"Sturdy, secure against wind and rain, but light, and probably very easy to take down and carry."
"All our z'kals are made so," Q'Daer told him. "We move with the herds. We can't spare time to build heavier homes and dismantle them. And as I told you, the Fal'Borna waste nothing."
"Don't you get cold during the Snows?"
"Each z'kal has a fire circle within, and a vent at the top for smoke." He grinned. "And if it grows too cold, well, that's why Qirsar gave us women, isn't it?"
Grinsa smiled halfheartedly and glanced at Cresenne, who wasn't smiling at all.
"I'll tell the a'laq that you're here," the man said. He entered the shelter through a flap that was held in place by a series of hooks, also made of bone.
"What are we going to say to this a'laq?" Cresenne asked in a low voice, surveying the settlement. "I'm not ready to cast my lot with these people, but I'm not sure that we can tell him we'd like to speak with the other clans before deciding who we want to live with."
"I don't know. We don't even know for certain that we'll be asked to join their clan. Let's just wait and see."
Cresenne nodded, but she could feel her apprehension growing by the moment.
Before long, Q'Daer emerged from the shelter and nodded to Grinsa. "He'll see you now."
Both of them started forward, but the man held up a hand and shook his head. "Your concubine can wait out here."
Cresenne gaped at him. "His what?" she demanded, her voice rising so that others in the settlement turned to look at her.
Q'Daer glanced at her, his expression infuriatingly placid. Then he faced Grinsa again. "It would be best if she remained out here."
But Grinsa shook his head. "I'm sorry, Q'Daer. If the a'laq wants to see us together, so be it. But I won't go in alone." "The a'laq doesn't give audiences to concubines." "I'm not his concubine!"
"She's not my concubine!"
They said these simultaneously, shared a brief look, then faced the
Fal'Borna again.
"She's not a Weaver."
"No, she's not. But in the Forelands, that doesn't matter."
Q'Daer shook his head, clearly unnerved by all of this. Cresenne wasn't certain whether he was merely offended, or if he actually feared delivering these tidings to the a'laq. "It's not wise to defy an a'laq, Forelander," he said at last. "Particularly a man like E'Menua."
"Then perhaps it's best that we move on, without meeting him."
"No," the man said. He looked at them both, his lips pressed thin. Then he went back into the shelter.
"You knew about this concubine thing, didn't you?" Cresenne said quietly.
A small smile crept across Grinsa's face. "You said you didn't want to hear."
"Yes, I did. But I think you enjoyed that just a bit too much." He laughed.
Q'Daer emerged again just seconds later, appearing relieved. "He'll see you both," he said. He watched them expectantly, no doubt wondering why they weren't more pleased.
Wordlessly, they stepped past him and into the shelter.
It was warm within, and it smelled strongly of smoke and cooked meat and sweat. A fire burned low within a ring of stones in the center of the space, and on the far side of the fire, directly opposite the entrance, sat an old Qirsi man. He was dressed much as Q'Daer had been, down to the thin necklace and white stone. Like the other men they had seen, he wore his long white hair tied back from his face. Even sitting, he appeared powerful, with a broad chest and thick neck. His eyes were large and round, like those of a cat, and his face tapered to a thin, sharp chin, giving him the look of some preternaturally intelligent beast.
Cresenne and Grinsa stood just inside the entryway for several moments as the a'laq regarded them. The fire popped loudly and Bryntelle chattered as she stared at the flames, but otherwise no one made a sound. At last, the man motioned for them to sit.
"I don't usually allow the concubines of other men into my z'kal," he said in a gravelly voice, once they had settled themselves beside the stone circle.
Cresenne fully intended to fire back that she didn't usually tolerate being called a concubine, but Grinsa laid a hand on her arm and she managed to keep silent.
"Cresenne isn't my concubine, A'Laq. She's my wife." "She isn't a Weaver. She can't be your wife."
"Those are your customs, not ours."
He grinned at that, his face harsh in the dim glow of the fire. "You're in the Southlands now, Forelander. Our customs are your customs. Have the two of you been formally joined?"
Grinsa only hesitated for an instant, but it was enough. "In all ways that matter, Cresenne is my wife."
"Ah," the a'laq said, nodding slowly. "I see. There is room, then, for discussion."
"No," Grinsa said. "There's not."
"Are you bound to a clan yet, Forelander?" the a'laq asked, as if the previous matter had been settled.
"We've only been on the Qirsi side of the Silverwater for a few days. The Fal'Borna are the first clanfolk we've encountered."
"How fortunate for you," the man said, seemingly without irony. "We look forward to exploring other parts of the land as well, and perhaps meeting other folk from other clans."
The a'laq's smile faded slowly. "Why would you want to do that?" "We're new to the Southlands. We're curious."
For a long time, the man said nothing. He held two fingers to his lips, tapping them absently. At last, he reached for a small log and threw it onto the fire, sending a flurry of bright orange sparks into the air.
"I have some idea of how Weavers are treated in the Forelands. I know they're feared, even hated. I know that many have been put to death over the centuries. Isn't that so?"
Grinsa nodded.
"Perhaps you've noticed that their status here among the clans is somewhat different."
"I've gathered as much, yes."
"A Weaver who comes among us unbound to any clan is rare indeed. Weavers are something of a commodity, not like drel, mind you. They're not common chattel. They're gold. They're gems. They are prized by all. This is why we insist that Weavers join with other Weavers, so that they might beget yet more Weavers." His eyes flicked toward Cresenne. "Your… your wife is very beautiful."
He said the word "wife" with such condescension that Cresenne almost wished he'd go back to calling her a concubine.
"I can see why you chose her," he went on. "But she is far less likely to give birth to Weavers than another Weaver would be."
"I understand the reasoning behind your custom, A'Laq."
"I'm sure you do. But this is not my point. Unbound Weavers are rare, and to have one appear in our sept as you have is a great boon. You wish to leave, to explore other parts of the Southlands. But we're determined that you should stay."
Cresenne felt icy fingers closing around her heart, and she clutched Bryntelle closer to her breast, drawing a low cry from the child. Grinsa's eyes, shining in the brightened glow of the fire, were fixed on the man, but his expression hadn't changed.
"Are we to be your captives, then?" he demanded.
The a'laq eyed him briefly. "What happened to your shoulder, Forelander?"
Grinsa's good hand reached up to his deformed shoulder and rubbed it gently, as if he could feel the pain again. Cresenne knew what had happened, of course. It was shattered by the Weaver who led the conspiracy against the Eandi courts of the Forelands. Grinsa managed to destroy the Weaver despite his injury, but the shoulder, which had been broken once before by a servant of the Weaver, never healed properly.
"I hurt it battling a Weaver," Grinsa answered, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The a'laq nodded. "I thought as much. I sensed that the injury had been caused by magic. And who else other than another Weaver could do such a thing to you?" He gestured toward the entrance to his shelter. "There are three Weavers out there. And of course I'm one, too. We have four in our sept. Four Weavers. There are other Fal'Borna septs larger than ours, but few have so many. I have three children, and all of them may prove to be Weavers. And still I find myself wanting more. I'm an old man, with only a few years left. There should be Weavers to take my place."