He closed his eyes and took a long, shuddering breath. He felt as though a spear had pierced his heart.
O'Tal steered his mount to where Grinsa stood.
"You and Q'Daer were close," he said.
Grinsa actually laughed, though his eyes stung. "No," he said. "That's the funny thing. We fought all the time."
"I have a brother. We fight all the time, too."
The Forelander nodded, unable to put a word to his emotions. "We have to end this, A'Laq," he said.
"We're trying."
Grinsa looked up at him. "No. I don't mean we have to win it. I mean we have to end it." He gestured at the dead beasts around them, the eagles circling above, the Eandi soldiers fighting off wolves in the distance. "This is madness. The Eandi were in retreat. Let them go. End this now."
O'Tal's expression hardened and he looked away. Grinsa was sure he'd refuse.
"That's not the Fal'Borna way," the man said with quiet intensity.
"It can be today. H'Loryn won't fight you. E'Menua would have, and Q'Daer, too. But they're gone. You lead us now, and you have to stop this battle before it spreads. Too many-"
"Enough!" O'Tal was eyeing him again, his jaw set. He looked out over the battle plain. After a few moments he raised himself up in his saddle and shouted, "Fal'Borna riders! Return to me now!"
L'Norr and his men were the farthest away, and at first they didn't appear to have heard him. But O'Tal called for them again, and this time L'Norr turned to look back at the a'laq. Seeing that others were gathering around O'Tal, he and his company started back, too. Grinsa could see him scanning the plain as he rode, no doubt looking for Q'Daer.
"If one of the dark-eyes takes so much as a step toward our lines," O'Tal said, his voice low and hard, "I'm going to signal an advance again, and we'll kill every last one of them."
"I wouldn't expect anything different, A'Laq," Grinsa said.
The man nodded, though he still looked unsure of his decision.
"What's happening?" H'Loryn asked as he steered his mount toward them. "Why have you called us back?"
O'Tal glanced at Grinsa before facing the other a'laq. "E'Menua is dead. Q'Daer and his company are dead. The Forelander believes it's time to end this war, and I agree with him. The dark-eyes were retreating. We're going to let them go."
H'Loryn looked from one of them to the other, as if not quite believing what he had heard. "I think that's a wise choice, O'Tal," he finally said. O'Tal didn't answer. He looked out over the plain once more, seeming to mark L'Norr's approach. "He's young to be a'laq." He faced Grinsa again. "Have you considered-?"
"No," Grinsa said. "The sept is his."
"Where's my a'laq?" L'Norr said as he drew near. He scanned the faces of those gathering around O'Tal, his gaze coming to rest at last on Grinsa. "Where's Q'Daer?"
Grinsa walked to where the young Weaver had halted his mount. "The a'laq is dead, killed by one of the Mettai snakes. And Q'Daer and his company are lost as well."
L'Norr merely stared down at him.
"You lead our sept now, A'Laq."
The man shook his head. "I'm not… I can't."
"Of course you can," O'Tal said. "You must. There's no one else."
L'Norr cast a look at Grinsa, a question in his pale eyes. But Grinsa shook his head.
"Yes, all right," L'Norr said quietly.
"H'Loryn and I have decided that this war must end," O'Tal said. "But you're a'laq of your sept now, the leader of your men. And you've lost two Weavers today. If you say we should fight on, that's what we'll do."
L'Norr stared back at him, clearly unnerved. He glanced at Grinsa, but only for an instant. Then he began to look around, as if taking in the carnage that surrounded them. Finally he gazed out in the direction Q'Daer had led his men. Facing O'Tal again, he shook his head. "I want vengeance," he said. "I want to see every one of the dark-eyes dead."
O'Tal frowned, but recovered quickly and nodded. "Very well."
L'Norr looked down at Grinsa. "Aren't you going to argue? Aren't you going to tell me that I'm being reckless and foolish?"
"No," Grinsa said. "I understand how you feel. I think it's likely that E'Menua would have made the same choice."
L'Norr nodded. "I agree. It's the Fal'Borna way."
"That doesn't make it right," O'Tal said.
They all looked at him.
"We may be able to destroy them," he went on, directing his words at L'Norr. "Or they may destroy us, just as they did Q'Daer's company and P'Rhil's warriors. For some reason, the dark-eyes were already in retreat, even though they had prevailed in a battle with the first army we sent to meet them." He stared across the battlefield at the Eandi. "I have a family that I want to see again. I have no stomach for this war, and I have no confidence that we can defeat this enemy. We should let them go, and live to defend our land another day."
"Is that what you believe, too, A'Laq?" L'Norr asked H'Loryn. The older man nodded.
"And you?" he asked Grinsa.
"I think you know the answer to that."
L'Norr eyed them all for several moments, until finally his body seemed to sag slightly. "Yes, all right," he said, his voice falling low. "We'll let them go."
Grinsa exhaled, and exchanged a look with O'Tal. He nodded to the man, careful not to let L'Norr see. O'Tal nodded in return.
L'Norr steered his mount away from the others, and Grinsa stared after him, trying to imagine what the young Weaver must have been thinking and feeling just then. For his part, though, Grinsa thought that he would make a good a'laq.
You have to save him!" Tirnya said, desperate now, her vision clouded by tears, her throat aching.
"I can't," the eldest said. She actually took a step back, as if afraid of what Tirnya was suggesting.
"You have that magic!" Tirnya said. "I know you do!"
Fayonne shook her head. "I don't think our magic can save him. His injuries… He's too far gone."
"No!" Tirnya cried. She looked down at Enly's broken body. "He's alive still! You can do this!"
"Tirnya," Enly whispered. "Let me go. There's nothing she can do."
"I don't believe that!" She stared up at the eldest again. "And you don't, either. You know you can do this."
The eldest's eyes flitted from Enly's face to Tirnya's to Jenoe's, making her look like a cornered animal. "I don't know what the curse will do to any healing spell I use. I could try to heal him and wind up killing him."
Tirnya shook her head. "It doesn't matter. As you said yourself, he's dying already. At least he'd have a chance. Please," she said, her voice breaking on the word.
"The curse could do other things. It could…" Fayonne shook her head. "The risk is too great."
"Then I'll do it."
Tirnya looked up into Mander's face. "Thank you," she whispered. "No!" Fayonne said. "I won't allow it!"
"I don't need your permission, Mama. And I won't just let him die. We conjured those eagles. This is our fault."
"Not ours! The curse did this!"
"Yes," Mander said. "The curse. Our curse." He knelt beside Enly and pulled out his knife. Looking at Tirnya, he said, "I don't know if I can save him. But I'll try."
"Thank you," she said.
Fayonne dropped to her knees on the other side of Enly and stared intently at her son. "You can't do this, Mander! It's too dangerous!"
He smiled thinly. "I have to do it. That's what you said before, isn't it? Well, I have to do this."
The eldest blinked once, then sat back on her heels.
Mander took a handful of dirt, cut his hand, and mixed the blood and soil. "Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, power to life."
He didn't release the mud, as Tirnya had seen the Mettai do with other spells. Instead, he merely held his hand over Enly's body and closed his eyes. For what felt to Tirnya like an eternity, everything on the plain seemed to stand still. Enly barely moved, except to draw breath. No one around them spoke. It even seemed that the fighting had stopped. At one point Mander opened his hand, and to Tirnya's amazement it was empty, completely clean. She saw not a trace of the earth and blood that had been there before. But he picked up more dirt, cut himself again, and repeated the spell, and in a moment he was healing Enly once more.