So it went. Each day Besh's discomfort abated a bit more quickly. Each evening they stopped after having covered more distance than they had the previous day. They encountered no more Fal'Borna war parties, and they saw no sign of the Eandi army that was said to be on the march.
Besh could see Grinsa's spirits lifting with each league they covered. Even Q'Daer's mood seemed to be improving. He and Sirj, on the other hand, could not help but dread their arrival in the sept, and, ironically, by making himself a better rider, Besh was hastening that moment.
Sirj said little about his own fears, as was his way, but Besh could tell that he was growing increasingly anxious, even as his riding improved as well.
Several days after their encounter with B'Vril's company, as they were passing a series of low, grass-covered hills, Q'Daer suddenly glanced back at Grinsa and the two Mettai, a smile on his square face.
"We're close!" he said. "Another league and we'll be there."
Grinsa nodded, but otherwise none of them spoke. The Fal'Borna's grin faded, and after another moment he faced forward again, apparently disappointed by their response.
"What does he expect us to say?" Sirj muttered, turning just enough so that Besh could hear him.
"I don't think he was taunting us," Besh answered. "He must not think we have anything to fear from his a'laq."
"Or else he just doesn't care."
That seemed as likely an explanation as any. Besh said nothing.
Grinsa steered his horse over to theirs, a look of concern in his pale yellow eyes.
"You're afraid of what will happen when we reach the sept." He offered it as a statement.
Besh merely nodded.
"I am, too," Grinsa told them. "We didn't find Lici; we allowed Torgan to get away. In the strictest terms, I failed, and E'Menua would be within his rights to insist that I remain here forever and take a Fal'Borna Weaver as my wife.”
"That's hardly the same thing," Sirj said, his voice tight. "We're afraid we'll be killed."
Grinsa nodded, seemingly unaffected by what the younger man had said. Besh sometimes wondered if the Forelander ever lost his temper. Then he remembered watching him confront Torgan, hearing him threaten a Qirsi man in S'Vralna who had just used magic to shatter the bone in Besh's leg. Perhaps a man wielding as much power as Grinsa did couldn't afford to give in to rage. And thinking this, Besh had another thought as welclass="underline" We're fortunate to have such a man as our friend.
"You're right, it's not the same thing," Grinsa said to Sirj. "My point is this: We both have cause to fear E'Menua. But we can help one another. I've sworn this to you before, and I swear it again today. I won't allow E'Menua to harm you, and if I have to I'll give my life to save yours. I owe you no less."
"We can give the same oath," Besh said. "But all three of us know that it's worth far less coming from Sirj and me."
Grinsa smiled. "I'm not as sure of that as you are. But I had something else in mind. As I said before, I've failed in nearly every task that E'Menua set before me. We did find you, however, and you not only killed Lici, you defeated her curse. If you and I make it clear to him that we're friends, and that the spell you used to defeat the plague grew out of our friendship, it might help both of us."
"You should tell the a'laq whatever you think you need to," Besh said. "The truth is, without your help I never would have come up with the spell, and you would have died. As far as I'm concerned you deserve as much credit as I for defeating the plague."
"It's not just defeating the curse, Besh," Grinsa told him. "You killed Lici. I know you don't like to talk about it, but the Fal'Borna will want to hear the story of her death. You'd be wise to tell it as often as you can."
Besh nodded, though he could feel his stomach tightening. To this day, he didn't like to think about killing Lici, much less talk about it. He'd had no choice in the matter. She had wounded him and was on the verge of killing him with a second plague that might have proved fatal to all Mettai. Still, he'd never killed before, and he hoped never to kill again.
But he knew that Grinsa was right. The Fal'Borna wouldn't care about his misgivings, and might well take them as an affront. Lici's death was more likely to save his life and Sirj's than anything else they had done since leaving Kirayde.
"I don't know if E'Menua will arrange to have a shelter built for you," Grinsa went on a moment later. "If he doesn't, Cresenne and I will make room for you in ours."
Besh laughed and shook his head. "No, Grinsa. You haven't seen your wife in a long time. If need be, Sirj and I will sleep beside a fire. But I have no desire to share your shelter tonight."
Grinsa's face turned crimson, drawing a snort of laughter from Sirj. Q'Daer glanced back at them, scowled, and faced forward again.
"He's speechless," Sirj said.
The Forelander smiled, then laughed. "I am."
They rode on, saying nothing. Occasionally Grinsa chuckled to himself and shook his head again. Soon, they topped a small rise and looked down upon the sept. It sat in a shallow basin and looked to be little more than a loose array of small triangular structures. Thin ribbons of blue-grey smoke rose from the top of several of them, as well as from perhaps a dozen fires burning outside. A narrow stream wound past the settlement and more than two hundred horses grazed in a large paddock just to the west of the structures.
As they drew nearer, Besh saw that the structures were made of skins and wood. Nothing more.
"They live like this through the Snows?" he asked.
"The z'kals are sturdier than they look," Grinsa said. "And with a fire burning within, they're quite comfortable. At least they were the few nights I spent here."
"The Fal'Borna are a hardy people."
"Yes, they are."
Grinsa sounded distracted. Looking his way, Besh saw him scanning the sept, no doubt searching for his wife.
Several children played near the paddock and now they spotted the riders. For an instant they stared. Then, with shouts of excitement, they sprinted back toward the settlement.
Men and women began to emerge from the shelters, all of them looking northward toward Besh and the rest of the company.
Abruptly, Grinsa spurred his mount to a gallop, thundering past Q'Daer and toward the heart of the settlement. Looking once more at the sept, Besh spotted the man's wife. She was taller and leaner than the Fal'Borna and her skin was bone white, not at all like the golden color of the clanspeople. She held a child in her arms and, like the others, she gazed in their direction.
Seeing Grinsa, she began to run toward him. They met at the edge of the settlement. Grinsa dismounted in one swift, fluid motion, covered the remaining distance in two great strides, and gathered her in his arms, kissing her deeply. She clung to him with one arm, and still clutched their baby in the other.
After a moment, Besh looked away, feeling that he was intruding on their privacy, even from this distance. Glancing back at Sirj, who sat behind him, he saw that the younger man was still watching them, a tear in his eye.
Besh wanted to tell him that it wouldn't be long before they returned to Kirayde and Sirj was reunited with Elica and their children, Mihas, Annze, and Cam. But it would have been an empty promise. They were a long way from Mettai land, and war was coming to the plain.
"I miss them, too," he said quietly. "Not as much as you do, but very much, just the same."
The younger man merely nodded.
By the time they reached Grinsa and his wife, others from the sept had joined them. There were several women and children, and one young man who looked a great deal like Q'Daer, to whom Grinsa spoke. Q'Daer had already joined the cluster of people, and had warmly embraced the young man who resembled him. Besh wondered if they might be brothers.
The Forelander was holding his child now, and he still held his wife's hand. Besh had never seen him look happier. He looked up as they drew near, and beckoned them over.