"You're not Fal'Borna," Torgan said, as if seeing Grinsa for the first time.
"Answer the question," the a'laq commanded.
Torgan exhaled. "Mind-bending. Yes, I have some idea what it can do."
"In that case," Grinsa said, "I shouldn't have to tell you that we can make you tell us. You can refuse us all you like, but in the end, we'll find out all that we need to. The question is, do you want one of us using his magic on your mind?"
For a long time, Torgan just sat there, cradling his maimed arm, shaking his head. "Damn you all," he finally muttered. "Damn every white-hair in the Southlands."
"What did you do to S'Plaed's sept?" the a'laq asked again. "Nothing."
E'Menua closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Torgan-"
"Nothing that I meant to do," the merchant said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"What does that mean?"
"Start with C'Bijor's Neck," Jasha said.
Torgan glared at him, and for a moment Grinsa thought that he might attack him again. But then the merchant nodded.
"What's all this talk about C'Bijor's Neck?" the a'laq asked. "That's an Y'Qatt settlement. They're not Fal'Borna."
"No," Torgan said. "But that's where I first encountered the Mettai woman."
E'Menua blinked once. It almost seemed that until that moment, he hadn't actually believed this talk of Mettai magic. "Go on."
"She was selling baskets. The most beautiful baskets I've ever seen. Perfect weaving, colors that take your breath away. She could have gotten… well, she could have gotten anything for them. Instead, she sold them for far too little, and seemed pleased with the bargain she struck.
"I convinced the man she sold them to-a man named Y'Farl-I convinced him that he'd paid too much for them, and he sold them to me. I left the village soon after, and steered my cart westward intending to find septs where I could sell the baskets, and the rest of what I carried. But that night…" He trailed off; swallowed and shook his head. "That's when the pestilence struck, though I didn't know it at the time. It looked like… like a battle, like the village was under attack. There was fire everywhere-Qirsi fire. And smoke, and shattered houses. I didn't know what had happened. I thought maybe it was marauders. At the time, it didn't occur to me that it could be the pestilence."
He shrugged. "So I moved on, fearful of remaining near the Neck. Eventually I found S'Plaed's sept. That's where I learned of what really happened in C'Bijor's Neck. I just wanted to get away. I still hadn't considered the possibility that the Mettai woman and her baskets might have something to do with all of this. I just knew that Y'Farl was dead, and that I had missed dying myself by mere hours. So I sold the baskets at a low price and left. That night, the same thing happened to the sept. The fire again, and the rest of it. That's when I started to wonder about the woman and those baskets of hers."
He looked at E'Menua, and then at the two Weavers. Finally, his gaze came to rest on Grinsa. "I didn't mean to do it. I didn't even know what I'd done until after-until I watched the sept burn."
For several moments, all of them were silent. Grinsa could hear children laughing outside. A horse whinnied, and the wind moaned in the wood holding up the shelter.
Eventually E'Menua stirred, as if shaking himself awake. "Tell us about the woman."
"No, Torgan," Jasha said. "Don't tell them anything more. Not yet." The merchant frowned. "What?"
But Jasha was already eyeing the a'laq. "What are you going to do to him? You've heard his tale. You know now that he didn't intend any harm. He bought some baskets and then sold them again. He's a merchant. It's what he does. You can't punish him for that."
"He killed half of S'Plaed's sept," E'Menua said, his voice hardening. "Now it seems that he had a hand in killing the people of C'Bijor's Neck, as well. What he's told us changes nothing."
Grinsa opened his mouth to argue, but quickly stopped himself. Instead he faced E'Menua. "May I have a word, A'Laq?"
But the a'laq shook his head. "No. Not about this. He will tell u5 what he knows of the woman, and then he'll be put to death. He is ar enemy of the Fal'Borna."
"And what of me?" Jasha asked.
"You're to be executed as well. You've ridden with him and protected him, all the while knowing what he's done. You deserve to die as much as he does."
"Dead we're of no use to you," Jasha said. "But if you spare our lives, we can help you find the woman."
The a'laq stared back at him, stony-faced. "We found you. Another sept can find the woman."
Q'Daer and L'Norr exchanged looks.
"Forgive me, A'Laq," Q'Daer said, looking as if he expected E'Menua to strike him at any moment. "But other septs might not know her. We can bring glory to your sept. Every Weaver in the Tesserate will know of you and of your warriors."
"I've spoken on the matter." His eyes flicked in Grinsa's direction. It was only for a moment, but that was enough. "These men are to die."
Suddenly, Grinsa understood. "You're doing this to punish me, not them," he said.
E'Menua glowered at him. After a moment, he waved a hand at the young Weavers. "Leave us. Take the Eandi and go. But not far. I'm not done with them yet."
They glanced at Grinsa, but Q'Daer and L'Norr did as they were told. A moment later Grinsa and E'Menua were alone once more.
"Do you want to hit me again?" the gleaner asked.
"I should."
"Then do. But don't kill those men. You know as well as I that they don't deserve execution."
The a'laq shook his head. "You have much to learn about Fal'Borna ways, Forelander." He passed a hand over his brow. "Torgan brought the pestilence to S'Plaed's sept, and for that S'Plaed has demanded vengeance. That's within his rights as a'laq."
"Even if it wasn't Torgan's intention to hurt anyone?"
"Yes, even so."
Grinsa shook his head in turn. "That's just wrong."
"You have no right to judge us." The a'laq said this quietly, without any of the anger he had shown earlier. "The Fal'Borna have lived this way for centuries. We don't need strangers from the Northlands coming here and instructing us in their notions of justice."
He was right. Grinsa could see that. The Fal'Borna lived in a hard land, one that would sometimes require hard laws. They had survived centuries of warfare, and no doubt that too had bred a certain kind of justice. Who was he to challenge traditions a thousand years in the making?
"You make a good point, A'Laq. Forgive me."
E'Menua narrowed his eyes. "I haven't known you long, Grinsa, but I understand you well enough to know that this isn't your final word on the matter."
Grinsa smiled. "No, it's not. S'Plaed may be justified in demanding vengeance, but don't you and the other a'laqs have a right to protect your people?"
"Meaning?"
"That Mettai woman is still out there. Until she's been found, no Fal'Borna is safe. And since none of you knows who she is or what she looks like, you still need the merchants."
"You're arguing as the Eandi do."
"Occasionally even dark-eyes make sense," Grinsa said with a shrug. E'Menua laughed. "Now you sound like a Fal'Borna."
"Does that mean you'll spare their lives?"
"It means," the a'laq said slowly, seeming to make his decision in that moment, "that I'll delay their executions until the woman is found. I'll even have Q'Daer heal the dark-eye's arm."
"That seems just, A'Laq. Thank you."
E'Menua had grown serious again. "Don't thank me, Forelander. Not yet. The woman is the only proof we have that Torgan and his friend are telling us the truth. If the woman is found and executed by another sept, then these men will have done nothing to prove their innocence or earn my mercy. They have to find her, which means someone from this sept has to go with them."
It took Grinsa a moment. He didn't think of himself as being from any sept, but clearly E'Menua did.