Eventually, people began to wander off to sleep. Many of them had small beds in their carts, and others had fashioned crude shelters from cloth and rope and wood. R'Shev told Grinsa and Cresenne that they could place their sleeping rolls under the tarpaulins by the fire, and after some time, Cresenne did.
Grinsa stayed up a while longer, speaking in low tones with R'Shev, learning what he could about the various clans, and the Eandi villages that lay between Bred's Landing and Fal'Borna land.
After a time, they fell silent. But just when Grinsa was ready to bid the man good night, R'Shev surprised him.
"You're a Weaver, aren't you, Grinsa?"
The Eandi guard he and Cresenne encountered in Yorl had divined this as well, so Grinsa wasn't completely unprepared. He did wonder, though, why the man was asking.
"I am."
"Is Cresenne?"
The guard had asked this, too.
"No, she's not. Why?"
"Forgive me," he said. "I don't mean to pry, but are the two of you joined, formally I mean?"
"As it happens, we're not." There hadn't really been time for a formal joining ceremony before they left the Forelands, and in truth, neither of them had seen a need for one. In all ways that mattered, they were husband and wife, their lives bound together not only by their love, but also by Bryntelle. In the Forelands, at least, formal joinings were usually reserved for nobility. But maybe that wasn't the case here. "What is it you're getting at, R'Shev?"
The man rubbed a hand over his narrow face. "It may not come to much. It will depend on which clan you settle with. But among some, Weavers are expected to marry other Weavers. It's a way of ensuring that more Weavers are born, and to some clans that's very important. There haven't been many wars fought among the clans in the last hundred years, but some of the rivalries remain, and, rightly or wrongly, Weavers are equated with power. The more a clan has, the better their prospects in battle with other Qirsi. And if ever the Blood Wars start up again, a clan with many Weavers will have the best chance of taking Eandi land. That's the thinking anyway."
"But I don't belong to any clan."
R'Shev smiled, though if anything, it made him look sad. "The clan you settle with may well see it differently." His brow furrowed. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. I hope I'm wrong. I hope it doesn't matter at all. But you should be prepared, just in case it does."
"Yes, of course," Grinsa said absently.
"I've troubled you."
He met the man's gaze. "As you said, I should be prepared."
R'Shev nodded. Standing, he stretched his back and began to walk off. "Good night, Grinsa."
"Good night, R'Shev. Thank you for everything. This could have been a miserable night for us. Instead it was the best we've had in the Southlands."
"I'm glad."
The man walked off, leaving Grinsa to brood on what the peddler had told him. After some time, he untied his sleeping roll, placed it beside Cresenne, and lay down. She stirred. He kissed her lightly on the lips and she smiled.
"What were you and R'Shev talking about?" she asked sleepily.
He hesitated, but only briefly. "Nothing we need to worry about right now," he said. He kissed her again. "You should sleep."
Chapter 12
By the time they awoke the next morning the rain had eased, but clouds still hung low over the plain, and the air remained chill. The peddlers rose early, some of them with first light, and in mere moments had taken down the tarpaulins and packed up their carts. R'Shev apologized to Grinsa and Cresenne for waking them and taking down the shelter he'd built around the fire ring, but he, too, worked quickly and efficiently. Grinsa offered to help, but the peddler shook his head and smiled.
"I've done this just about every morning for the past fourteen years. I'm better off working alone."
True to his word, the man had his cloths and poles packed away in no time at all and soon was bidding them farewell.
"I wish I was headed west," he said, taking Cresenne's hand in his own and looking from her to Grinsa. "And not only because I enjoy the company of a lovely woman."
Cresenne smiled, though she was surprised by how sad she felt to have to leave the old peddler. She and Grinsa had known him and the other peddlers for less than a day, but already they were their friends, the only ones they had in the Southlands.
"Thank you for everything," she said, stepping forward and kissing his cheek.
"Well, I don't think I did anything at all. But I'd gladly do nothing again if it earned me another kiss."
She grinned.
He glanced at Bryntelle, who was still asleep in Cresenne's arms. "Take care of the little one," he said. "You have enough food? I can sell you some if need be. At cost," he added.
One of the older women was walking by as he said this, and she paused. "Take him up on it, just for our sake. We've never seen the old goat sell anything at cost."
"Get away, nag!" he said, shooing her away as she laughed.
"I think we have enough," Grinsa said. "Thank you, though."
R'Shev's expression sobered. "Be certain. The Eandi of Stelpana grow more hostile to our kind as one moves west. There are some villages near the wash that even I won't venture into."
Grinsa and Cresenne exchanged a look, and after a moment she nodded.
"All right," Grinsa said. "It probably can't hurt to have a bit extra." R'Shev nodded. "That's right."
They bought more cheese and smoked meat from the man, and paid far less than they would have in any marketplace. After that, there was nothing to do but bid him farewell.
"I hope we meet again," Cresenne told him, knowing of course that they wouldn't.
"That's kind of you, my dear, but I hope we don't. My life's on these plains, and this is no place for a family like yours."
He climbed onto his cart, clicked his tongue at his old horse, and started rattling eastward toward Bred's Landing.
Grinsa and Cresenne were soon ready to continue on their way as well. As it happened, D'Chul, the young lutenist, was also headed west toward Silverwater Wash. Cresenne was delighted to ride in the company of another Qirsi, and she expected that Grinsa would be as well. But for the first several hours of the day, he said little, and he appeared to be occupied with dark thoughts. He rode with his shoulders hunched, his eyes trained on the ground before him, his brow creased so that he seemed to be scowling. Cresenne wondered if he was brooding on something he'd heard the night before, or if he was concerned about what they would do if the skies opened up again, or if he simply didn't like D'Chul.
At one point during the morning, Cresenne steered her mount next to his and reached out to take his hand. His face brightened immediately and he smiled at her.
"Are you all right?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, of course."
"You seem troubled."
He shook his head. "Really, I'm fine."
Cresenne had nodded, taking him at his word. And why shouldn't she? Usually he kept nothing from her. But when she looked at him again only a few moments later, he looked just as he had before: tense, even apprehensive, which was not like him at all. She knew how strong he was, though, and she trusted that no matter what it was that had him worried, he'd find a way to overcome it.
For her part, she hadn't been this happy since the day they left the Forelands, more than two turns before. She liked D'Chul and she enjoyed hearing him speak of the clans and of life on the plain. He'd been born in a small settlement in the Berylline Forest along the western bank of the A'Vahl River. Listening to him speak of his home, Cresenne had to remind herself again and again that all of his neighbors, all the people who lived with him in the village, were Qirsi. She knew this to be true-she'd been in the Southlands long enough to understand that this was not at all unusual in the western half of the land-but every time she pictured the marketplace he described, or the sanctuary where he worshiped, or any other part of the village, she pictured Eandi faces as well as Qirsi, indeed, more of the former than the latter. She couldn't help herself.