David Coe - The Horsemen's Gambit

So, when Q'Daer suggested that they go back to the sept, Grinsa made it clear that he wasn't about to end their search for the Mettai so soon.

"We told the a'laq that we'd find the baskets and the woman who made them," he said, keeping his voice low. "Once we've done that, we can turn hack."

"We don't even know where to look," the young Weaver said. "She could be anywhere!"

Grinsa glanced at the man. "All the more reason to find her. Your people are in danger, Q'Daer. That should mean more to you than a cold wind and some snow."

The Weaver cast a dark look his way. "You've never been on the plain when the Snows come, have you, Forelander?"

"No," Grinsa admitted. "I haven't."

"Then you have no right to mock me."

"I'm not mocking you, Q'Daer. I'm merely telling you that we've yet to do what the a'laq asked of us. And until we do, I'm not turning back."

That effectively ended their discussion. Grinsa wasn't certain that Q'Daer accepted him as the leader of their small company. But in the short time he had spent among the Fal'Borna, he had come to understand that E'Menua did not tolerate failure. No doubt the young Weaver knew this better than any of them. Grinsa didn't know for certain that the a'laq really wanted them to succeed in this endeavor-the man seemed to care little whether the merchants lived or died-but he was intent on keeping Grinsa in his sept. Grinsa thought it possible, even likely, that Q'Daer had been instructed to do what he could to keep Grinsa from earning his freedom. Clearly though, regardless of what Q'Daer's purpose might have been, he had yet to achieve it. That had to be why he stopped arguing for an end to their search.

Grinsa shared Q'Daer's eagerness to return to the sept. He was cold and tired; he slept poorly every night and awoke each morning thinking only of Cresenne and Bryntelle, his stomach hollow and sour, his chest aching with longing for them. Occasionally, during the night, when sleep wouldn't come, he considered using his magic to reach hack to the sept and enter Cresenne's dreams, just to be with her, to hear how Bryntelle was faring, to make certain that N'Menua was honoring his promise to keep them both safe. But this was a poor substitute for actually being able to hold his daughter and kiss the woman he loved, and it robbed Cresenne of her sleep. Most nights he resisted the urge to speak with her.

He also shared Q'Daer's frustration. Every day that went by made it more likely that others would fall prey to the Mettai curse that was sweeping across the plain. And if it truly was a pestilence, all of them were at risk, including every person in E'Menua's sept.

When they broke camp this morning, Grinsa reminded the merchants of this, not bothering to mask his impatience.

"You've probably been trading on this plain for twenty years," he said to Torgan.

The Eandi, who was saddling his mount, didn't so much as glance at him. "More."

"Fine. More than twenty. Then you must have some idea of where other merchants go this time of year."

"They go where the gold is, as always."

"And where is that?"

"It depends."

The Eandi could save themselves only by helping Grinsa and Q'Daer find the Mettai woman. Failing that, their best hope lay in stalling, in keeping to the plain long enough for them to be rescued or to escape. Like Grinsa, the two merchants were prisoners of the Fal'Borna. But despite this shared circumstance, Grinsa's interests and those of the Eandi often diverged, as they did now.

His patience running thin, Grinsa used language of beasts to make Torgan's horse rear and kick out. The Eandi jumped hack, then whirled toward Grinsa, his face reddening.

"You made her do that!"

"Yes," Grinsa said mildly. "I take it I have your attention now."

For a moment, Grinsa actually thought the man would take a swing at him. Then Torgan seemed to remember the other magics Grinsa could wield against him. He frowned, his gaze wandering, but he nodded.

"Where are we most likely to find merchants this time of year?" Grinsa asked again. "Clearly they're not on the Central Plain."

"Probably the rivers," Torgan said reluctantly. "Either the wash-"

"The Silverwater, you mean?"

"Right. Either there, or the area around the Horn."

Grinsa frowned. "The Horn?"

"It's a strip of land between the Thraedes and the K'Sand," Jasha told him. "Very fertile. Lots of cities. Many merchants pass the Snows there."

"So that would be west of here?" Grinsa asked.

Jasha nodded. "And north."

"Do the Mettai trade there, too?"

The younger merchant shrugged. "Some might. The Mettai don't usually stray far from their villages. That's why those baskets were in such demand. They're hard to find, particularly ones of such high quality."

"So, the woman's not as likely to be at the Horn," Grinsa said.

Jasha appeared to consider this. "No, probably not. She'd probably stay closer to the Silverwater. It would be unlike a Mettai to journey so far into Fal'Borna land."

Discouraged, Grinsa shook his head. "Then I suppose we should just keep to the course we've been following."

"I take it we're ready now?" Q'Daer said, in a tone that indicated he'd known all along where their conversation would lead. He was already astride his dappled grey, a rilda skin pulled tight around his broad shoulders.

Grinsa didn't bother answering. He merely mounted his bay and started riding, following the same northeastern tack they'd been on for days. In a few moments, Q'Daer had caught up to him. He could hear the merchants' horses a short distance behind.

"This is folly, you know," the Fal'Borna said. "You won't find the Mettai woman, and you probably won't find any of her baskets. This is a vast land; looking for a single person, or even a handful…" He shook his head. "You haven't a chance."

"We," Grinsa said, staring straight ahead.

"What?"

"You keep saying 'you,' as if you're not a part of this. We're in this together." He looked at the man. "I don't know what E'Menua told you to do. And if your purpose is to keep me from succeeding so that I have to remain in your sept, I don't know how I'll manage to defeat you. But I will. I've faced down more formidable men than you. So you might want to consider whether you're on the wrong side of this."

Q'Daer stared at him, tight-lipped and pale.

"You want to save your people," Grinsa went on. "I know you do. I also know that you want to be rid of me. And I'm sure you want to return to the sept as soon as possible. I want all of those things as well. If we work together, we can see that all of them happen. But one way or another, we're not turning back until we've found the woman and saved these two men from execution."

Q'Daer eyed Grinsa for another moment before facing forward once more. He looked as if he might speak, but said nothing. Grinsa thought, not for the first time, that he looked terribly young and unnerved, and utterly out of his depth.

"I know that E'Menua is your a'laq," Grinsa said after a brief silence. "But I also know-"

"Enough!" Q'Daer said. "You're right. E'Menua is my a'laq. There is no `but.' There's nothing else you can say beyond that. He is my a'laq. To us, that's everything." He shook his head, looking away again. "I wouldn't expect a Forelander to understand."

"What did he tell you to do?" Grinsa demanded.

He didn't expect that the man would meet his gaze, but Q'Daer surprised him, looking him right in the eye. "Nothing. He sent me with you to help you find the woman and the baskets, and to keep watch on the Eandi."

"And to keep watch on me?"

The man grinned, though the look in his pale eyes remained hard. "There's no need to watch you. Your woman and your child are back in the Sept. You're not going anywhere."

Grinsa couldn't really argue the point. "No, I don't suppose I am. But the fact remains we both want and need the same things, at least for the most part."