But as the morning wore on, his discomfort subsided a bit. He wasn't foolish enough to think that he wouldn't be sore again come morning, but he could feel his muscles loosening, and he decided that he could go on, at least for the moment.
The company rode farther during the course of this day than they had during any day since turning south toward E'Menua's sept. By nightfall, Besh was utterly exhausted and his muscles burned. He barely ate any supper and had no sooner lay down beside the fire than he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Morning seemed to come way too soon, and upon awaking again he could barely move. But once he was sitting his horse, he began to feel better. They rode even farther this second day than they had the one before.