David Coe: The Horsemen's Gambit

"Are you awake, Forelander?" he asked, looking at the man. Even in the firelight, the Qirsi's face looked ashen. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his mouth was open, slack. "I want to try some spells on you and I want you to tell me whether they're having any effect. Can you do that?"

After a moment, the Forelander nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yes. I'm awake. I can help you. How's Q'Daer?"

Besh looked across the fire at the Fal'Borna. He looked much as Grinsa did, though there was little doubt but that he had lost consciousness some time ago. The old man didn't know for certain, but he guessed it wouldn't be long before the magic began to flow from his body.

"He's just as he was before," Besh said.

Grinsa responded with another weak nod. "Where's Sirj?"

"He's gone to get the merchants." He hesitated. Then, "Can you tell me what it feels like, Grinsa?"

"It feels like I'm on fire," the man whispered. "Everything's burning, but I haven't the strength to put out the flames. I can't do anything."

Besh nodded and lifted his blade to the back of his hand. He cut himself, caught the welling blood on the flat of the blade, and picked up a handful of dirt. Mixing the blood and the earth, he began to speak a spell. "Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, balm to fire."

As he said this last, he made a motion with his hand and opened his fist, as if spreading seed. The mud in his hand became a fine mist that settled

over the Forelander's chest and face and then appeared to vanish into him.

Besh waited a moment or two and then asked, "Did you feel that?"

"I felt something cool touch my face," Grinsa answered. Besh had to lean closer to the man just to hear him, so weak was his voice.

"Did it soothe your fever?"

"No. It just touched my face. That's all."

Besh sat back and nodded. He hadn't really expected it to be that easy. He peered into the darkness toward where he had left Jasha and Torgan. Where was Sirj?

He took a breath, then cut himself again, mixed the blood with more earth, and started a second spell. If he couldn't cool Grinsa's fever, perhaps he could purge his magic of the curse.

"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, healing to magic." Again he threw the mud; again it became a silvery mist. It touched the Forelander and was absorbed into his skin.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Nothing more than last time. Was that the same spell?"

"No, though it might as well have been."

Besh heard footsteps behind him and turned. Sirj was walking back in his direction, his blade drawn. He was alone.

"What happened?" Besh asked. "Where are Jasha and Torgan?"

"Jasha's dead," the younger man told him in a low voice. "I don't know where Torgan's gone. I thought I heard a horse at one point, but I didn't know if you wanted me to follow him, or come back here."

"Blood and bone." He shook his head slowly, staring off into the night. Meeting Sirj's gaze again he said, "You did the right thing coming back. We have to heal these two. That's the most important thing. Did you bring that piece of Lici's basket?"

"I couldn't find it," Sirj said. "It's too dark to look for it in the grass. Maybe when the sun comes up."

"Torgan took it."

They both looked at Grinsa, whose eyes were open and shining with firelight.

Besh knew he was right. Torgan wanted only to get away from the Fal'Borna, to make his way back to Eandi land without being killed as an enemy of the white-hairs. He'd think nothing of using Lici's plague to that end.

"I know a spell," he told Grinsa. "One that reveals magic, lets me see it. I was going to use it on that scrap. Obviously I can't do that now, but I can put the spell on you, that is, if you'll let me."

"Is there any danger?"

"I don't think so. But I wanted to ask you first."

Grinsa nodded, closing his eyes again. "Of course, go ahead."

For a third time, Besh cut himself. "Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, magic revealed." This time he spread the mist over all of Grinsa's body. As soon as it touched the man it flared brilliantly. Besh and Sirj shielded their eyes.

Upon looking at him again, Besh inhaled sharply and then exhaled through his teeth. He'd known it would look bad, but he hadn't been prepared for this. Grinsa was enveloped in a baleful green light, the color of disease and rot, that flickered softly and seemed to lick at his skin like flame.

"May the gods save us all," Sirj whispered.

"Did it work?" Grinsa asked.

"Yes."

The Forelander opened his eyes again and lifted his hands so that he could look at them. "I don't see anything. What does it look like?"

Besh faltered, but only for a moment. "Like you're on fire, just as you said. ''

Before any of them could say more, they heard a low groan come from the far side of the blaze. Q'Daer stirred, groaned again, shook his head. And then fire burst from both of his hands, streaking into the night sky, and seeming to burn through the clouds overhead.

"It's starting," Grinsa said. "It's not safe for the two of you to be here." Besh shrugged. "We have no choice. This is where you are."

"That was just fire magic," the Forelander told him, his voice rising.

"And it could have been much worse. He also has shaping magic. Even healing can kill if used the wrong way. There's no telling the damage he ccould do. You could both be killed before you have a chance to help either of us."

"I'll control it," Q'Daer said in a strained voice.

All of them looked his way.

"Can you?" Grinsa asked.

"I think so. Language of beasts, fire, a wind. I'll keep it from touching my shaping or healing power. And I'll direct the fire into the sky."

Even as he spoke, flames flew from his hands again, bright and angry. "You haven't much time," Grinsa said, dropping his voice. "He may be a Weaver, but his power won't hold out forever."

Besh nodded. He cut himself yet again, gathered the blood on his blade, and mixed it with the dark fertile earth of the plain.

"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought…" He faltered, unsure of what to try next.

"Damn," Q'Daer said, the word seemingly ripped from his chest.

A wind rose, building from a mere breeze to a keening gale in just moments. The fire sputtered, and even sitting, Besh had to brace himself with a hand to keep from being blown over.

Q'Daer began to shout, a terrible, inarticulate sound that mingled with the cry of the wind. He thrust a hand into the air and for a third time fire streamed from his fingers.

"Try anything," Sirj said, his voice barely carrying over the wind and Q'Daer's roar.

Besh nodded. "Plague to health," he said, throwing the bloody mixture again. It transformed itself into a glittering cloud of dust and settled over the Forelander. The green flame surrounding the man wavered for just an instant, as when a sudden gust disturbs a candle flame. But nothing more happened. The magic around him looked just as it had. His face remained ashen.

"Anything?" Besh asked, knowing already that he'd failed again. Grinsa simply shook his head.

Besh rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. Sirj stared at the ground, saying nothing. After some time, the wind began to die away and the Fal'Borna fell silent.

"Q'Daer?" Grinsa called to him, sounding alarmed.

"I'm all right," the man said, his voice little more than a breath.

Besh cast a despairing look at Sirj. "If you have ideas I'm open to them. I'm at a loss."

"There may be nothing you can do," Q'Daer whispered. "I know you're trying, Mettai. But this isn't a battle you can win. The witch who did this was too clever."

"There must be a way," Sirj said. "No spell can be perfect; I refuse to believe that Lici was that powerful."