Grinsa reached up and grabbed the a'laq's wrist before E'Menua could strike him. The a'laq's eyes widened. He tried to wrench his arm out of Grinsa's grasp, but Grinsa held him firm. E'Menua was a powerful man, and in his youth he might have been able to defeat Grinsa in a battle of physical strength. But not anymore, not at his age, despite the old injury to Grinsa's shoulder that had left him slightly deformed. Grinsa sensed that E'Menua was gathering himself to use shaping magic against him, and he reached forth with his own magic to stop him, just as he had done to B'Vril.
"Let go of me!" the a'laq demanded, his voice low, menacing.
"No, not yet."
E'Menua threw a punch with the other fist, but Grinsa seized that arm, too. He felt the a'laq grappling for control of his other magics, and he blocked him. He had no doubt that the Fal'Borna were skilled warriors, but based upon his confrontation with B'Vril and now this encounter with the a'laq, he sensed that their command of Qirsi magic lacked precision. Or perhaps battling the renegade Weaver back in the Forelands had honed Grinsa's skills so well that few Qirsi anywhere could stand against him in a contest of magic. Whatever the reason, his mastery of the man's magic was even more complete than his physical advantage.
"I'll call for the others," E'Menua said. "D'Pera, Q'Daer, L'Norr. You can't defeat four Weavers."
Grinsa shook his head, though he kept his expression neutral. He didn't wish to humiliate the man. He only wanted to prove to him once and for all that he couldn't be controlled. "It's an empty threat," he said, "and we both know it. You don't want them to see you like this, and neither do I."
Still E'Menua fought him. He struggled to free himself from Grinsa's grasp. He fought for control of his magic. All to no avail.
"Damn you!" he finally said through clenched teeth. But an instant later he seemed to surrender. He stopped trying to pull his arms free, and he ceded all control of his magic to Grinsa.
Grinsa let go of the man's wrist and arm but held fast to E'Menua's magic. The a'laq continued to glare as he rubbed his wrist with the other hand. It was red where Grinsa had held him.
"You can release my magic, too."
"I don't trust you," Grinsa said. "If you'd care to throw down the blades you carry, I might consider it. Otherwise…" He shrugged.
E'Menua regarded him again, his eyes narrowing slightly and a faint smile touching his lips. "You'll be a Fal'Borna yet, Forelander." But he didn't pull out his weapons, and Grinsa didn't relinquish his hold on the man's magic.
The a'laq walked around the fire ring in the z'kal and sat. He gestured for Grinsa to do the same.
"What is it you want?" he asked as Grinsa lowered himself to the ground.
"You know what I want."
By Fal'Borna law, all Weavers were to be joined to other Weavers. E'Menua and his people didn't recognize Cresenne as Grinsa's wife; in the days immediately following their arrival in the sept, the Fal'Borna had referred to her again and again as Grinsa's concubine. The a'laq had demanded that Grinsa be joined to a Weaver, and of course Grinsa had refused.
"We had an arrangement," E'Menua said. "You were to find the Mettai witch who made the curse. You were to kill her and prove the innocence of those merchants. Instead, the merchants are gone and the woman was killed by the Mettai. You failed, and now you must live with the consequences of that failure. You're Fal'Borna. You're a member of this sept. That's what we agreed to. You'll marry a Fal'Borna Weaver, just as you said you would."
Grinsa shook his head and laughed. "The Mettai woman is dead. Besh and I found a way to defeat the plague, and Besh went so far as to make the cure contagious, so that soon every man and woman in your sept will be immune. You're the only man in the Southlands who could look at all this and conclude that we failed."
"What about the merchants?"
"The merchants are no longer your problem," Grinsa said. "As I told you, Jasha is dead. And Torgan is alone on the plain. You've met the man. How long do you think he can last on his own? He'll be killed by a Fal'Borna war party long before he reaches the Silverwater."
E'Menua stared at the fire ring. Whatever flames had burned there had long since burned out, but the embers still glowed faintly, and a thread of smoke rose from them, undulating each time one of them exhaled.
"I don't want those Mettai in my sept. We're at war with their kind. You shouldn't have brought them here."
"Those Mettai saved my life and Q'Daer's. And if we spread their new spell quickly enough, we can protect every Qirsi on the plain from the plague. Your sept will forever be remembered as the one that saved the Fal'Borna nation."
At that, E'Menua looked up. Grinsa felt him test his magic. He did it lightly, as if hoping that Grinsa wouldn't notice. The Forelander grinned, to show E'Menua that he had.
"You can't hold my magic forever," the man said.
"No, I can't. But I can defeat you in a battle of power any time I wish. I think we both know that."
"As I said before, you can't defeat all of my Weavers. We both know that as well."
Grinsa nodded, conceding the point.
"So we're at an impasse."
"Perhaps not," Grinsa said.
E'Menua regarded him with obvious curiosity. "What do you mean?"
"The Fal'Borna are at war. I wouldn't leave your sept now even if you let me. It would be too dangerous for Cresenne and our child. And if your people come under attack, I'll stand with you."
"Will you ride to war with us?"
Grinsa hesitated. But then he nodded. "Your people didn't start this war. The Eandi are taking advantage of the damage done by Lici's plague. There's no honor in that, no justification that I can see. I'll fight with you to drive them off the plain. But if Fal'Borna warriors cross into Eandi land, they'll do so without me."
"All right."
"But that's as far as I'll go. Cresenne is my wife. You'll treat her as such, and you'll drop your insistence that I marry a Weaver."
"How do I know you won't go back on your word?" E'Menua asked. "We had one arrangement, and I have nothing to show for it."
"I disagree. Q'Daer is alive. Your people are safe. You have much to show for it. Besides, I could easily ask you the same question. I'm still holding on to your magic because I'm convinced that as soon as I let go, you'll attack me."
"As I said: an impasse."
They stared at each other for several seconds. E'Menua's face was in shadow, but his eyes seemed to glow with the dim light cast by the embers.
At last, Grinsa relinquished his hold on the a'laq's magic, drawing a smile from the man.
"Does this mean you trust me now?" E'Menua asked.
"It's my way of saying that you can trust me. I have no desire to harm you or any of your people. And I know that you don't want to admit to any of your Weavers that you need their help to defeat me."
The a'laq's mouth twitched slightly. But he nodded again. "Very well, Forelander. You'll fight with us as a Fal'Borna warrior. And I'll accept that the woman is your wife."
"You'll acknowledge it in front of the others. Everyone in the sept is to know.
"Yes, very well," the a'laq said shortly.
Grinsa stood. "Thank you."
He turned, intending to leave, and as soon as his back was to E'Menua, he felt the power building behind him. He'd expected something like this, and had been prepared for the a'laq to attack him with shaping power. E'Menua chose fire instead, and his touch was light. It seemed the man could be trusted. He wasn't trying to kill or maim. He just wanted to make a point.
But if Grinsa, Cresenne, and Bryntelle were ever to leave this sept, Grinsa couldn't even allow the a'laq that much. Without turning to face him again, Grinsa took hold of E'Menua's magic once more and redirected it. He also amplified the power with his own, so that flames erupted from the fire pit, blazing brilliantly. He heard the a'laq cry out.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Grinsa saw E'Menua sprawled on his back, staring up at him.