David Coe - The Sorcerer's Plague

Q'Daer and L'Norr stepped into the shelter, each of them guiding one of the merchants by the arm. The Weavers glanced briefly at the a'laq, but then stared at Grinsa. The shelter was dimly lit, but he felt certain that the welt on his cheek showed clearly, even in this poor light. No doubt both men would delight in seeing it.

E'Menua sat at his usual spot, and gestured for Grinsa and the other Fal'Borna to do the same.

Torgan began to sit as well, but Q'Daer stopped him.

"You stand, Eandi. Both of you," he added, looking at the other merchant.

"Tell us what you did to S'Plaed's sept," the a'laq demanded. Torgan hesitated, licking his lips and looking so unnerved that

Grinsa found himself wondering if perhaps the merchant was responsible for the deaths there after all.

"I did nothing," the man said at last, his voice quavering.

"You're lying."

"No! I've done nothing wrong! I went to the Sept, I sold some wares, and I left! That's all! I swear it!"

"Why did you leave so quickly then? S'Plaed says that you were in a great rush to be away from his sept. It seems you knew some great calamity was about to befall them."

"No, it wasn't that! I had just learned…" He stopped, licked his lips again. "I had just heard… some bad tidings. I wanted to be away from there, away from everyone. That's all."

The a'laq glanced at Grinsa and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, You see? I told you he was guilty.

"Do you think we're fools, Torgan?" E'Menua asked, facing the Eandi again. "Do you think we can't tell when a dark-eye is lying to us?" "No, of course not. But I swear to you-"

"He is lying."

Everyone turned to stare at the other merchant.

Torgan looked like he'd just been slapped. "Jasha!"

"He did do something to S'Plaed's sept, and what's more, he knows exactly what happened at C'Bijor's Neck."

Torgan launched himself at the younger man. "You treacherous little bastard!" He knocked Jasha to the ground and was on him immediately, his hands around the man's throat. "This was your plan all along! You want to destroy me!"

Q'Daer and L'Norr tried to pull Torgan off the young merchant, but Torgan was far bigger than both of them, and apparently as strong as he was large. Jasha's eyes were wide, and his face was turning bright red. He clawed at Torgan's hands, but to no avail. Just as Grinsa began to fear for the young merchant's life, he heard a sharp snapping sound. Torgan let out a howl of pain, rolled off of Jasha, and clutched at his right arm.

"I can just as easily break your neck, Torgan," E'Menua said calmly. "So can every other Weaver in this z'kal. Don't make us kill you."

"You're going to kill me no matter what I do," he said, bitterly. He nodded toward Jasha, who still lay on the floor, his chest heaving. "All thanks to this snake!"

"You have to tell them now, Torgan," the younger man said, still gasping. "That's why I did it."

The old merchant looked away. "I don't know what he's talking about."

Jasha lifted himself onto one elbow. "Your only hope is to tell them everything. Believe it or not, I may have saved your life."

"Shut your mouth, whelp! My only consolation is knowing that they'll kill you, too."

"Tell them, Torgan."

The merchant clamped his mouth shut and pressed his lips thin.

"Do you know what mind-bending magic is?" Grinsa asked. Instantly, he wondered if he'd stepped in where he shouldn't have. But when he chanced a look at the a'laq, he saw that E'Menua was nodding.

"You're not Fal'Borna," Torgan said, as if seeing Grinsa for the first time.

"Answer the question," the a'laq commanded.

Torgan exhaled. "Mind-bending. Yes, I have some idea what it can do."

"In that case," Grinsa said, "I shouldn't have to tell you that we can make you tell us. You can refuse us all you like, but in the end, we'll find out all that we need to. The question is, do you want one of us using his magic on your mind?"

For a long time, Torgan just sat there, cradling his maimed arm, shaking his head. "Damn you all," he finally muttered. "Damn every white-hair in the Southlands."

"What did you do to S'Plaed's sept?" the a'laq asked again. "Nothing."

E'Menua closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Torgan-"

"Nothing that I meant to do," the merchant said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"What does that mean?"

"Start with C'Bijor's Neck," Jasha said.

Torgan glared at him, and for a moment Grinsa thought that he might attack him again. But then the merchant nodded.

"What's all this talk about C'Bijor's Neck?" the a'laq asked. "That's an Y'Qatt settlement. They're not Fal'Borna."

"No," Torgan said. "But that's where I first encountered the Mettai woman."

E'Menua blinked once. It almost seemed that until that moment, he hadn't actually believed this talk of Mettai magic. "Go on."

"She was selling baskets. The most beautiful baskets I've ever seen. Perfect weaving, colors that take your breath away. She could have gotten… well, she could have gotten anything for them. Instead, she sold them for far too little, and seemed pleased with the bargain she struck.

"I convinced the man she sold them to-a man named Y'Farl-I convinced him that he'd paid too much for them, and he sold them to me. I left the village soon after, and steered my cart westward intending to find septs where I could sell the baskets, and the rest of what I carried. But that night…" He trailed off; swallowed and shook his head. "That's when the pestilence struck, though I didn't know it at the time. It looked like… like a battle, like the village was under attack. There was fire everywhere-Qirsi fire. And smoke, and shattered houses. I didn't know what had happened. I thought maybe it was marauders. At the time, it didn't occur to me that it could be the pestilence."

He shrugged. "So I moved on, fearful of remaining near the Neck. Eventually I found S'Plaed's sept. That's where I learned of what really happened in C'Bijor's Neck. I just wanted to get away. I still hadn't considered the possibility that the Mettai woman and her baskets might have something to do with all of this. I just knew that Y'Farl was dead, and that I had missed dying myself by mere hours. So I sold the baskets at a low price and left. That night, the same thing happened to the sept. The fire again, and the rest of it. That's when I started to wonder about the woman and those baskets of hers."

He looked at E'Menua, and then at the two Weavers. Finally, his gaze came to rest on Grinsa. "I didn't mean to do it. I didn't even know what I'd done until after-until I watched the sept burn."

For several moments, all of them were silent. Grinsa could hear children laughing outside. A horse whinnied, and the wind moaned in the wood holding up the shelter.

Eventually E'Menua stirred, as if shaking himself awake. "Tell us about the woman."

"No, Torgan," Jasha said. "Don't tell them anything more. Not yet." The merchant frowned. "What?"

But Jasha was already eyeing the a'laq. "What are you going to do to him? You've heard his tale. You know now that he didn't intend any harm. He bought some baskets and then sold them again. He's a merchant. It's what he does. You can't punish him for that."

"He killed half of S'Plaed's sept," E'Menua said, his voice hardening. "Now it seems that he had a hand in killing the people of C'Bijor's Neck, as well. What he's told us changes nothing."

Grinsa opened his mouth to argue, but quickly stopped himself. Instead he faced E'Menua. "May I have a word, A'Laq?"

But the a'laq shook his head. "No. Not about this. He will tell u5 what he knows of the woman, and then he'll be put to death. He is ar enemy of the Fal'Borna."

"And what of me?" Jasha asked.

"You're to be executed as well. You've ridden with him and protected him, all the while knowing what he's done. You deserve to die as much as he does."