"This is Besh," he said to the woman, indicating the old man with an open hand. "And this is Sirj." He regarded the other Fal'Borna standing around them. "These are the Mettai who killed the woman and defeated her curse," he told them, raising his voice. "They're the reason Q'Daer and I are alive They're also the reason all of you are now immune to the plague that spread across the plain."
The others there looked up at them, their expressions guarded despite Grinsa's reassurances. But the woman stepped forward, stopping beside the mount and favoring them with a dazzling smile.
"Thank you for my husband's life," she said, her voice clear and strong, "My name is Cresenne ja Terba, and for as long as I live I'll be indebted to you both."
Besh had always considered the Qirsi a strange-looking people. The Fal'Borna were odd enough, with their white hair and yellow eyes. But their skin at least had a golden hue to it that made them look a bit less odd. Other clans-and apparently Qirsi from the Forelands-had skin so white that it looked almost transparent. Even Grinsa, with whom he had spent more time than any other person of the sorcerer race, still struck him as alien in appearance. But even with her pale complexion and ghostly eyes, this wom before him was as beautiful as anyone he had ever met. Her face was oval, with features delicate and perfect. There seemed to be long white scars on the cheek and along her jawline, but they were faint and didn't detract from her beauty. Her hair, which hung loose to the middle of her back, looked so fine and soft that Besh actually had to keep himself from reaching out to touch it.
"You honor us, my friend," he said, gazing back into those pale eyes. They were the color of sand or of dried plain grass.
The woman grinned. "Well, good. That was my intention."
Besh and Sirj climbed off their horse, but stayed near it, as if the beast might protect them if the crowd of Fal'Borna turned on them.
There had been a great deal of noise coming from all the people clustered around the company, but now a hush fell over them. Cresenne turned, as did Grinsa and Q'Daer.
A man and a woman were approaching from the middle of the settlement. The woman had a piercing gaze and a handsome square face. There were lines around her mouth and eyes, but otherwise she didn't appear to be particularly old. It was the man, however, to whom Besh's eyes were drawn. He was nearly a full head shorter than Grinsa, even a bit shorter than Q'Daer. But he was broad in the chest and shoulders, so that he looked bigger and more formidable than the young Weaver. With his large round yellow eyes and narrow, tapered face he resembled a cat, predatory and keenly intelligent. Like most Fal'Borna warriors he wore his white hair tied back. A whine stone, much like the one F'Ghara had given to Besh and Sirj, hung at his throat.
"The a'laq," Sirj whispered.
Besh nodded. E'Menua, Grinsa had called him. Besh noticed that Cresenne had retreated to Grinsa's side, and he sensed that she feared this man. Given the silence that now hung over the sept, it seemed that all of these people did. Even Q'Daer was eyeing the a'laq uneasily, and Besh hadn't known the young Fal'Borna to fear anyone.
Only Grinsa didn't seem cowed by the man. He stood straight, marking the a'laq's approach, his arm around Cresenne's shoulders.
The a'laq stopped a short distance from the Forelander, and for a moment they eyed each other in silence. Then the a'laq looked around, his gaze barely lingering on Besh and Sirj.
"Where are the merchants?" he finally asked, his eyes coming to rest on Grinsa. He had a rough voice, the sound of stone grating on stone.
"I think you know," the Forelander said. "Q'Daer would have told you already. He spoke to you in a dream several days ago."
The look that flashed in E'Menua's eyes could have kindled wet wood. "I'm asking you," he said.
"Jasha is dead, killed by Torgan."
"And Torgan escaped?"
Grinsa nodded. "That's right. He nearly managed to kill Q'Daer and me before he did."
"How is that possible? The man is Eandi. He's weak and a fool. And yet he nearly bested both of you."
The Forelander said nothing. At last the a'laq turned to Q'Daer.
"I… I told you, A'Laq. He had a scrap of cursed basket. From one of the villages we found that had been struck by the plague."
"Ah, yes," E'Menua said. He turned those bright yellow eyes on Besh and Sirj. "The plague."
Suddenly Besh understood. Grinsa was right: E'Menua had known all of this already. But he wanted to have it repeated aloud for all the rest of the Fal'Borna to hear, so that they would see Besh and Sirj as their enemies, despite whatever Grinsa had told them.
"E'Menua, son of E'Sedt," Grinsa said, "I present to you Besh and Sirj of the Mettai village Kirayde."
"We thank you for welcoming us to your sept, A'Laq," Besh said, knowing that he was taking a chance. "Three times now, your people have honored us so. You do so today. Q'Daer did so when he welcomed us into his company."
He pulled F'Ghara's necklace from his pocket. "And another a'laq, F'Ghara, who leads a sept east of here, gave us this stone as a token of his friendship and that of all your people."
E'Menua's eyes narrowed briefly. "F'Ghara gave you that?"
"Yes. After he learned that I had killed Lici, the woman who created the plague."
The a'laq regarded him for another moment. Then he turned to Grinsa again. "You were supposed to kill her."
"Yes, but Besh did. She's dead. That's what matters."
"You've made a mess of everything. And you've brought these Mettai to my sept in a time of war."
Grinsa gave no indication that the a'laq's rebuke troubled him. "I don't believe we've made a mess of anything," he said evenly. "But that's a matter you and I can discuss in private."
E'Menua glared at Grinsa, his jaw muscles bunched. After a moment he turned to Q'Daer.
"Find them a place to sleep," he said, his voice thick with anger. "Make certain they have food and wood." He cast a dark look Grinsa's way. "You, come with me."
E'Menua turned sharply and started back the way he had come.
Grinsa kissed Cresenne and smiled at her. "I'll be back soon." Then he looked at Besh.
"I'm sorry," the old Mettai said. "I've made matters worse for you."
The Forelander shook his head. "No, you haven't," he said, dropping his voice. "They were going to be difficult no matter what happened here. You said what you had to to save your life, and Sirj's. You did the right thing." He patted Besh's shoulder and turned to follow the a'laq.
"Come with me, Mettai," Q'Daer said. "We may have to build you a shelter. ',
Besh nodded, but still he stood there, watching Grinsa walk away, wondering what E'Menua intended to do to him.
Grinsa didn't want any part of this fight. Not now, so soon after returning to the sept. He'd been apart from Cresenne and Bryntelle for the better part of two turns, this after being apart from them for turn after turn while they were still in the Forelands. All he wanted was to hold them both, to kiss Cresenne and look into the beautiful pale eyes of his daughter. Instead he had already allowed himself to be drawn into E'Menua's foolish games. The a'laq wanted this confrontation. So be it.
Grinsa could tell how angry E'Menua was with him. He had heard it in the a'laq's voice and he could see it now in the way the a'laq stalked toward his z'kal. He had incurred the man's wrath on several occasions before leaving with Q'Daer and the merchants to search for Lici. Once, the a'laq had gone so far as to strike him. So he had some idea of what to expect when they reached E'Menua's z'kal.
E'Menua pulled back the flap of rilda skin that covered the entrance to his shelter and motioned Grinsa inside. Grinsa ducked into the z'kal and turned to face the entrance. As he had expected, as soon as the a'laq stepped into the shelter and straightened, he reared back and aimed a backhanded blow at Grinsa's face.
The last time this happened, Grinsa had anticipated the blow and allowed the man to hit him. He didn't allow it this time.