David Coe - The Horsemen's Gambit

After a moment Grinsa let the fire die out and took hold of Torgan's arm again. "Come on," he said, dragging the merchant to where he'd left the young Weaver. This time Torgan didn't fight him.

Besh, Sirj, and Jasha were already standing beside the fire, all of them looking down at the Fal'Borna who had made his way to his sleeping roll. Q'Daer lay on his side, huddled in his blanket, his legs drawn up so that he looked more like a child than a warrior. His face was bathed in sweat and he appeared to be trembling. He had his eyes open and he merely stared at the flames dancing before him.

When Grinsa and Torgan stepped into the firelight, the three who were standing looked up at them. Jasha frowned at the way Grinsa was holding on to the merchant.

"What's going on?" he asked Grinsa. "What's he done now?"

Grinsa indicated the Fal'Borna with a small nod. "I think he's responsible for what's happened to Q'Daer."

"I'm not!" Torgan said. He pointed at the Mettai. "It's them! They created this plague! They're the ones-"

Grinsa slapped his face, silencing him, and leaving a livid imprint of his hand on the merchant's cheek. "Say that again, and you'll get worse."

"You should back away, Forelander," Besh said. "If this is the plague, you can't be anywhere near the Fal'Borna."

"It is the plague," Q'Daer said, his voice even weaker than it had been before. "What else can it be?"

"Please, Grinsa," Besh said.

Grinsa stared down at Q'Daer for several moments. Finally he nodded, releasing Torgan and shoving him toward the Mettai. "Watch him," he said. "He did this. I'm sure of it." He backed away from the fire, but he didn't go far. "Jasha, I want you to search Q'Daer's carry sack."

"For what?" the young merchant asked.

Grinsa shook his head. "I don't know. Anything that might explain this."

Jasha nodded and walked over to where the young Weaver's belongings were piled. But Grinsa watched Torgan, who just stared at the fire, not looking particularly concerned.

Whatever it was wouldn't be in the carry sack. And since Grinsa and Q'Daer had eaten from the sack of food, it wouldn't be in there, either. Which left…

"Damn," Grinsa muttered. "Stop looking, Jasha. It's not in there. It's wrapped up in Q'Daer's sleeping roll or his blanket."

Torgan's eyes snapped up to Grinsa's face. He looked away a moment later, but that one instant was enough to tell Grinsa that he was right.

Q'Daer twisted his head to look up at Grinsa, this simple action seeming to take a great effort. "You're sure he did this?" he asked hoarsely. "It could have been the Mettai."

"You see?" Torgan said. "He knows!"

"It wasn't the Mettai," Grinsa said, sensing that Besh and Sirj had both bristled. "Torgan was in your things this morning. He said he wanted food and I let him get something from your bag. At least that's what I thought I was letting him do. I'm sorry. This is my fault."

"Here it is."

They all turned toward Jasha, who was holding up what appeared to be a small scrap of basket. It was burned at the edges-blackened, like that shadow Grinsa had seen on Torgan's hand-and it was small enough to be hidden in the merchant's fist.

"Where did you get that?" Grinsa demanded glaring at Torgan once more.

"I told you, I didn't-"

"Don't say it, Torgan!" Grinsa leveled a rigid finger at the man. "I swear I'll snap your neck if you do! Besh and Sirj wouldn't do something like this. But if they had, they'd have used magic. They'd have no need to use a piece of one of those baskets. Now, where'd you get it?"

Torgan said nothing.

"It's from that village we found," Jasha said, examining the scrap in the firelight. "I remember seeing this one."

"Is that true?" Grinsa asked.

Torgan had the look of a cornered animal. His eyes flicked back and forth between Jasha and Grinsa, and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly, as if he wanted to speak but feared what would happen if he did.

"I can compel you to answer," Grinsa said. "I have magic-mind-bending it's called-it will make you tell the truth."

"Don't do it that way," Q'Daer said, closing his eyes. "Use shaping. Break his fingers one at a time. Break his ribs."

Grinsa nodded. "All right."

"No!" Torgan said. He licked his lips. "It's true. That's where it came from. That village. I knew you were going to kill me eventually. This was the only chance I had."

"You bloody idiot," Jasha said, shaking his head, a look of disgust on his face. "You're a dead man for sure. And good riddance to you."

"We can punish him later," Besh said, turning to Grinsa. "And whatever you decide in that regard will be fine with us. But what are we going to do to save your friend?"

Grinsa gazed at the Fal'Borna. He seemed to be fading by the moment. And Grinsa knew that it was only a matter of time before he lost control of his magic. Once that began to happen, they'd have little hope of keeping the man alive.

"You and Sirj need to find some way to combat this curse of Lici's. No one here blames you for any of this, but the magic that created it was Mettai, and so the answer is going to lie in your powers, not mine."

Besh nodded. "Very well. You'll stay away from him?"

Grinsa nodded. He didn't feel at all sick. He'd been fortunate beyond measure; he had no intention of endangering himself by getting too close to Q'Daer. "Yes, I'll stay as far away as I am now. But even from this distance, I can use my healing magic on him. It may be that I can cure him, or at least keep him from getting worse."

Besh had always considered himself an accomplished conjurer. Whenever he needed to use magic, he found the correct spell to achieve what he set out to do. He couldn't recall the last time he had tried a spell that failed. Even when he was fighting Lici, having to meet her assaults with his defenses, he had managed to ward himself and, ultimately, to defeat her.

Unlike some Mettai he knew, however, he had never considered himself a student of blood magic. Some Mettai spent goodly amounts of both time and blood experimenting with spells, teaching themselves new conjurings, perfecting the magic they already knew. Besh had never done any of that; to his knowledge, neither had Sirj.

Now, suddenly, they not only needed to create a new spell that would combat Lici's plague, but they needed to do so quickly, before the young Fal'Borna succumbed to the disease. Besh wasn't even sure he knew where to begin, though he did have an idea.

Once more Grinsa entrusted the two Mettai with keeping watch on Torgan, and for good measure the Forelander instructed Jasha to go with them as well.

"I'll join you soon," Grinsa told Besh. "I still believe our best hope for finding a magical cure lies in combining our powers. But I need to try this first," he went on, nodding toward Q'Daer. "I may be able to give us a bit more time."

Besh frowned. With all that he had seen in S'Vralna, he couldn't help thinking that Grinsa should remain as far from the Fal'Borna as possible. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked.

"I told you, I won't go near him. But my healing magic can work at a distance. I can help him without endangering myself."

The man sounded very sure of himself, and Besh knew almost nothing about Qirsi magic. But still, something about this troubled him. He remembered hearing… something. He couldn't recall the words, though he could almost make out the voice.

"Besh?" Grinsa said.

"I wish you wouldn't do this," the old man said, cursing his faulty memory.

"I wish I didn't have to. But I do."

Besh shook his head slowly, trying to remember. But at last he gave up. "All right then," he agreed. "We'll do what we can to undo Lici's curse."

He beckoned to Sirj, intending to go back to their cart and the small fire they had built beside it. Torgan followed reluctantly, and Jasha turned to leave the Qirsi's fire. But as he did he appeared to lift his hand, as if to toss something into the flames.