Q'Daer stared up into the darkness and listened to the fire settling beside him. After some time he began to grow calmer, his thoughts clearing like the sky after a passing storm. He still considered Grinsa a threat to all that he wanted, but with E'Menua's help he had glimpsed a way past the danger.
Before leaving the sept, while Grinsa said farewell to his woman and child, Q'Daer had spoken with the a'laq. D'Pera had been there when he entered E'Menua's z'kal, but the a'laq sent her away. Q'Daer had only seen him do this a few times before; the last time had been following the storm in which Q'Daer's men perished.
"You dislike the Forelander," E'Menua had said, once they were alone.
He saw no point in denying it. His cheek still throbbed where Grinsa had struck him. No doubt E'Menua could see the bruise, and even if he couldn't, others had seen what happened. There were few secrets in a Fal'Borna sept.
"Yes, A'Laq. I dislike him."
"Why?" Immediately, E'Menua shook his head and held up a hand to silence him. "It's all right. I know why. In your position I might hate him, too."
"My feelings aren't important, A'Laq. He's a Weaver, and his presence here strengthens your sept. He and I will find this Mettai witch and stop her."
The a'laq nodded once and smiled. "You are truly Fal'Borna, my friend. I wish your father had lived long enough to see the man you've become."
"Thank you, A'Laq."
E'Menua motioned for him to sit.
"I know how difficult a time you've had since the storm," the a'laq said, when Q'Daer was settled on the other side of the fire. "I know that you fear you've fallen out of my favor."
Q'Daer lowered his gaze. "L'Norr is my friend, and a good man, A'Laq. I believe either one of us would be a worthy husband for U'Vara."
"I agree with you. But I think you're stronger than he is. I have sons, so I don't expect that either of you will ever rule this Sept. But I want a strong husband for my daughter."
"Yes, A'Laq."
"I also want the Forelander to stay here."
Q'Daer's mouth twitched. "Yes, A'Laq."
"You have every reason to want him to leave, I know. And that means that you have every reason to want him to succeed in this endeavor with the dark-eye merchants. He and I have struck a bargain. If he succeeds, I'll allow him to leave. If he fails, he stays and agrees to be properly joined to a Weaver."
It was just as Q'Daer had feared. Despite the a'laq's kind words of a moment before, he felt his hopes of being joined to U'Vara slipping away.
"I understand, A'Laq. You want me to make certain he fails."
E'Menua raised a finger, his eyes narrowing. "It's not quite that simple. I want this Mettai witch dead-I fear this curse of hers. But I don't want Grinsa to prove that Torgan and his friend are innocent, and I don't want the Forelander to be able to claim credit for killing the witch." E'Menua's pale eyes shone in the firelight. "I want you to succeed where he fails. Do this and I promise that you will be joined to U'Vara. The failure of your hunt will be forgotten." His expression darkened. "Fail me again, and I'll see to it that you never marry."
There had been nothing for Q'Daer to say but "Yes, A'Laq."
He left the z'kal, and a short time later he led the Forelander and the merchants away from the sept.
They'd ridden a long way this day; it was hard for him to believe that his conversation with E'Menua had taken place only a few hours before. It seemed like days ago.
He didn't know yet how he would do all that the a'laq had asked of him. A part of him simply wanted Grinsa dead. His cheek didn't hurt much anymore, but the humiliation of being struck by the Forelander still burned his heart like a brand. He knew, though, that he couldn't kill the man without incurring E'Menua's wrath. And he had to admit that he looked forward to seeing Grinsa defeated and humiliated in turn, compelled to accept E'Menua's authority over him. He would enjoy seeing Grinsa's woman forced to relinquish her place at his side so that she might become some other Weaver's concubine. He might even claim her as his own. And once he was joined to U'Vara, he would hold a place of honor in the sept, above all Weavers save the a'laq himself. Grinsa would be under his authority as well as E'Menua's. Then the man would pay for what he had done, not all at once, but a thousand times each day for a thousand days and more. Q'Daer would enjoy that immensely.
Chapter 22
SOUTH OF THE COMPANIONLAKES
Rain and wind, grey skies at dawn and dusk, starless, moonless ights. In the days since leaving Kirayde, this was all Besh and Sirj had known. Everything they carried with them was wet-their clothes, their sleeping rolls, their food. None of it had been spared. It occurred to Besh that the gods might be punishing him for his arrogant belief that he was still young enough to undertake such a trek. You think you can do this? they seemed to be saying. We'll show you how wrong you are.
The two men weren't walking particularly fast. Sirj took the lead each day, and he always set a reasonable pace. No doubt he could have gone faster had he been on his own; it was as though he was reining himself in. And still the old man suffered. It had been too many fours since last he covered such distances on foot. His legs and back ached. His feet were blistered. The slightest incline stole his breath; walking downhill jarred his ancient knees. He was cold and weary all the time.
Sirj was responsible for none of it, of course. He had gone out of his way to carry far more than his share of their food and water, to set a reasonable speed, to take upon himself the labor necessary to gather wood and build fires and cook meals. Yet still, Besh directed all his anger and misery and frustration at the younger man. He couldn't help himself. After just the first day he had come to realize what a fool he'd been, believing that he could have gone in pursuit of Lici on his own. Pyav and Elica had been right: He was too old. Had Sirj not been with him, he might well have perished that first night, when the rains set in and the air turned frigid.
But rather than being grateful, Besh found himself growing resentful. He knew why, of course. The man's mere presence served to remind him of his weakness, of his inability to fend for himself. He was acting like a sullen child, but he couldn't help himself. He barely managed to grunt a thank-you when Sirj returned to their camp with an armful of firewood or when he spooned another helping of stew into Besh's bowl.
For his part, Sirj didn't appear to notice, or if he did, he gave no outward sign of minding. He took Besh's care upon himself, as if it were just another chore among many. He rarely spoke, perhaps knowing that Besh wanted no part of a conversation with him, but occasionally he hummed softly to himself. On those rare occasions when he did say something, he was always respectful and courteous, until this too began to bother the old man. I'm being an ass, he wanted to shout. Why in Bian's name don't you treat me like one?
On this day, they were in open country, cutting across a plain of thick grasses. There had been small clusters of trees by Ravens Wash, and there would be more at the Silverwater, but here there was no shelter from the rain and wind. Besh was shivering with cold again. Still. He realized that he was muttering curses under his breath and he laughed at himself, drawing a backward glance from Sirj.
"Are you all right?" the man asked him.