David Coe - The Horsemen's Gambit

"Aren't you going to do something?" Lark demanded. She tried to halt, but the men holding her arms forced her to keep moving, until they were practically dragging her along the lane. "They need help!" she shouted at the captain's hack.

Finally, the man stopped, turning to stare at her. What she saw on his face silenced her, made her ashamed for having spoken at all. Rage, grief, hatred; tears shone on his cheeks. She half expected him to walk to where she stood and strike her. "If we help them, we'll be sickened as well," he said, the calmness of his voice chilling her. "There's nothing we can do."

They walked on and soon stopped in front of a large, fortified house. A stone wall surrounded the structure, and guardhouses sat at each corner as well as at the front entrance. It seemed a strange home for a Fal'Borna leader until Lark remembered that S'Vralna had been built and ruled by the Eandi long before the Qirsi took it for themselves. In all probability this structure had once housed an Eandi governor or a marshal in the Stelpana army.

"Wait here," the captain said to the guards. He disappeared through the gate, leaving Lark, Antal, and the other soldiers standing in the street.

"I'm sorry, Antal," Lark said again, knowing that she had apologized already, knowing as well that any apology she offered would be inadequate.

"Why baskets?" the man muttered in response. "What kind of evil is it that would put such an illness in baskets and send them out into the world?"

She turned to face him, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I don't know."

"Baskets," he said again, shaking his head. His eyes had a strange, otherworldly look to them, and Lark found herself fearing for the soundness of his mind.

The captain returned a few moments later, pausing at the front gate and beckoning to his men to bring the merchants forward.

"The a'laq will speak with you," the captain said. "You will remain standing while in his presence, and you will answer every question you're asked. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lark said.

"Good. Follow me."

She remained where she was. "What's the a'laq's name?" she asked.

"You will address him as A'Laq. Now come along."

"What's his name?" she asked again.

The captain pressed his lips thin and glared at her. "P'Crath," he finally said. "Son of P'Rajh."

He turned and started walking again. This time, Lark followed.

After passing through the gate, they followed a narrow stone path to the door of the building. Two more guards stood there, and one of them pulled the door open as they approached. They entered a broad hallway that led them into a large room with a high ceiling. A small man sat in an ornate chair at the center of the room, watching them approach. He had long white hair that hung to his shoulders. In the dim light of candles and oil lamps, his skin looked surprisingly dark and leathery and his large eyes seemed to glow like golden coins. He gripped the arms of his chair, eyeing Lark as she walked toward him. The captain held out a hand, stopping her.

"This is the merchant, A'Laq. The man was with her, but he himself had no baskets."

The a'laq nodded once, never taking his eyes off of Lark. "What's your name?" he asked.

"I'm called Lark, A'Laq. My full name is Lariqenne Glyse."

"Where did you get these baskets you sold?"

"I bought them from another Eandi merchant, east of here, near the Silverwater."

"What merchant? Give me a name."

Lark straightened and took a breath. "No."

The a'laq didn't appear surprised by her refusal, but the captain shot her an angry look.

"Answer him!" he commanded.

"Or what?" she said. "You'll kill me? You've made it clear that you intend to do that anyway. I won't doom my friends as well." She faced the a'laq again. "I've known the… the person who sold me the baskets for some years now. He didn't know what he was doing any more than I did. He certainly bears no ill will toward the Fal'Borna. Someone has done a terrible thing to your people, A'Laq. I understand your rage, your need for vengeance. But I'm not your enemy. Whoever made this pestilence used me, and they used this other merchant, as well. Killing me or him won't accomplish anything."

The a'laq stared at her for what seemed a long time. Then he nodded again, and turned to the captain. "Cut off the man's hand."

Lark gaped at him. "What!"

"A'Laq?" the captain said, clearly discomfited.

"I don't care which one," P'Crath said, his voice even. "Just do it."

"Wait!" Lark said. "You can't-"

"Be silent!" the a'laq said, his voice echoing through the chamber. Suddenly, she couldn't speak. She couldn't even breathe. It seemed that someone had wrapped a powerful hand around her throat.

"You feel that?" P'Crath demanded. "That's what we call mind-bending magic. I could command you to claw out your own eyes or to gut yourself with that blade you carry. I can command you to tell me what I want to know, but right now, I'd rather see you suffer. I'd rather see your friend here maimed. You say you understand my need for vengeance? You understand nothing! My daughter…" His voice broke on the word and he paused, then swallowed. "My girl was in the marketplace today. She bought nothing, but it seems she encountered one of your baskets. Perhaps you showed it to her. Perhaps it was someone else; someone she knew, someone she trusted. It doesn't matter. She's sick now. She can't eat or drink." He opened his hands and stared at his palms. "Fire pours from her fingers, and she can do nothing to stop it. She's new to her power-it can't be more than two or three turns that she has been wielding any magic at all. Now it will kill her. And you say you understand my need for vengeance?" He looked at the captain again. "Cut off the man's hand."

The captain hesitated, but only briefly. He pulled his sword free and strode toward Antal. The merchant shrank away from him, but he was held fast by the guards standing on either side. There was nothing he could do to save himself.

"No!" Lark said, released for the moment from the a'laq's magic. She was crying again. "You bastard!" she said, flinging the word at P'Crath. "The merchant's name is Brint HedFarren. He's from Tordjanne. He said that he bought the baskets in a village near the Silverwater. He didn't tell us more than that. I swear it."

It was a betrayal, she knew. The Fal'Borna would be after Young Red now, but what could she do? Antal had nothing to do with any of this, and it seemed likely that he'd be dead before the night was out. She couldn't allow him to be tortured, as well.

"Us?" the a'laq asked.

"What?"

"You said, 'He didn't tell us more than that.' He sold baskets to others?" She nodded, struck dumb by the realization of what this meant.

"Their names. Quickly."

The anger she had felt moments before was gone, replaced by guilt and panic. What had she done? What had all of them done? "Yes, of course. There was Stam Corfej, and me, and… and Barthal Milensen. There were two others, but I don't know their names. I'd never seen them before and I haven't seen them since. They were headed east, into Eandi lands. I don't think you have anything to fear from them. But Barthal and Stam were going south, toward the Ofirean."

"What other cities have you visited? Where else have you sold these baskets of yours?"

"This is the first place."

The a'laq frowned.

"It's true, A'Laq. I've had them for some time now, but I didn't sell them anywhere else. I didn't even display them before today. I don't remember all the septs I visited between the bend and here, but there were several, and I never showed anyone the baskets."

P'Crath narrowed his eyes. "So you did this to get at me? At my city?"

"No!" Lark said, taken aback by the question. "I told you before, I had no idea that the baskets would hurt anyone!"