"Maifor's Wash and Ravens Wash," Cresenne said softly.
Grinsa glanced at her. "Thank you. I'd forgotten the name of the first one."
"There's a third, beyond these two. Silverwater, I think it called. We'll have to cross all three of them to reach Qirsi land."
"I know."
She shifted Bryntelle so that the child's weight rested mostly on her hip. "And we're going to need to find food in the next day or two. We're almost out."
He took her free hand. "I know that, too. It'll be all right."
She smiled at him, though as she faced the plain again her expression sobered. "I've never seen a land so beautiful. And I've never been anywhere that scared me more."
"We'll find a town along the river, someplace that isn't too small, someplace that will have seen Qirsi before. There have to be Qirsi peddlers who trade in these lands."
"How do you know?"
"I don't really," Grinsa admitted. "But it makes sense. Back in the Forelands there was always trade among all the realms, even between the most bitter enemies. What was the old saying? 'Kings must have their wars, and merchants must have their gold'? I'd wager the same is true here."
"And how does that help us?"
"If we can find a town that sees some Qirsi traffic, even if it's just the occasional peddler, we'll stand out less. That's got to be better than winding up in a village that a Qirsi hasn't passed through since the last Blood War."
"I suppose," Cresenne said. She didn't sound convinced.
They made camp that night in the foothills before descending to the plain the following morning. Once on level terrain, they were able to make better time once more, and late in the day they reached the banks of Maifor's Wash.
It was a broad river, which had looked placid and slow from a distance. But as Grinsa and Cresenne drew nearer, they could see that in fact it ran so swift and deep as to make a crossing too dangerous. The waters of the wash swirled in tight eddies and looked turbid with silt and mud.
They followed the riverbank northward, hoping to find a spot where they might cross safely. Finding none before nightfall, they made camp and ate what was left of their food. In the morning, they resumed their search, still riding north.
Before midday they came within view of a large settlement set just beside the river. Farmhouses and barns dotted the land around the village, and broad lanes led into it from the south and east. More important, Grinsa spotted a broad stone bridge spanning the river from near the marketplace in the middle of the town.
"We have no choice, do we?" Cresenne said, eyeing the village grimly.
It was a pleasant-looking place. The houses looked clean and cheerful, the crops appeared to be doing well, and there were quite a few peddlers crossing the river into the village marketplace. Had they still been in the Forelands, or even the western half of this land, they wouldn't have hesitated to ride into town. But their experience in Yorl remained fresh in Grinsa's mind. He was no more eager than Cresenne to enter the village.
"I don't think we do," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "This may be our only chance all day to find more food. And who knows where else we'll be able to cross the river?"
She nodded, taking a deep breath. "All right. Lead the way."
He kicked his mount into motion and started up the lane again, with Cresenne just behind him.
"We'll get some food and be on our way," he said, glancing back at her. "Who knows? Maybe we'll find a Qirsi peddler."
She offered no response and they rode in silence the rest of the way to the village. Along the lane they passed an Eandi merchant who rode atop an old wooden cart, pulled by a grey nag. He glared at them as if he thought they had used their magic to pilfer his wares, but he said nothing, and they deemed it best to do the same.
Unlike the city of Yorl, this village, whatever its name, was not fortified. There was no city wall, no guarded gate through which they had to pass. But in other ways, it was all too similar to the coastal city. Once again, it seemed that every person they saw was Eandi, that every gaze that fell upon them was filled with hatred and fear. Grinsa slowed his mount slightly, allowing Cresenne and Bryntelle to pull abreast of him.
He scanned the lane as they rode, his gaze never resting, his magic ready, lest they be attacked.
But while the people in the lane didn't offer so much as a nod of greeting, neither did they give any sign that they intended to hurt them, or even demand that they leave. Grinsa wasn't certain if this was because they didn't dare challenge a Qirsi of unknown power, or if they were forbidden from doing so by the laws of the land. Really, he didn't care. He
watched them; they watched him. That was the extent of their interaction. Upon reaching the marketplace, Grinsa began to relax. There, among the Eandi peddlers with their carts and stalls, he spotted a few Qirsi traders. They were vastly outnumbered, to be sure. All told, there couldn't have been more than five or six. But they were there, and Grinsa steered his mount toward the nearest of them.
"It seems you were right," Cresenne said.
"Fortunately. I had my doubts when we first rode into the village."
They stopped and dismounted in front of the cart of the first Qirsi peddler, a young man who was just completing a transaction with an Eandi woman and her daughter. He wore his hair loose and long, and he had elaborate black markings etched into the skin around his right eye.
Grinsa and Cresenne waited until the Eandi had moved off before stepping up to the cart.
"Good day, cousin," Grinsa said, grinning at the man and offering a hand.
The man stared at him a moment, then glanced down at his proffered hand and sneered. "You're no cousin of mine."
Realizing that he had erred, Grinsa felt his smile melt away. Qirsi often called each other cousin in the Forelands, even if they were strangers. Most of the sorcerers there were descended from the invading army that had gone to the Forelands from these realms nine centuries ago, and so most assumed that they were related to one another. In addition, the fact that the Qirsi of the Forelands were so vastly outnumbered by the Eandi fostered a certain camaraderie; calling one another cousin came naturally.
But it occurred to Grinsa there were far more Qirsi in the Southlands, and nearly all of them probably belonged to one of the great clans. Here, calling a strange Qirsi "cousin" might well have been seen as presumptuous, maybe even insulting.
"Forgive me," Grinsa said. "Where I'm from, Qirsi often address each other so. I meant no offense."
"What is it you want, white-hair?"
Grinsa glanced at Cresenne, who raised an eyebrow.
"Quickly!" the man said. "Do you want to kill off all my business?" "You think that by standing here, we're keeping Eandi customers away."
The man glared at him as if he were simple. "Of course, fool! Now either buy something or move on!"
Grinsa glanced down at the man's wares, which consisted mostly of trinkets and extravagances-gems, ivory combs, blades with jeweled hilts, multicolored blankets. He had nothing Grinsa wanted to buy, at least nothing tangible.
"I need information."
The man frowned. "What information? I'm a peddler, nothing more."
"What's the name of this town?"
The man regarded them both through narrowed eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "Your speech is strange. Where are you from?"
"We've just come from the Forelands. We took a ship south to Yorl, then crossed Aelea, made our way through Eagle's Pass, and came here."
"I'm not certain I believe you," the man said.
"It's true. We're still learning about your land. We know that we're in Stelpana, on Maifor's Wash, but we don't know the name of this village." He eyed them a moment longer, then said, "Greysford."