"Where will you go?" Jasha asked him. "Which way to Eandi land?" Torgan shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's just a few hours. As soon as the sun starts to rise I'll know which way to go."
"And where will you sleep? You don't travel by day. We know you don't. That's very clever, by the way: resting when it's light and making your way eastward after nightfall? Very clever indeed. But where will you pass the night?"
Torgan looked around again, but could see little. The wraiths were too bright and the land beyond them too dark. He strained his ears, hoping to hear flowing water. There had to be woodlands nearby.
"What if there aren't?"
Torgan looked at Jasha again, but the wraith's face revealed nothing. He wasn't smiling anymore. He didn't appear to be gloating or mocking him. If anything, he looked slightly sad.
"You don't want the Fal'Borna to find me, Jasha." Torgan eyed the others. "None of you do. I still have more of that cursed basket."
An angry murmur rose from the wraiths.
He forced himself to look the ghosts in the eye, one by one. "If your purpose tonight was to ensure that I'll be captured by your fellow white-hairs, then you've made a terrible mistake. I would have gladly ridden the rest of the way to the Silverwater without hurting anyone else. But if I can only survive by bringing the plague to more septs, then that's what I'll do."
"Do you have the basket with you, Torgan?" Jasha asked.
"Of course I do. How do you think-?"
Jasha shook his head. "I mean with you. In your hand or in your pocket?"
"No, of course not. It's…" He trailed off, looking past the wraiths once more. Had he really seen Trey, or had he imagined it? What if the horse hadn't stopped a short distance off? What if it was still running even now?
"You've been very clever," Jasha said again. "But what will you do without that basket? What will you do without your horse, without your food, without a sleeping roll or a blanket? What will you do if you don't know where you are or which way you're supposed to go?"
Torgan was shaking again. And this time he couldn't blame it on exhaustion or the cold. "I'll survive," he said, his voice quavering. "That's what I've always done." He nodded. "One way or another, I'll make it to the wash."
Jasha nodded once. "We'll see."
An instant later, the wraiths were gone. Torgan blinked several times, but he couldn't see anything. He felt as if he'd been staring into a fire too long. He whistled. Nothing. He called out Trey's name, but the only sound he heard was the distant howl of a wild dog. He opened his mouth to shout for the horse again, but then stopped himself. What if there was a sept nearby? He took a step, stopped, looked around again. Which way was east? "Damn you, Jasha," he whispered.
Chapter 7
It had been two days since the armies of Stelpana forded the wash, and they had yet to see even a single Fal'Borna rider, much less a white-hair army. Enly, who rode at the head of the force with Tirnya, Stri, Cries, and the two marshals, had expected that he would be in no rush for their first battle. He still doubted the wisdom of starting this war, and he feared their first encounter with Qirsi magic.
But to his surprise, he felt himself growing impatient with every hour that passed. This wasn't battle lust, or some sudden change of heart. On the contrary, he realized that one way or another he just wanted to get that first fight over with. If war was coming, then let it come; Enly had waited long enough.
So on the third morning, when two of the scouts regularly sent out by Jenoe returned so soon after they'd been dispatched, Enly knew a moment of relief, even as he felt his pulse quicken. The marshal had assigned scouts to ride ahead of the army, behind it, and on either flank. These two men had been sent forward.
Upon seeing them riding back toward the army, Jenoe called a halt. Tirnya, who as usual rode between Stri and her father, glanced at Enly, her cheeks flushed. He couldn't tell if she looked eager or frightened.
"Report," Jenoe said, as the two men stopped in front of him.
They were both young soldiers from Qalsyn-Enly assumed that they came from Stri's company, or maybe Tirnya's. One of them had a wispy beard and mustache that were blond, like his hair, and barely visible. The other one appeared too young to manage even that much.
"There's a village up ahead, Marshal," the bearded one said. "Very small. But a village jes' th' same."
"It's called a sept," Gries said quietly.
The others looked at him briefly.
"Well, whatev'r i' is, 't's small. Can' be more 'n hundred people."
"All septs look small to men who come from the larger cities of the sovereignties," Gries told them. "Most of our soldiers can only compare the settlements to their homes, and its not a helpful comparison."
"You seem to know a good deal about the Fal'Borna, Captain," Jenoe said.
"My father has taught me much, Marshal. Perhaps he knew that this war would come eventually."
"How big is the paddock?" Enly asked.
Cries looked at him and nodded approvingly at the question. The scout appeared puzzled. "Th' what?"
"The paddock," Gries said, facing the man again. "How many horses are grazing beside the… the village?"
The young soldier turned to his companion and shrugged. "I don' know. D' you?"
"A lot," the other man said. "Couple o' hundred a' least. Bu' we didn' see any white-hairs. No' one."
"They're there," Gries said. "They wouldn't flee the sept and leave their horses behind. More likely they spotted these two or learned of our approach.
They'll be ready for us."
"Do you have any idea how many warriors this sept might have?" Jenoe asked him.
"With that many horses, they'll have several hundred people in their sept."
Jenoe nodded. "So roughly half of them would be warriors."
"No," Cries said. "The Fal'Borna are as patriarchal as any clan in the Southlands. But you're about to attack one of their septs. Every person in that settlement who's old enough to carry a weapon is a warrior. And every one of them past his or her fourth four will be able to wield magic."
Jenoe and Tirnya exchanged a look.
The marshal faced the scouts again. "Well done," he said. "I need for one of you to go to the back of our column, find the leader of the Mettai, and bring her to me."
Before either man could respond, Enly said, "I'll get her."
Jenoe furrowed his brow. "Really, Captain, I was hoping that you'd remain here and help us devise a strategy."
"I doubt that I have much to offer, Marshal. I trust Captain Ballidyne to speak for me."
Tirnya couldn't have looked more surprised.
Jenoe, however, seemed to understand. "Very well, Captain. Please bring her to me as quickly as possible."
"Of course." Enly turned his mount and rode at a brisk canter back past the other soldiers to the small cluster of Mettai villagers. The villagers were all sitting on the ground, despite a light covering of snow from a squall the previous night. Seeing him approach, Fayonne rose. After a moment, her son did as well.
"You're looking for me, I assume," the eldest said.
"Yes. The marshal wishes a word with you. Our scouts have spotted a sept ahead. It looks as though we'll be facing the Fal'Borna before the day is through."
Fayonne didn't look formidable in any traditional sense. She was small, so thin as to be almost waiflike. The years had whitened her hair and left deep lines on her face. But at the mention of the Fal'Borna she didn't quail, or widen her dark eyes, or betray any hint of the fear that Enly himself felt. He couldn't help but admire her courage.
"I'd like to bring my son," she said in an even voice. "I believe he'll be of value in any discussion of tactics."
Mander's expression didn't change. He stared back at Enly as if daring him to refuse the eldest's request.