David Coe - The Sorcerer's Plague

It made sense, and after a moment Torgan nodded. "Then, should I tell them what I know, or would I be better off keeping it to myself?"

Jasha just shrugged. "I don't know. But choose well. Our lives are most certainly at stake."

The sun had begun to set and a bank of clouds rolling in from the west had cast a grey pall over the day when the riders finally returned. Cresenne was still working and Bryntelle remained with the other children, leaving Grinsa with little to occupy his day. He'd been in the sept for only a short time, but already he had grown bored with the leisurely life afforded him because he was a Weaver. Not knowing what else to do, and unwilling simply to sit outside the a'laq's shelter, he had wandered off, following the stream that wound past the settlement.

He hadn't gone far, though, and was already on his way back to the sept, when he heard the beginnings of the commotion raised by the war party's return. He hurried on to the middle of the settlement, where he found Q'Daer and L'Norr already speaking with E'Menua. Two Eandi men sat on mounts behind them, eyed closely by several warriors, who also remained on their horses.

One of the men was young-he couldn't have been much past his twentieth year. He had yellow hair that he wore closely shorn, and a youthful freckled face. He remained watchful, but he didn't appear particularly fearful, not like the other man.

He was older than his companion, and larger as well, broad in the shoulders and thick in his middle. As a younger man he might have been formidable, but now he merely looked ponderous. He'd lost one of his eyes years before; the scars on his face were old, brown and weathered like the rest of his skin. His one good eye, which was as dark as the ocean on a stormy day, darted about as if he wasn't certain where to look and feared everything on which his gaze lingered. Based on all he had heard earlier in the day, Grinsa guessed that this older man was Torgan Plye.

When E'Menua spotted Grinsa, he gestured for him to join their discussion. Grinsa walked to where they were standing.

"Where have you been, Forelander?" the a'laq asked, sounding annoyed. "We've been waiting for you."

"You are a Weaver in this sept. I expect you to join us in discussions of matters of such great weight."

Grinsa wasn't certain what to say. A moment before he'd been lamenting his lack of responsibilities. Now it seemed that he had some, and had been shirking them. A quip leaped to mind, but he kept it to himself.

"My apologies then, A'Laq. How may I serve the sept?"

E'Menua stared at him briefly, as if wondering whether Grinsa was goading him again.

"As you can see," he said after a moment, "we've found Torgan Plye, of whom you heard us speak earlier. Q'Daer and L'Norr searched his cart and found nothing unusual. And as of yet, none of their riders have fallen ill. We intend to question them now, before putting them to death."

Both of the Eandi paled.

"You've already decided to execute them?" Grinsa asked.

"Yes, of course. They're enemies of the Fal'Borna."

"But you don't know if they did anything wrong!"

The warriors gaped at him. Q'Daer and L'Norr eyed him coldly. Even the merchants, who had barely taken notice of him until now, were staring at Grinsa as if he had challenged the a'laq to a knife fight. But it was E'Menua's expression that told the gleaner just how seriously he had erred. His large eyes burned like coals in a fire, his cheeks had shaded to crimson, and his sharp chin quivered, as if it was all he could do to keep from striking Grinsa down where he stood.

"In my z'kal!" he said through clenched teeth. "Now!"

Grinsa didn't dare argue. He merely turned and started toward the a'laq's shelter.

"Bring them!" he heard E'Menua say. Grinsa didn't look back to see who the a'laq had spoken to, but he assumed E'Menua had given the order to the other two Weavers.

Reaching the a'laq's shelter, he stepped inside, then turned to face the entryway and waited. He didn't have to stand there for long.

E'Menua threw aside the flap of rilda hide that covered the entrance, stepped into the shelter, and struck Grinsa across the cheek with the back of his hand. Grinsa had expected him to do something of the sort, and he made no effort to block the blow. He staggered back, nearly stepping in the fire, but he managed to stay on his feet.

"If you ever speak to me in such a way again, I'll kill you! I am a'laq of this sept and you will show me the respect I am due! How dare you question me in front of my people like that!"

His cheek still throbbing, Grinsa said nothing. Best, he thought, to let the a'laq vent his anger.

"You may be new here, Forelander. You may feel that you're not one of us, that you intend to leave Fal'Borna land at the first opportunity. I don't give a damn! You will address me properly, or you'll be dealt with just the way a mutinous Fal'Borna would be. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, A'Laq. It wasn't my intention to give offense."

To his credit, E'Menua appeared to accept Grinsa's apology. "What exactly was your intention?" he asked, sounding calmer.

"I'm not really certain," Grinsa admitted. "It just seems to me that

you may not be justified in executing those men."

"They have been declared enemies of the Fal'Borna, Forelander. They-"

"A'Laq?" came a voice from outside.

"Wait out there!" E'Menua called. He looked at Grinsa again. "Once someone is named an enemy of our people, his fate is decided. It's something you'd do well to keep in mind. I have no choice in the matter. These men have to die."

"Even if they've done nothing wrong."

"Torgan brought the pestilence to S'Plaed's sept."

"So S'Plaed claims," Grinsa said. "But what if he's mistaken? What if we can prove that the merchant did nothing wrong? Is Fal'Borna justice so unyielding that it would condemn an innocent man?"

"Why do you argue so? What is Torgan to you?"

It was a fair question, one that he'd been asking himself since he first began arguing for the man's life earlier that day. "The merchant means nothing to me. But I had a friend in the Forelands, a man who committed no crime, a man who'd be dead now if Eandi justice worked as Fal'Borna justice does."

E'Menua bristled. "Are you trying to provoke me? Do you wish to see just how far I'll go in punishing you?"

"No, A'Laq. I only want to see justice done."

"The Tesserate has declared that this man and any who help him are to die. You would defy them?"

"Of course not," Grinsa said. "But why did the Tesserate decide this?" "Because S'Plaed has told them that Torgan attacked his sept with the pestilence."

"And if you were to learn that this wasn't true, wouldn't you be bound to tell the Tesserate?"

"I'd be pitting myself against S'Plaed."

"Is that worse than allowing an innocent man to die?"

"You judge us," the a'laq said darkly. "You have no right." "I'm not judging you. I'm trying to understand you."

E'Menua regarded him for some time before finally giving a small shake of his head. "You are a most difficult man, Forelander. The truth is I don't know how to answer your question. Openly opposing the a'laq of another sept, even one that has been weakened as S'Plaed's has, can be dangerous. And it may do little good. The Tesserate may not listen to me-S'Plaed has a good deal of support in Thamia. So do I, but in this matter I'd be taking the part of an Eandi."

"A'Laq?" came the voice from outside again.

"Just a moment!"

"I ask only that you keep an open mind, A'Laq," Grinsa said. "I don't wish to see any man-Eandi or Qirsi-executed without cause, and I can't imagine you do, either."

"An open mind," E'Menua repeated, looking skeptical.

Grinsa nodded.

"Very well." He looked past Grinsa to the entryway and called for the others to enter.