David Coe - The Dark-Eyes War

Thinking of this, she looked around for the merchant. He stood with his horse a good distance away from the army and its leaders.

"How are your men?" Jenoe asked Enly and Tirnya.

"I lost eighteen," Tirnya told him.

"You were lucky," Enly said dully. "I lost forty-six, including four of my riders."

She looked at him. "I'm so sorry, Enly."

"Eighteen and forty-six," Jenoe repeated. "The army of Qalsyn was fortunate. We lost fewer than two hundred. Waterstone lost more than six hundred. Fairlea nearly four hundred." He rubbed a hand over his face. "More than a thousand men. Add that to the hundreds who died at the last sept we fought and we've lost more than a third of our army, and we're still not to Deraqor."

"I hesitate to bring this up again, Marshal," Gries said. "But perhaps we should reconsider Torgan's offer."

"Yes, I noticed that he's still here," Jenoe said, making no effort to hide his annoyance. "Was that your doing, Captain?"

Gries shook his head. "No, Marshal. The Fal'Borna attacked before he could leave, and I think he followed us when the poison spell reached our lines."

"I ordered him away from here," Jenoe said. "I haven't changed my mind."

"He can help us defeat Deraqor. We wouldn't need wolves or eagles or poison."

"You'd still need our magic."

All of them turned. Mander and Fayonne were walking toward them, the young man in the lead, his mother trailing behind him looking pale and small.

"Yes, Mander, we would," Jenoe said. "Is that a problem?"

"I believe it is, Marshal," the young Mettai said.

His mother looked at him, narrowing her eyes. But she remained silent, and after a moment dropped her gaze again.

Jenoe frowned. "I don't understand."

"No," the man said. "I'm sure you don't." He took a breath. "Perhaps you've noticed that our spells often don't work quite the way they're supposed to. The wolves turn on our people, or the eagles turn on each other, or the poison kills those it was supposed to help."

"What of it?" Jenoe asked, ice in his voice.

"Perhaps you also noticed that the land around our village was blighted," he went on, seeming to ignore the question. "Or that our people weren't as prosperous as other Mettai you encountered in your travels."

"What is this about?" Tirnya's father demanded. He looked at Fayonne. "Eldest? What is it he's trying to tell us?"

Fayonne opened her mouth, as if intending to reply. But she closed it again and looked away.

"Our people have been cursed," Mander said.

Jenoe stared at him. "Cursed?"

"Yes. By other Mettai. It's been over a century now. I won't bother you with the details of why they did it, but they had their reasons, and some would insist to this day that our people deserved their fate."

"A curse," Jenoe said, his voice low. "What does this curse do?"

"Just what you've seen, Marshal. It ruins our land, it robs us of our prosperity, and it twists our magic in ways we can't anticipate."

"And you didn't think to tell us this before marching with us to war?" Enly asked.

"Would you have offered us this alliance?" Fayonne asked him.

"Of course not!"

"That's why we didn't tell you," she said.

Enly started to object, as did Jenoe, Gries, and several others, Tirnya among them. But the eldest raised a finger, silencing all of them.

"I thought it possible that by leaving Lifarsa, we would also leave the curse behind, particularly once we were past the Silverwater. And since I knew we wouldn't conjure on your behalf until we were clear of the wash, I thought there was some chance that you'd never need to know of the curse."

"It seems you were wrong," Jenoe said in a hard voice.

The eldest's mouth twitched. "Yes, I was. But as a leader who is risking all to regain his people's homeland, I'd think that you'd understand, Marshal. My people have been suffering under this curse for a hundred years. You presented me with an opportunity to start over, to leave our afflicted land and build a new life. I would have been mad to turn you down, or to say anything that would jeopardize that chance. Surely you understand that."

For a long time Jenoe didn't answer. Tirnya had spent most of her life gauging her father's moods by subtle changes in his expression or the sound of his voice. But for the life of her she couldn't tell in those moments what he was thinking.

"I do understand it," he finally said. "But you have to understand that I can't allow this to continue." He looked at Tirnya. "You know what we have to do, don't you?"

She nodded, surprised by how calm she felt. Yes, she'd fought long and hard to convince her father and Qalsyn's lord governor to let this invasion go forward. But she'd already seen and done enough during this war to make her balk at the prospect of additional battles.

"We have to stop relying on Mettai magic," she said. "And that means that we have to head home."

"But we've come so far!" Fayonne said. "We're on the Horn. Sivralna is already defeated. All that remains is Deraqor!"

Gries stepped forward, so that he stood just in front of Tirnya's father. "I have to agree with the eldest, Marshal," he said quietly. "One city remains. And if we use Torgan's basket, we can take it without risking the lives of any more of our men."

"You haven't been listening!" Mander said. "The only way that basket can help you defeat all of Deraqor is if you use our magic to spread it over the city. And with this curse, we have no guarantee that it won't lead to another disaster."

"And I've already told you, Captain," Jenoe said, and this time there could be no doubt as to his thoughts, or his mood. "More than once as I remember it. I will not be using the merchant's basket. I want nothing to do with the man, and I don't want him anywhere near my army."

Gries's face colored. "Yes, Marshal."

Jenoe held the man's gaze for another moment before facing Hendrid.

Waterstone's marshal, though usually a formidable man, looked broken. His shoulders were hunched and there was a dusting of snow on his uniform. His face was ashen.

"Marshal, your soldiers have suffered greatly today," Jenoe said, his voice softening. "What is it you'd have me do?"

Hendrid shook his head. "I don't have the stomach for another battle, Jenoe. It's time I took the few men I have left and returned to Waterstone." Jenoe nodded and turned to Stri, Enly, and his other captains. "What do the rest of you say?"

"Without the magic of the Mettai, we can't win," Stri answered. He hesitated, his glance flicking toward Fayonne. "And I no longer trust the magic of the Mettai."

"I agree," Enly said. "I believe continuing this war would be too dangerous."

"And you're all right with this decision?" Jenoe asked, facing Tirnya again. "I know how much you wanted to take back Deraqor."

"Yes, I did," Tirnya said. "But the cost of this magic is too high. And His Lordship made it clear that we weren't to go on without the Mettai."

Jenoe smiled, looking as proud of her in that moment as he had the day she almost bloodied Enly in the Harvest Tournament a few turns before.

"All right then," he said, raising his voice so that all could hear. "We start back now. Muster your men into their companies. I want our march back toward the Silverwater to be orderly and disciplined. We're still in Fal'Borna land, and we may still face more battles before we reach the wash. I want to be on our way within the hour."

"What about us, Marshal?" Fayonne asked.

Tirnya's father regarded the woman soberly. "I hope you and your people will march with us, Eldest. You may need our protection along the way. And though I may regret this before all is done, we might well need yours."

The freedoms E'Menua granted Besh and Sirj just before he led his warriors out of the sept did much to improve the spirits of both Mettai men. It bothered Besh that the a'laq had not actually spoken to them again before leaving and that the man had said nothing about their future beyond the end of this war. But Besh had faith in Grinsa, and that faith had been bolstered by the fact that he and Sirj were no longer prisoners in their shelter.