David Coe - The Sorcerer's Plague

"Dead we're of no use to you," Jasha said. "But if you spare our lives, we can help you find the woman."

The a'laq stared back at him, stony-faced. "We found you. Another sept can find the woman."

Q'Daer and L'Norr exchanged looks.

"Forgive me, A'Laq," Q'Daer said, looking as if he expected E'Menua to strike him at any moment. "But other septs might not know her. We can bring glory to your sept. Every Weaver in the Tesserate will know of you and of your warriors."

"I've spoken on the matter." His eyes flicked in Grinsa's direction. It was only for a moment, but that was enough. "These men are to die."

Suddenly, Grinsa understood. "You're doing this to punish me, not them," he said.

E'Menua glowered at him. After a moment, he waved a hand at the young Weavers. "Leave us. Take the Eandi and go. But not far. I'm not done with them yet."

They glanced at Grinsa, but Q'Daer and L'Norr did as they were told. A moment later Grinsa and E'Menua were alone once more.

"Do you want to hit me again?" the gleaner asked.

"I should."

"Then do. But don't kill those men. You know as well as I that they don't deserve execution."

The a'laq shook his head. "You have much to learn about Fal'Borna ways, Forelander." He passed a hand over his brow. "Torgan brought the pestilence to S'Plaed's sept, and for that S'Plaed has demanded vengeance. That's within his rights as a'laq."

"Even if it wasn't Torgan's intention to hurt anyone?"

"Yes, even so."

Grinsa shook his head in turn. "That's just wrong."

"You have no right to judge us." The a'laq said this quietly, without any of the anger he had shown earlier. "The Fal'Borna have lived this way for centuries. We don't need strangers from the Northlands coming here and instructing us in their notions of justice."

He was right. Grinsa could see that. The Fal'Borna lived in a hard land, one that would sometimes require hard laws. They had survived centuries of warfare, and no doubt that too had bred a certain kind of justice. Who was he to challenge traditions a thousand years in the making?

"You make a good point, A'Laq. Forgive me."

E'Menua narrowed his eyes. "I haven't known you long, Grinsa, but I understand you well enough to know that this isn't your final word on the matter."

Grinsa smiled. "No, it's not. S'Plaed may be justified in demanding vengeance, but don't you and the other a'laqs have a right to protect your people?"

"Meaning?"

"That Mettai woman is still out there. Until she's been found, no Fal'Borna is safe. And since none of you knows who she is or what she looks like, you still need the merchants."

"You're arguing as the Eandi do."

"Occasionally even dark-eyes make sense," Grinsa said with a shrug. E'Menua laughed. "Now you sound like a Fal'Borna."

"Does that mean you'll spare their lives?"

"It means," the a'laq said slowly, seeming to make his decision in that moment, "that I'll delay their executions until the woman is found. I'll even have Q'Daer heal the dark-eye's arm."

"That seems just, A'Laq. Thank you."

E'Menua had grown serious again. "Don't thank me, Forelander. Not yet. The woman is the only proof we have that Torgan and his friend are telling us the truth. If the woman is found and executed by another sept, then these men will have done nothing to prove their innocence or earn my mercy. They have to find her, which means someone from this sept has to go with them."

It took Grinsa a moment. He didn't think of himself as being from any sept, but clearly E'Menua did.

"You'd let us go?"

"Only you."

"I can't leave Cresenne and Bryntelle."

The a'laq shrugged, as if the matter were of no importance to him. "You plead for their lives. You ask me to go against Fal'Borna law. Fine then. If you truly want them spared, you must do this."

Grinsa remained stock-still, not knowing what to say.

"You'll want to think about this, perhaps speak of this matter with your… your wife. I'll expect an answer in the morning."

He could barely hear E'Menua for the roaring in his ears. If you truly want them spared… At last, he nodded, stood, and stepped outside. The sky was darkening and a strong wind blew out of the west, carrying the scent of rain. The two Weavers stood just before him, glaring at him but saying nothing. Grinsa tried to step around them, but Q'Daer moved to block his way.

"Not so fast, Forelander," the young Weaver said.

Grinsa shook his head. "I don't have time for this right now." He tried to walk past again, but Q'Daer put out a hand to stop him.

"That's too bad. It's time you started showing the a'laq and our sept the respect we're due. The a'laq has chosen to let you live, despite the way you speak to him, so I can't kill you, much as I'd like to. But I can show you what happens to strangers who challenge the authority of the Fal'Borna."

Grinsa eyed the man briefly, and then glanced at L'Norr. The other Weaver stood just beside his friend, but though he wore a hard expression, he wouldn't meet Grinsa's gaze. It seemed this was Q'Daer's fight.

Facing the first man once more, Grinsa shook his head. "You're not going to show me anything, Q'Daer. You haven't the magic and you haven't the strength." He was certain of the former, less so of the latter, but he didn't let the younger man see that. "And as I said, I won't waste time on this foolishness right now."

Q'Daer's face reddened and his hand strayed to the blade on his belt. "I should kill you where you stand!"

In the Forelands he simply would have walked away. That would have been the smart thing to do. But this was a different land, ruled by a different set of customs. And though new to the Southlands, Grinsa had already learned a great deal about Fal'Borna ways. He had the welt on his cheek to prove it.

He reached for his magic and broke the man's blade before Q'Daer could pull it free. The young Weaver's eyes widened at the muffled chiming sound of the shattered steel.

"You bastard!"

Before he could say more, Grinsa hit him, backhanded, just as the a'laq had struck him. Q'Daer staggered back a step as Grinsa had, but he didn't fall. That was fine. Grinsa didn't wish to humiliate the man; he just wanted to put him in his place.

Before Q'Daer could throw a punch of his own, Grinsa stepped past him. "I serve the a'laq, not you," he said evenly, eyeing the man over his shoulder. "And I don't take lessons from ignorant whelps. Next time I'll break more than your blade."

The two merchants were standing nearby, their eyes wide at what they had just seen. But now, as he stared at Grinsa, Torgan's expression changed, shock giving way to desperation.

"Did you save us?" he called as Grinsa walked away, still cradling his shattered arm. "Will he spare our lives?"

Grinsa glanced back at him, but he said nothing and he kept walking. When he reached his shelter, he could still hear Torgan shouting after him.

She hadn't meant to come here. She hadn't realized where she was until she saw the bridge, and then it was too late to turn back. North. That's where she'd intended to go. There were more Y'Qatt settlements around the upper Companion Lakes -Porcupine and Bear. After leaving C'Bijor's Neck, Lici had every intention of finding them. Somehow, she hadn't.

She'd crossed the bridge before, after leaving Kirayde, and it hadn't even occurred to her to go back. She'd had a purpose then-it drove her, like a wolf snapping at the heels of rilda. Maybe passing by twice was too much to ask of anyone.

That was what she told herself, sitting in the heat of the Harvest sun, squinting against the glare, the day so bright it seemed to rob the land of color, leaving the grasses and rocks and the occasional tree looking stark and flat and dull. The old nag snorted and stomped her foot impatiently, but still Lici remained motionless atop her cart, unable to decide.