David Coe - The Sorcerer's Plague

"I'd say he's more likely to get so angry that he'll have you killed. That's more in keeping with Fal'Borna custom, if you ask me."

She had a good point.

"But maybe you're on to something," she went on a moment later, sounding thoughtful.

"What do you mean?"

"What did he say he'd do if you found the Mettai woman?"

"Nothing really. He said he'd allow the merchants to live until she's found, but I think that if we can prove their innocence, and bring glory to the sept by finding the Mettai woman, he'll spare their lives."

"But he said nothing about you?"

"No," Grinsa said, understanding coming to him at last. "Nothing, at least not along the lines you're suggesting."

She grinned, her eyes dancing in the candlelight. "I haven't suggested anything. A concubine would never be so presumptuous."

"If we propose a bargain like this, and he agrees, I have to go with the merchants and find this woman. There would be no way for me to back out."

Cresenne nodded, her expression sobering. "I know. But if he agrees it might be worth it."

Grinsa leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, a kiss she returned passionately.

"I don't want to leave you," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

"I don't want you to go. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life among the Fal'Borna, and I certainly don't want Bryntelle to grow up knowing only these people. In the last few days, I'd actually started to consider that we might stay here, that we might not have a choice in the matter. But now, with this, I don't know anymore. You'll never be happy here; that much is clear. And I'm not sure I can be, either."

"Bryntelle is happy," Grinsa said. "You told me so yourself."

She smiled. "Yes, Bryntelle is happy. But this isn't the life I want for her, and I know you feel the same way."

"And what about you? You have a friend now. F'Solya, is it?"

"F'Solya is a friend, but even she doesn't know what to make of us, of what she's hearing about our past. We're not like these people, Grinsa. We both know that. So let's do what's necessary to get away, and be done with this a'laq and his sept."

They kissed again, and then Cresenne took his hand and led him to the small pallet, where they undressed and quietly, tenderly made love. After, as they lay together in the soft light of the single candle, Cresenne said, "I don't want you dying for these people."

"I don't want that either."

Her smile this time was fleeting, brittle. "I'm serious, Grinsa. I know you. You'll do anything to find justice for these men. You'll think nothing of risking your life to save theirs. And I'm telling you-I'm asking you-don't do it. If you fail, you fail. They'll be put to death, and we might not get away. But at least you'll be all right. At least you'll come back to me."

"VVhat you're saying is I should remember that I'm doing this for us, and not for them."

She took a breath, then nodded.

"I'll try."

Cresenne smiled again, and this time it lingered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked it of you."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. That's not the kind of person you are. You can't do what I just asked of you any more than you can simply let these men be killed. I just…" She shook her head.

He touched her cheek, making her meet his gaze. "I was serious a moment ago. I don't want to die for these merchants. I'll come back to you-to both of you. You have my word."

"And what if E'Menua doesn't agree to these terms? He doesn't care whether these men live or die, but he seems to care a good deal about keeping us here. If you insist that he agree to this, he might just say that you can't go at all."

"Yes, he might. Or he might be so certain that we can't find the woman that he'll take the bargain a step further."

Cresenne winced. "If you fail, we stay with the Fal'Borna for the rest of our lives."

"Right."

She stared at the candle briefly, slowly shaking her head. At last she shrugged and faced him again. "Then that's the risk we take. There are worse fates."

"You're certain?"

"What choice do we have, Grinsa? It all comes back to this: You can't stand by and let those men be killed. So we'll make this demon's bargain, and hope for the best." She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. "I hope these men are worth all we're risking for them."

Grinsa wanted to assure her that they were, but the truth was he knew precious little about either of them. In the end, "So do I" was all he could offer her.

The following morning, Grinsa made his way to the a'laq's shelter. It was grey and damp, and a chill wind still blew down from the north, making the shelters of the sept quiver and snap. The horses stood in their paddock looking miserable, their heads and tails hung low.

As usual, the two young Weavers were outside E'Menua's z'kal, though neither of them appeared too happy to be there. They wore heavy, fur- lined skins around their shoulders, with hoods thrown over their heads.

L'Norr watched him approach, his eyes bright, alert. Q'Daer wouldn't look at him. There was a welt on his cheek, similar, no doubt, to the one Grinsa bore. Grinsa nearly laughed when he saw it-they looked like twin sons of some brute of a father.

"Welcome to Harvest on the plains," L'Norr said, as Grinsa drew near.

"It's like this a lot?"

"Until the Snows come. Then it'll be exactly the same, except colder." A fine time to be abroad in a hostile land.

"I need to speak with the a'laq," Grinsa said.

L'Norr seemed to read something in Grinsa's tone, because he merely turned and entered the shelter. For a moment, Grinsa and Q'Daer stood together outside, avoiding each other's gazes, saying nothing. Then L'Norr emerged again and nodded to the gleaner. "He's waiting for you."

"Thank you."

Grinsa entered the z'kal. It was warm within. E'Menua sat by a small fire, and beside him sat an attractive woman with long white hair and a piercing gaze. There were small lines around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise her skin was smooth. She eyed Grinsa as he stood before them, but she neither smiled nor spoke. Sensing her powers, Grinsa realized that she was a Weaver as well. This had to be D'Pera, the a'laq's wife.

"You've made your decision, Forelander?" the a'laq asked, drawing Grinsa's gaze.

"You could say that. I have a proposition for you."

E'Menua's eyebrows went up. "A proposition?"

"I'll do this-I'll go with the merchants to find the Mettai witch who threatens your people. And if I succeed in finding her, you not only spare the merchants, you also allow Cresenne, Bryntelle, and me to leave your sept."

The a'laq seemed to ponder this for some time. D'Pera still said nothing, but she watched her husband closely, the way a sea captain might eye a bank of storm clouds.

"And what if you fail?" E'Menua finally asked.

Grinsa knew the a'laq would get there on his own, so he gave the only answer he could. "If I fail, we stay with you."

"And you agree to be joined to a Weaver."

He shook his head. "No, that's not part of the bargain."

"Then there is no bargain."

Grinsa spun away and stepped toward the entrance to the shelter. "Fine."

"Fine?" E'Menua repeated, stopping Grinsa on the threshold. "You'll just let those men die?"

He faced the a'laq again. "Their lives mean nothing to you. Why should they mean anything to me?"

"To be honest," E'Menua said mildly, "I'm not certain. But I know that they do." E'Menua seemed so calm, so sure of himself, that Grinsa had to wonder if he'd been expecting this proposition all along. Had he and Cresenne been that obvious?

"I won't marry another woman. Ever."

"Apparently you believe you're in a position to dictate terms to me," E'Menua said. "You're not. I'll allow you to leave if you succeed, but if you fail, you'll live among us Fal'Borna, accepting our customs and laws as your own. That's the only choice I'm offering you. You can go under those conditions, or you can remain here as you are now."