He nodded. Cresenne took the baby back from Sirj and they walked on.
"Good evening, N'Qlae," Cresenne said, stopping in front of the woman.
The n'qlae nodded to Cresenne and then, after hesitating for just a moment, nodded to the two Mettai as well.
"Is something wrong?" Cresenne asked. "Has something happened?"
"I've had no word from the a'laq, if that's what you mean."
Cresenne appeared to relax somewhat. "Then what can I do for you?"
"I've noticed that the three of you sup together each night," the woman said.
"What of it?" Cresenne demanded, her voice hardening. "Is that why you've come? You think we're plotting against your sept? I would have thought that after the a'laq's dream the other night you'd know better." She shook her head. "You and your people will never trust me, will you? Just as you'll never trust these men, though they've saved your life and that of every person in this sept."
Besh had some idea of how the Fal'Borna honored their a'laqs and n'qlaes, and he feared that Cresenne had pushed the woman too far. But the n'qlae's expression hardly changed, except for a vague smile that touched the corners of her mouth.
"Are you through?" she asked.
Cresenne blushed. Abruptly she seemed unwilling to look the woman in the eye. "Yes."
"I've noticed that the three of you sup together each evening, and I was wondering if you would join me tonight in my z'kal. The food would be little different from what you've been eating. And like you," the n'qlae said, looking at Cresenne, "I'm without my man right now. I grow tired of supping alone every night."
There was a lengthy silence. Sirj caught Besh's eye and raised his eyebrows. The n'qlae was smiling again.
"I owe you an apology, N'Qlae," Cresenne said at last.
"Yes, I believe you do. But I also believe that settles an old debt. We won't speak of it again."
"Thank you, N'Qlae."
"Come along then," the n'qlae said after another brief silence. "I'm hungry, and it's too cold to be standing out here doing nothing."
They followed the woman back to her shelter. A fire already burned within, and there were several bowls of food arrayed on the far side of the shelter… Some of it was similar to the food Besh and Sirj had eaten with Cresenne in recent nights: smoked rilda meat, boiled roots, and flat bread. But there were also dishes that Besh didn't recognize, including some sort of dried fruit that smelled wonderfully sweet.
They sat by the fire and the n'qlae began to pass the bowls around, urging her guests to take as much as they wanted.
As the bowls made their way around the circle, the n'qlac pulled out a small flask, unstoppered it, and poured a small amount of golden liquid into four cups.
"What is that?" Sirj asked.
The woman grinned. "Sweetgrass whiskey," she said. "Usually I only drink it with E'Menua. But you're guests, and I've been thinking about it all day."
She passed a cup to each of them.
When Cresenne took hers, Bryntelle reached for it and looked down into the cup.
"She wants some, too, eh?" the n'qlae said, and laughed.
Besh sniffed at the cup and was entranced. It smelled like sweet clover and honey and wine all mixed together. "What did you say this was?" he asked in amazement.
"Sweetgrass whiskey," the n'qlae said. "It's the one thing we Fal'Borna won't trade with the Eandi or even with another Qirsi clan. Our people make it here on the plain and only a few know how it's done. We have to trade for it with other septs, because no one in this sept can make it. We rarely share it with outsiders. Few who aren't from our clan have even tasted it."
"You honor us, N'Qlae," Besh said.
She waved off the remark. "I wanted some, and I didn't want to drink it alone." She winced. "I didn't mean that as it sounded."
Besh smiled. "I think I understand."
Sirj lifted his cup to his lips, but before he could drink, the n'qlae raised a finger.
"Slowly," she warned. "It's very strong."
Sirj nodded, took a sip, and nearly choked.
Cresenne was the next to try it, and though she managed not to cough or spit it out, her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. Bryntelle tried to grab hold of the cup, but Cresenne held it beyond her reach.
"You next, Mettai," the n'qlae said to Besh, a friendly smile on her face.
Besh took a sip and made a face that he imagined must have been very similar to Cresenne's. The whiskey was pleasantly sweet, but the flavor was nearly lost in the burning sensation on his tongue and throat.
The n'qlae nodded approvingly and then sipped from her cup. She swallowed and inhaled deeply through her teeth, but otherwise seemed unaffected.
"I think I need to try that again," Sirj said. He took another sip and this time had no trouble with it.
They began to eat, taking occasional sips of the whiskey throughout the meal. While they ate, the n'qlae asked Besh and Sirj about Kirayde, their village, and the lands surrounding it. As usual, Sirj deferred to Besh most of the time, leaving the old man to answer. He chose his words with care, though he sensed no dark intent in her questions. The n'qlae seemed most interested in the animals that the Mettai trapped in the Companion Lakes area, and after some time Besh finally turned to Sirj, who knew far more about trapping than Besh ever had.
At first Sirj spoke reluctantly, his eyes fixed on the fire and his voice low. But after a time he became more animated.
Eventually, the n'qlae seemed to run out of questions and it grew quiet in the shelter. Besh had finished his food and his whiskey, and he felt both full and slightly light-headed. Bryntelle had fallen asleep in her mother's lap, and Cresenne appeared weary as well.
"It's getting late," the n'qlae said, climbing to her feet. She grinned. "And if the whiskey hasn't made you tired yet, it will."
The others stood as well, Sirj taking Bryntelle for a moment as Cresenne got up. They stepped out into the night, and immediately Besh shivered. The sky was clear and a cold wind blew from the north. Both moons hung low in the eastern sky, casting long pale shadows across the sept.
"Thank you for inviting us to your z'kal, N'Qlae," Cresenne said. "And thank you as well for allowing us to taste the sweetgrass whiskey. It was wonderful."
The n'qlae nodded. "You're welcome." She turned to Besh and Sirj. "You may not know this, but you saved my husband's life a few nights ago."
Besh frowned. "What?"
"A Weaver can walk in the dreams of other Qirsi. That's how the a'laq of one sept speaks to other a'laqs elsewhere on the plain."
The old man nodded. "This I knew from Grinsa."
"The night before he left, E'Menua entered the dreams of an a'laq who was sick with the plague. He should have fallen ill himself, but he was immune. And the spell you conjured spread to the other Weaver and cured him, too."
Besh wasn't sure what to say. This explained the freedoms he and Sirj had enjoyed in recent days. But a part of him wondered why the woman had waited so long to tell him all of this.
"Anyway," the n'qlae went on after a moment, "I wanted to thank you for saving him. For saving all of us."
"You're welcome," Besh said.
She nodded and started to duck back into her shelter.
Before she could, however, someone called to her by her title. She straightened and turned, searching the darkness. After a few seconds a warrior appeared. He was an older man, broad in the shoulders and chest, but also thick in the middle. Nearly all the younger warriors had ridden to war with the a'laq. The men who were left were either old, like this man, or just barely of age to wield magic. The man stopped in front of the n'qlae and bowed to her.
"What's the matter, I'Yir?" the woman asked.
The man eyed Cresenne and the Mettai as if unsure of whether he could speak freely in front of them.
"It's all right," the n'qlae said. "Tell me."
"We're not sure what it is, N'Qlae," the warrior said. "G'Hirran and we were on patrol-and we thought we heard horses to the west of camp. That was earlier, and when we didn't hear anything more we decided we'd been imagining it. But just now we heard it again, and this time we're sure."